“Sure- ”
Eric said, “Maybe I like this better.” Pointing to the theater.
“I like this one, honey.”
Pink Hair said, “You could take both.”
Silence.
“I guess I could ask Ovid. About signing it to you. Especially if you buy two.”
“We begin any collection with a single piece,” said Petra. “Take our time to see how we live with it. After that…”
She looked Pink up and down.
Pink said, “Well, sure… so which one- ”
Petra said, “I assume you’ve got some stretch on the price.”
“Well… we could give ten percent courtesy.”
“We always get twenty percent courtesy. On this, we were thinking more like twenty-five.”
“I’m not the gallery owner,” said Pink. “Twenty-five off would be…”
“One-fifty,” said Eric, keeping his back to them.
Pink said, “What I meant is it would be a lot. More than we usually give.”
“Whatever,” said Petra. She began to walk away.
Pink Hair said, “I guess I could call the owner.”
“If that works for you.” Petra continued toward the exit. “We’ll check out the other galleries, maybe come back if- ”
“Hold on… I mean, the owner’s my boyfriend, I’m sure he won’t mind.” Big smile. A sprig of fake hair protruded above one ear, haloed by artful gallery lighting. “You guys look like serious collectors, it’ll be okay.”
Eric swiveled. Turned robot eyes on her. Petra thought the girl would swoon.
“One-fifty,” he said.
“Sure, great.”
Petra said, “When can we meet the artist?”
“Um, that’s the thing, I don’t know… let me try to arrange it. If you leave a deposit- ”
“We’ll leave you fifty,” said Eric, producing two twenties and a ten.
Pink took the money. “Great. I’ll take your number and let you know… I’m Xenia?”
Turning it into a question, as if unsure of her own identity.
“Vera,” said Petra, arching an eyebrow as she scrawled her cell number. “This is Al.”
“Vera and Al, great,” said Pink Hair. “You won’t regret it. I think one day Ovid’s going to be famous.”
Back on Lankershim, strolling north along with the Saturday throng, Eric said, “Al and Vera.”
“ ’Cause we’re silky smooth.”
He smiled.
Petra said, “You’re very good.”
“At what?”
“Acting.”
“Then I can get a job as a waiter.” A beat. “Provide us some income.”
She gripped his arm harder. “You’ve got the military cushion and once you get going privately, you’ll probably double your income.”
“If I get going.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
“Eric?”
“Private clients means kissing butt,” he said. “Charm.”
“You can be charming.”
He stared straight ahead, kept walking.
“When you want to,” said Petra.
Suddenly, he veered out of the pedestrian stream, guided her toward the facade of a vintage boutique. Placed his hands on her shoulders. Something new in his eyes.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m running on empty,” he said. “You make me feel… fuller.”
“Baby,” she said, hugging his waist.
He pressed his cheek to hers, touched the back of her neck softly.
She said, “You’re good for me, too.”
They stood there as people moved past them, drawing a few stares, a few smiles, mostly apathy. Clanking sunglasses. Then weapons, as their gun pockets brushed.
The percussion made them break the embrace.
Petra smoothed down her jacket, fooled with her wig. “If Pinkie actually phones for a meet with Omar, I’ll have to notify the task force. Which will cause all kinds of complications.”
Eric said, “The task force should be grateful.”
“And I should be rich and famous.” She frowned. “This whole thing’s nuts. I get them their suspect, hand them everything, and they’re futzing around. The rationale is they’ve got to proceed cautiously in order to get Selden’s associates. But if we had Omar in custody, we’d have a better chance of doing that.”
“True.”
“Sandra’s probably dead, right?”
He said, “That’s where I’d put my money.”
“Stupid kid,” said Petra. “Stupid case.”
From inside her purse, her cell phone squawked.
“Vera? This is Xenia, from the gallery. Guess what? I managed to find Ovid and he’s real close by. He can be there in a half hour to meet you and sign your print.”
“Great,” said Petra, her mind racing.
“Do you think you might like two? Al really liked Theater, didn’t he? Personally, it’s my favorite. My- The owner says you can have it for the same price as Club.”
“Sounds like a deal.”
“It’s an awesome deal.”
“I’ll ask Al. Let you know when we show up.”
“Okay,” said Xenia. “But I’d seriously think about both of them. Ovid’s a seriously talented artist.”
CHAPTER 38
With a pounding heart, trying not to look panicked, Petra scanned Lankershim, found a Mexican café across the boulevard that had a clear diagonal view of the gallery’s entrance. They lucked out by scoring a window booth, ordered food they’d never touch, coffee they would.
Rummaging through her purse, she found the head Downtown hotshot’s number and tried to reach him. Machine at his desk number, no answer on his cell. She waited out the tape, recited clearly and slowly, hoped her fear didn’t seep into the message. A call to Parker Center trying to reach the guy was no more helpful, even after she convinced the desk that she was legit. Out, no forwarding.
Same for his cohorts; all three hotshots were checked out for the weekend.
The big, aloof gang sergeant was gone, too. Yet another tape answered at the Valley gang unit’s main extension.
Multiple murderer on his way and all the experts were mellowing for the weekend. Some task force. If Joe Taxpayer only knew…
She phoned Mac Dilbeck’s house and his wife, Louise, said, “Aw, honey, he took the grandkids to Disneyland, didn’t take a phone. Something you want me to tell him?”
“Not important,” said Petra. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
What next… informing Schoelkopf was proper procedure but out of the question. He’d kill the whole deal, discipline her for insubordination, and Omar would get away. Worse: A no-show at the gallery might make Omar suspicious and motivate a serious rabbit.
Upon arriving at NoHo, she’d spotted three uniforms: a black-and-white one block east, near a chained parking lot, the officers shmoozing, and a single female cop on foot patrol up near Chandler Boulevard. The woman had clipped hair, thin lips, shorts that exposed dimpled knees. An LAPD T-shirt above her equipment-laden belt, the whole blend-in thing.
Calling in any of them was too risky. With twenty-five minutes to go, there wasn’t even time to explain the basics and she couldn’t risk having Omar spot blue and bolt.
Besides, nothing was more dangerous than a poorly designed operation.
That left her and Eric. He sat across from her, looking calm. Serene, even. She pressed End on her cell, pocketed the little contraption.
Tried to take his example and calm down.
Any way you cut it, she was in trouble. Might as well catch a bad guy.
They planned it this way: Omar Selden had never met Eric, so Eric would be the inside guy, returning to the gallery alone, pretending to browse, not talking much. Petra would remain across the street in the café, her eyes fixed on Flash Image’s front door. As soon as she spotted Selden, she’d connect with Eric’s cell, ring twice, hang up.
After that, it would all be improvisation.
Twenty minutes after Xenia’s call, Eric left his breakfast burrito minus two bites on the table, drained his coffee cup, and walked out.