Mission Canyon (23 page)

I felt my face heating.

He found her driver’s license. ‘‘Cherry Lopez. Know her?’’

Jax pulled off the bandanna. I saw the cropped black hair and the tattoo climbing up her neck.

I said, ‘‘Yes. She’s i-heist. And I think she stole my wallet and cell phone.’’

Lopez bucked, trying to get out from under Tim’s shoe. He reached down with both hands, yanked her jean jacket off her shoulders, and wrestled a black club from inside it. He held it up.

‘‘Shock baton. Amazingly unpleasant to be on the receiving end of one of these.’’

I felt a chill, like ragged fingernails pulling at my skin. Tim dropped down, put his knee on Lopez’s back, and rubbed the tip of the baton along her cheek.

‘‘Tell me, pet. What were you planning to do with this?’’

She squirmed, moaning through the gag, trying to shrink from the baton.

‘‘Self-defense begins with awareness of the threat against you.’’ Tim rested the baton on Lopez’s ear. ‘‘Then you need the bottle to actually defend yourself.

You mustn’t shrink from disabling your attacker. Pity will get you hurt.’’

The creepy fingernail feeling kept pulling at my skin. And beneath that, anger.

‘‘That’s enough,’’ I said.

His face was harder than a board. ‘‘That’s not even a start.’’

He removed the scarf from her mouth.

She spit at him. ‘‘Get away from me, you poncy faggot.’’

‘‘My, somebody’s been watching British telly,’’ he said.

‘‘You’re going to regret this. All of you,’’ she said.

I squatted down, out of spitting range. ‘‘I saw you at Kenny Rudenski’s house.’’

She twisted to look at me. Her gothic eye makeup matched the black dye in her hair. ‘‘I’m his au pair.’’

I nodded. ‘‘Sure. Babysitting what, his Dale Earnhardt helmet?’’

‘‘Woman, you are a bucket of extra-bitchy recipe, aren’t you?’’

‘‘Why were you following me?’’

She spit. It globbed on the gleaming tile floor. ‘‘I’ll hurt you worst.’’

Tim took her hand in his and bent her thumb back. Her face twisted, and she started to moan. As soon as she opened her mouth he jammed the gag back in it.

I said, ‘‘She didn’t attack me. Don’t hurt her.’’

Weariness crossed his face. ‘‘Jax, have a word with Evan, won’t you?’’

Jax nodded. ‘‘Come on.’’

She led me to the door. A burglar’s tool was stuck in the lock. Jax turned it and we went out, heading for the escalator.

‘‘Tim will find out why she was following you,’’ she said.

‘‘What’s he going to do to her?’’

‘‘He won’t let her come after you with that shock baton; that’s for certain.’’

‘‘Is this what he meant by private work? Roughing people up?’’

‘‘Stop being pissy.’’

We jogged down the escalator, marched through the store and outside.

She said, ‘‘Tim will disable the threat against you, nothing more. Because he’s not on the job anymore.’’

‘‘Do tell me, Jax. What is this job you keep referring to?’’

‘‘Contract assassination.’’

Driving home, I debriefed myself.
Mission accomplished?
No, there were unexpected difficulties.
Such as?
A purse snatcher with a shock baton. Prospective clients who took cash to kill people.
Cash?
Okay, maybe a cashier’s check.
Did you find out anything about why Jesse’s in such a mess?
No.
Did you sign a contract to write the Norths’ memoirs? Contract
is not a word I want to use right now.

When I stopped for a light the driver next to me, a cholo in a low-rider Chevy, heard me dishing it out to myself. He locked his doors.

Did you learn one single thing that could help you?
Yeah, watch your back.
What are you going to do now?

I don’t know.

When I swung to the curb in front of my house a man was standing at the garden gate. Holding that clipboard, he looked like an insurance salesman. Excellent, sign me up for a big fat life insurance policy. He walked toward me.

‘‘Evan Delaney?’’ he said. I nodded. ‘‘This is for you.’’

He handed me a document. I saw SUPERIOR COURT OF THE STATE OF CALIFORNIA and, next to DEFENDANT, my name. Mari Vasquez Diamond had followed through on her threat. She was suing me, Jesse, and Sanchez Marks for intentional infliction of emotional distress.

The phone was ringing when I opened my front door. I let the machine get it. Staring at the complaint, I kicked off my shoes, a bad idea because slip-ons gain velocity like rocket-propelled grenades. One flew onto the dining table and hit the wedding mound. Papers spewed. Jax Rivera’s voice came on the machine.

‘‘Evan, it’s important that we continue our conversation. Tim learned some things you need to know.’’

I didn’t move.

‘‘You know how to reach me,’’ she said. ‘‘Be smart. Call.’’

In the depths of my head, ‘‘Wipeout’’ was playing. I had paddled out too far and now the big ones were rolling down on top of me.

I stared at the complaint. ‘‘Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress.’’ I read: ‘‘. . . that under the direction of defendant Blackburn, defendant Delaney subjected Mrs. Diamond to extreme abuse intended to cause severe distress. In particular: that in the presence of Mrs. Diamond’s party guests, Delaney did shockingly call her ‘old,’ ‘cheap,’ and a ‘snotty socialite. . . .’ ’’

She was going for the hat trick: petty, stupid, and inaccurate. Who, I wondered, was inane enough to file this lawsuit on her behalf? I checked the first page.

I picked up the phone and slammed it down again. I dug my shoe out from under the wedding pile and headed out the door. To Harley Dawson’s law firm.

Harley walked into the lobby at the law firm. In the dove gray suit, with her silver hair shining in the afternoon sun, she looked satiny. She gave me a glossy stare.

She said, ‘‘Uh-oh. You look like you’ve been drinking gasoline.’’

I waved the complaint. ‘‘Since when does this firm take on frivolous lawsuits?’’

‘‘What are you talking about?’’

I flipped to page three. ‘‘ ‘Knowing that her actions would cause emotional distress, Delaney did attempt to serve legal documents on Calvin Diamond in full view of Mrs. Diamond . . .’ This is nonactionable. It’s preposterous.’’

‘‘Tone it down,’’ she said, glancing at the receptionist. ‘‘I don’t know anything about this.’’

‘‘ ‘Said attempted service of legal documents was committed in a shocking manner; to wit—’ ’’ I looked up. ‘‘ ‘To wit’? What is this,
Twelfth Night
?’’

‘‘Enough.’’

‘‘Like hell. I’m just the tip of the iceberg. Wait till Jesse shows up with Lavonne Marks.’’

‘‘Whoop-de-doo, get out the party hats.’’ She put a hand on my back and walked me to the elevator. ‘‘Let’s go get coffee.’’

I shrugged her off. ‘‘Why do people keep trying to hustle me out of places?’’

‘‘Maybe because you’re acting like a human air raid siren.’’

The elevator came, and we got on.

‘‘When did your firm start representing Mari Vasquez Diamond?’’ I said.

‘‘None of your business.’’ She watched the numbers go down.

I said, ‘‘Who referred her, Kenny Rudenski?’’ Her mouth pursed, and I knew I’d guessed right. ‘‘What is this thing you have with Kenny? He’s bad news, Harley. Seriously bad. You should cut yourself off from him.’’

‘‘I keep telling you, he’s—’’

‘‘Yeah. Misunderstood. He’s really a sweetheart. You sound like a teenage girl with a crush on him.’’

Her eyes bruised and her face pinched. The elevator opened and we headed outside. She wasn’t looking at me. I knew I’d pushed too hard.

‘‘Okay, I take that back,’’ I said. ‘‘But what about the lawsuit?’’

She held up her hands, looking brittle. ‘‘Obviously this action shouldn’t have been filed. The person who did it is a junior associate. I don’t know how it happened, but it shouldn’t have . . .’’ Her voice trailed off.

‘‘Shouldn’t have gone this far? No kidding. Sounds like you need to exercise better supervision over your attorneys. ’’

‘‘My God, will you just back off? You’re like a monkey hissing on my shoulder. I’ll deal with it.’’

‘‘Harley, what’s wrong with you?’’

She laughed. It was a shrill sound. ‘‘Where shall I start?’’

‘‘Is it to do with Kenny?’’

‘‘No, it’s not Kenny. It’s Cassie.’’ She pushed her hair off her face. ‘‘We’re breaking up.’’ She sighed. ‘‘My life’s doing a slow turn on the rotisserie right now. But don’t worry; I’ll sort this thing out with Mrs. Diamond. And I’ll talk to Lavonne Marks. We’ll be professional about it tonight. No catfighting over the Jell-O molds.’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘The bridal shower.’’ Then she shut her eyes. ‘‘Damn, it’s a surprise, isn’t it.’’

‘‘Not anymore.’’

Four hours to the deadline and I had accomplished nothing except to learn how dismally ignorant I was of the dangers surrounding me. I hadn’t been able to help Jesse one bit. I ended up at his office, telling him about the encounter with Jax and Tim and Cherry Lopez. Behind him, outside the window, the mountains loomed blue-green in the sun.

‘‘Retired assassins. What the hell does that mean?’’ he said. ‘‘These people are screwing with you, Ev. Giving you a major mind job.’’

‘‘You don’t think they’re for real?’’

‘‘This ghostwriting thing isn’t for real. They don’t actually expect you to write a book that violates U.S. and U.K. national security laws, and confesses to contract killings. That’s nuts.’’

I jammed my hands in my back pockets.

‘‘Whatever they want from you, it isn’t your turn of phrase.’’

‘‘I don’t think they’re faking. They’re not making this up,’’ I said.

‘‘I don’t think so either. Which leaves two possibilities. One, they really did stop an attack on you this afternoon. Or two, it was a setup and they were in on the whole thing with this Cherry Lopez.’’

‘‘Now you’re messing with my mind.’’

‘‘You didn’t see them take her down. You didn’t see them tie her up. And you didn’t see what happened after you left the men’s room. Maybe North untied her and they sampled the scented soaps and had a good laugh about you.’’

‘‘Why would they do that?’’

‘‘To scare you, to convince you they were on your side, who knows? That’s the thing with mind jobs.’’ He ran a hand through his dark hair. Under the sun coming through the window, his face was sere. ‘‘Either way it’s bad news. It means they aren’t retired. They’re still in business.’’

I felt as though I had a ball of string lodged in my throat.

‘‘Don’t call Jax back,’’ he said. ‘‘Close the door on these people. They’re nothing but trouble.’’

I leaned against the windowsill. ‘‘I’m not going to the bridal shower. I’m staying with you until we know what Yago’s going to do.’’

‘‘Absolutely not. You have to go so that I can hear all the gory details.’’

‘‘Jesse, I’m scared.’’

‘‘She’s just your cousin, Ev. Repeat after me: ‘The power of Christ compels you.’ ’’

‘‘You know what I’m talking about.’’

‘‘Yes. And we’re not going to cower. So go home and get dressed.’’ He tapped a pencil against my knee. ‘‘You have to practice looking surprised.’’

‘‘It’s Tater. No matter how I prepare myself, I’m going to be surprised.’’

Understatement of the year.

Nikki’s front door was open and music was rolling out, Alicia Keys, ‘‘A Woman’s Worth.’’ I walked in and saw the balloons, clown bright against the sunset. I felt glad I was wearing the red dress with gold poppies. I heard voices in the kitchen.

Carl came jogging down the stairs, holding Thea. ‘‘You look lovely.’’ He pecked me on the cheek. ‘‘I had no idea about your family. You deserve a medal.’’

‘‘What—’’

He continued straight out the door. ‘‘We’re going to the driving range. Remember, you can get through this.’’ Thea waved at me over his shoulder.

‘‘Well, don’t you look darling.’’ Taylor’s voice came at me. ‘‘See what happens when you give it the old college try?’’

Her own dress was a screaming shade of orange. She knuckled my wrist and pulled me into the dining room. Finger food was set out on the table.

‘‘I got a little visit from the FBI,’’ she said.

My stomach dropped. ‘‘What did you tell them?’’

‘‘I saw you yesterday at In-N-Out. You had a cheese-burger, fries, and a boyfriend who’s a real kidder.’’

‘‘Did they explain what it was about?’’

‘‘This Franklin Brand and his confederates killed the plumber.’’ Her blueberry eyes were hot to bursting. ‘‘It’s organized crime, right? Or racketeering?’’

‘‘Agent Van Heusen told you that?’’

‘‘Not in so many words, but it’s big or Dale wouldn’t be working on it.’’

‘‘You know, seeing how he’s with the money-laundering unit.’’

Her orange dress pulsed before my eyes. Van Heusen was investigating money laundering.

Nikki came in carrying a tray of antipasti. ‘‘Hi, sweetie.’’

Taylor stared at the tray. ‘‘Why don’t I see the jalapeño poppers?’’

‘‘They’re in the oven.’’ Nikki gave me a hug.

‘‘Bring them out; they’re real popular. Come on, we have a schedule.’’

‘‘Oven mitt’s on the counter. I’m going to present the party girl to her guests.’’

Nikki laced fingers with me and led me to the living room. When I started to speak she said, ‘‘Everything’s cool. We’re going to have a fine time.’’

I breathed, trying to rearrange my head, and smiled at the potpourri of guests Taylor had assembled. It looked as though she’d invited anybody whose name she could find on my desk. There were Lavonne Marks and Harley Dawson. They were looking civil toward each other. Amber Gibbs, and Helen Potts from across the street. And Patsy Blackburn, Jesse’s mother. Her ice-pink suit was accessorized with a tumbler of Smirnoff. There was Taylor clipping into the room, saying, ‘‘Girls, scoot in here. We’re going to play a game.’’