Don Winslow - California Fire And Life

"How are the times now?"

"Picking up, thank you."

"So you could sell them now."

"Probably."

"For these values?" Jack asks, pointing at the inventory.

"I don't want to harm a customer and a friend," Vince says.

"Are you talking about me or Nicky?"

"Both."

"Relax," Jack says. "If these prices are roughly in line with what he should have paid for them at the time of purchase, we'll pay those numbers. I'm not interested in playing hardball here."

"Then assuming I could sell the pieces, the prices would be a little lower," Vince says. "Call it a market correction."

"Did he try to sell the bed?"

"Noooo," Vince says. "I might have bought that piece for myself. The bed is…"

"Ashes."

"A real shame."

"So run these for me, Vince?"

"Of course," Vince says. "Give me a day or two or three?"

"Whatever you need to do it right."

"Can I buy you a cappuccino?"

Doesn't anyone drink just coffee anymore? Jack wonders.

"I have to run," he says. "Rain check."

"Keep it in your pocket."

Jack gets up and shakes his hand. Starts to leave and then asks, "Hey, Vince, you remember the night of the fire?"

Vince actually shudders. "Who could forget?"

"Did you think it was going to be the end of the world?"

"I don't know about the whole world," Vince says. "I think I thought it was going to be the end of our world."

"Yeah."

The end of our world.

Letty del Rio has a headache.

She has a headache for precisely the reason she knew she was going to have a headache — she's sitting in Uncle Nguyen's den talking to Uncle Nguyen.

"From one policeman to another," Nguyen is saying, "I know how these things are."

He's a handsome old dog, she thinks. Full head of silver hair, bright eyes, a glow to the skin. Maybe thirty pounds overweight, but it looks good on him. Nice clothes, too — a plum Calvin Klein polo over a pair of white slacks.

"Then perhaps you can help me," she says.

"Difficult," he says. "These cases are difficult."

"Very difficult."

She finds it distracting that Nguyen is looking over her shoulder. The Angels are on television. Edmonds is up in the eighth with one out and a man on base.

Id rather be watching the game, too, she thinks.

"Tranh and Do?" Nguyen asks.

"Tranh and Do."

For like the seventh friggin' time.

"Missing?" he asks.

Her head feels like someone's drawing needles through her ears.

"Missing," Letty says.

"Who reported them missing?" Nguyen asks.

"Tommy Do's mother."

Nguyen watches Edmonds take a called strike, mulls over the call for a while, then says, "Tommy Do's mother."

Letty thinks maybe she has a brain hemorrhage. She turns around, lowers the volume on the television and says, "Uncle Nguyen, can we cut through the shit?"

Nguyen smiles. "Two cops? Two cops should be able to cut through the shit."

"Good," Letty says. "Then stop jerking my chain. And please stop repeating everything I say. I know you run everything around here. I know that nobody as much as pees in Little Saigon unless they ask you first if they can unzip their fly. I know this, so you don't have to prove anything to me. Okay?"

Nguyen nods his head in acknowledgment.

"So I know that you have to know something about these two boys."

"They are neighborhood boys."

"They were connected with a chop shop-"

"Chop shop?"

"Oh, come on," Letty says. "Look, I arrested five boys this afternoon who pretended they never heard of Tranh and Do when I know damn well that Tranh and Do worked there."

This is not news to Nguyen, who was informed of the raid before Letty even left the chop shop. Nguyen is royally pissed that one of his shops got busted and that he loses that income and has to spring for bail for an entire covey of young incompetents.

Letty del Rio knows that by the time she's back in her car gobbling Excedrin that Uncle Nguyen will be twanging people's wires. Letty del Rio is smart enough to know that Nguyen was not going to tell her word one. The purpose of her visit was to light a firecracker under his smug butt and then watch what happens.

Give him a headache for a change.

Jack pulls into the Monarch Bay Shopping Plaza and looks for a drugstore. There's only one, so it's easy, and a minute later he's at the pharmacist's counter.

"I'm here," Jack says, "to pick up a prescription for Pamela Vale?"

Asks this with a question mark at the end because that's the Southern California way of being polite while making a demand. Sort of an unspoken If it's okay with you.

"Are you a family member?" the pharmacist asks.

She's young and pretty and her shiny red hair looks great against her white lab coat. The tag on her chest says her name is Kelly.

"I'm kind of a personal assistant," Jack says.

"Hold on," Kelly says, and she consults the computer monitor behind the counter. Then she asks, "Which prescription is it?"

"Sleeping pills?"

"Valium," Kelly says. "But that prescription has already been picked up."

"Really?"

"Three days ago," she says. "And that was the last refill."

"Whoops," Jack says.

"Sorry," Kelly says. "Is she going to be pissed?"

"She's not going to be happy."

Kelly gives him an empathetic frown, then asks, "Has she tried melatonin?"

"What's that?"

"Over-the-counter. Puts you right out and it's totally natural."

"Cool."

"You should try it," Kelly says.

"Me?"

"Sure."

Jack shakes his head. "I sleep like a baby."

"That must be so cute."

Then Kelly says, "I don't want to bum you out, but I don't think you're her only personal assistant."

"No?"

Kelly leans across the counter. "The last guy was hunkier than you."

"Uh-oh."

"But not as good-looking."

Which doesn't describe Nicky Vale, Jack thinks. Nicky Vale is a lot better-looking than me.

Kelly adds, "Real big shoulders and he wore this dorky Hawaiian shirt? The kind you get at, like, every store in Catalina? He looked like a florist shop with hair. Had a foreign accent."

"What kind of accent?"

Kelly asks, "Do you watch the Cartoon Network?"

"I think it's on when I work."

"No, it's on twenty-four hours."

"Okay."

"Anyway," Kelly says. "On the Cartoon Network they have this show? Rocky and Bullwinkle?"

"It was on when I was a kid," Jack says.

"Really?"

"Yup."

"So you know the two bad guys?" Kelly asks. "Boris and Natasha? They always wear black and he has this stiff little mustache?"

"Uh-huh."

"That's what the guy talked like. Like, Oooh, I'm going to get that moose and squirrel. Like that."

"That's a pretty good imitation."

"Thank you."

Jack says, "Well, I'd better get going."

Kelly shrugs.

Like, whatever.

Like, personal assistants come in here all the time.

The Mustang can move.

It ain't Nicky's Porsche, of course, but then again you ain't gonna be doing a hundred and forty on the PCH either. Not on the stretch between Monarch Bay and Dana Point, so the classic '66 is doing just fine, thank you.

See, what Jack does is he drives down to Monarch Bay, ignores the guard and does a U-turn at the gate. Comes to a complete stop.

He checks his watch.

Says, "Go."

Stomps on the gas pedal and leaves a satisfying streak of rubber behind him. Pulls out on the PCH, takes a right and heads south toward Dana Point. Hits the red light at Ritz-Carlton Drive (fuck you, Ritz-Carlton, you get your own friggin' traffic signal), then stomps on it again. Makes it clear down to where the PCH South splits and becomes Del Prado, and turns right on Blue Lantern. Takes Blue Lantern to the top of Harbor Drive and takes another right and bingo, he's at the Vale driveway, 37 Bluffside Drive.