Fighting Vin's belligerence with evidence: "It was in her journal."
" 'There's a big fat conspiracy going on, and I'm in the middle of it.' That what she wrote?"
"She wrote… she'd written-'"
"I'll tell you…" Vin curled up in the chair, tired from the effort of dealing with Eddi. It was a reminder of all the effort that had gone into dealing with Soledad. "There is no way Soledad'd ever have anything to do with Tashjian."
"You barely remembered his name."
"I remember her. I'm sitting here crying over her. That's more than you're fucking doing."
Kinda lit or not, Eddi could've gone across the room, put a fist to Vin's head. Done it again. Then one more time.
Vin was oblivious to Eddi's passions. The only thing tangible to him was the need to freshen his melancholy.
"Let's remember her, Eddi. Sit down, have a drink. Let's recall the girl."
All folded up, Vin was a little mass in the chair. Wanting a drink, too messed up to be able to go get one.
Eddi would have none of it.
"She didn't love you, Vin, but she cared a hell of a lot about you. If you felt any of the same for her, you'd clean up."
Eddi took off.
Eventually, Vin got himself up, got himself that drink he was wanting.
Years working IA had inured Tashjian to a lot or things. Dirty cops. Dirty cops ratting out other dirty cops. Dirty cops ratting out clean cops 'cause they've got to give up a name, any name, to keep from doing hard time. Cops eating bullets as a substitute for doing any time at all. Never understood that. A cop's tough enough to kill himself, but not tough enough to do a stretch inside? Didn't seem equitable.
The dirty, the greedy, cops with holes they'd put in their own heads: Tashjian had gotten real used to all that. A sad comment on his life was that he was very unaccustomed to a woman calling his name.
"Hey, Tashjian."
He turned, looked behind him.
Heading in his direction from across the street as he made the walk to his house was an Asian woman. Though hardly tiny-for a female she was probably just above average in height-her presence far exceeded her stature. Her mien bulled toward Tashjian over the width of the street. Formidable at a distance. It was, to Tashjian's sensibilities, an attractive quality.
The woman asked: "Tashjian, yeah?"
As if he were required to, Tashjian gave the woman careful visual exam and then, sure of things: "I don't know you."
"Eddi Aoki. I'm an officer with MTac."
"I still don't know you."
"I'd like to talk."
"Is this official? If it's official, then it needs to go through the bureau." "It's not official."
Tashjian's features seemed to be double-jointed in that he made an expression yet expressed nothing at the same time.
"It's not official," Eddi said again, "but if you've got a minute, I'd like to talk."
"And what would you like to talk about?"
"Soledad O'Roark."
Another look from Tashjian equivocal as the previous.
"You had a run-in with her, yeah?" Eddi tried to make herself as unguessable as Tashjian. Had to work at it.
"I had business with her once."
«Well…» A look up and down the street. A casual look, not to spy anything in particular. Physical action, no matter how slight, gave Eddi a moment to do some mental calculations. "This is just personal stuff, okay? She was a friend-"
"O'Roark didn't have friends."
"Been hearing that a lot. Anyway, I call her, I called her a friend. Just some blanks I want to fill in. Maybe you can do it."
Hesitation. He shouldn't bother with her. Tashjian should not bother with this woman. But how many times did he ever have a woman call his name? She had some questions, he'd give her what answers he could. That'd be the total of their interaction. Tashjian knew it would. But he liked the way his name sounded coming from her. it compelled against his better judgment.
"There's a diner up the block."
"Don't you live here?"
A smile from Tashjian. Suspicious, not salacious. "An unfamiliar woman alone in my house? I can see my name all over a harassment suit."
"All you IA guys have as little trust?" "I'd say."
"I'm just here to talk. If you want me to sign an affidavit…"
Tashjian's smile remained constant. Remained constant. Then it changed. How, Eddi couldn't say. But it changed.
Tashjian went for his keys.
He said: "You'll have to forgive the place. I don't usually have company over."
Tashjian's house-decent-sized, decent-sized for LA, Mediterranean style-was, to Eddi, spotless. A place for everything, everything in its place. So either his comment to her re: its state had been a joke, or to him the place was a wreck, meaning his mind was obsessively-compulsively beyond anal.
Tashjian didn't offer Eddi a beverage, didn't offer her a seat. His unspoken way of making i t quite clear he didn't expect her to be around
long.
He asked, very much to the point: "What is it you want to know?"
"Most people," Eddi said, "they meet somebody who's just lost a friend, they offer condolences."
Tashjian said, again: "Officer O'Roark didn't have friends." And, again, very much to the point: "What is it you want to know?"
"You were handling Soledad. Why?"
No confirmation. No denial. Just: "It's time for you to leave."
From under her sweat top, from the holster on her hip, Eddi slipped out her off-duty piece. A Glock 17. A harder weapon than a whole gang of on-duty pieces some cops toted. If the sight of it had any sway on Tashjian, if it evoked unease or anxiety or any kind of concern, in tine with every other emotion he seemed to own, it wasn't evident.
He said to Eddi with all the knowing condescension of an ivy League professor to a first-year student: "That's not particularly smart."
The blow was hard enough to rattle a man of typical heartiness. The blow, Eddi's gun to Tashjian's jaw, was more than hard enough to stretch Tashjian out on the floor. To send his eyes rolling back in his head for a good fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds when his senses took a little vacation. When they finally returned to him, auditory being the first to get back to work, they heard:
"… how it starts. That's just how it starts. From here it gets worse."
"Made a… you made a…" Talking with blood in his mouth, inhalation made him choke on his own fluids. Tashjian learned, quickly, he had to spit first, keep his mouth faced toward the floor, then try to talk. The day was filled with new experiences. "You have made a sizable mistake." Better. It'd be a while before he had the act down cold. His mouth bleeding as it was would offer him time to practice.
"Yeah, 3 was just thinking that while I was watching you flop all over the floor."
"I'm going to have you swimming in char-aaaaaah! ahhhh! ahhhhhhh!
One hundred and twenty-eight pounds of Eddi. All of it converged on her knee. Her knee converged at the center of Tashjian's groin. Not for nothing was he screaming.
And screaming.
Loud, long and hideous.
But he was screaming in his house in Los Angeles, in West Hollywood. A lot of men go screaming in that part of town. With pain. With pleasure. Tashjian's screams went unnoticed.