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knife.”
    “Yeah, I would’ve been too.”
    Ron looked grateful for the lie.
    “‘ Mr. Cera,’ sez   Arnold. ‘What do you think of Jade Lamont?’
    “‘She’s very pretty. Cool.’
    “ ‘Do you
like fucking her?’
    “I said, ‘Hold on, Man. I haven’t even seen her in
weeks.’
    “ ‘It’s come
to my attention that Ms. Lamont is trying to hurt Richard.’
    “I was lost and told Arnold he was going to have
to explain himself.
    “He goes, ‘Certainly.
Ms. Lamont has told Richard that she is going to press rape charges against
him, based on that time in Malibu when you forced Richard’s face down between
her--’ He stopped and cleared his throat. ‘--Womanly parts and then watched while he fucked her.’ ”
    I shivered. Something about this reminded me of
what I’d always heard about Hitler. The Big Lie approach to power mongering.
Always tell the big lie and it keeps everyone guessing.”
    “This is pretty weird. Who is this guy?”
    “He’s the very incarnation of evil. You should’ve
seen him. All the while he’s telling me this, he’s talking like he’s
Christopher Walken in ‘True Romance.’ It was freaky.”
    “Great movie.”
    “Yeah, anyway, I knew I was being blackmailed to
help them get to Jade.”
    “But that doesn’t make any sense.”
    “That asshole, Arnold, then tells me that if I
don’t help them find her, Richard’s prepared to swear under oath that I raped
him one night. Right here, in my place.”
    “What?”
    “I know, crazy.”
    “Why do that when Jade hired me to find Richie?”
    “You’re not too smart, are you?”
    “I have my moments.”
    “Arnold doesn’t give a crap about her or him. He
wants the whole ball’a wax, man. The empire.”
    “But Richard’s got plenty of money. All Arnold has
to do is get him to fork some over, or give him power of attorney.”
    “Not exactly. See, Jade’s already got that over
Richard’s end of the trust fund. He gets a certain amount each month, but
that’s it until such time as Jade, and the family lawyer, decide he’s mature
enough to handle it on his own. Considering his current condition, it could be
a cold day in hell before that happens.”
    “How much money’re we talking about?”
    “Enough to offset the national debt of a small
country.”
    “That’s a lotta motivation.”
    “Yep.”
    “How did it end?”
    “Arnold let’s Richie go, and kisses him gently. So
weird, dude.”
    “And Richie didn’t say or do anything?”
    “No. Arnold heads for the door, holding his hand.
He stops and looks at me, giving me that psycho death stare.”
    “That’s it?”
    “And sez, ‘48
hours,’ and leaves.”
    A cat hurtled past us, startling us out of the
intensity of the moment. “Shit,” is all I could croak out, somewhat
embarrassed.
    Ron dragged a nervous hand across his mouth and
took several deep breaths. We sat there for a while in silence, and when we’d
sufficiently calmed, got in his Civic and headed back to Milford’s. By now the
streets had emptied out as we drove through the mist, neon and soft air that
seemed to promise things it could never deliver.
    Ron pulled into the empty slot a few cars from
mine, and kept the motor running.
    “You’ve burned 24 of the 48. What’re you gonna
do?”
    “Move. Tonight.”
    We shook hands and I got out. He gave me one last
look, and pulled away into the night.

 
    As we drove east on Melrose, I played back the
tape for Brad. I dropped down to 3rd and hung a left, and we listened as we
passed through downtown and Skid Row. Tent City was flourishing with its army
of lost souls. Some pushed shopping carts full of woe, while others dragged
themselves across the stained and littered asphalt. We passed my office and the
warehouses that stretch east toward the river. There’s a restaurant on Traction
Street, Abel’s Market Diner, tucked in between a couple of abandoned
warehouses. No one would know it was there unless they knew the area. It opens
at