Heroin is probably good medicine for his natural paranoia. I told him I had a bit of a situation and should probably leave.
There was a bindle in the top left drawer in the bathroom. I had just had four drinks and my back was feeling pretty good, so I snorted a third of the powder and folded the rest up for when I got home. On a whim, I took out the geologist reports and put them in a cupboard under the sink, folded into a plush green towel. I left the photocopies in the Halliburton.
This time I headed the opposite direction, north toward Washington Boulevard, and then doubled back to get my bike. I was pretty high when I got to it. The ride home was mostly a dream until I got to my street. It got darker when I turned off Venice Boulevard, and I noticed a silver Mustang, shiny and new, turn just behind me. It caught up and paced me for the length of a few houses and . . .
And that’s all I remember.
¤ ¤ ¤
“What do you mean, that’s all you remember? You left the Cheesecake, you went across the street to your friend’s and had a drink, you rode your goddamn bike home, and that’s all you remember? That’s your whole fucking story?” She’s just about shouting.
The kid next to us stops his drumming and looks at her and says, “It’s as good as your lame story,” and then closes his eyes and starts conducting his inner symphony.
I tell her that’s when they must have jumped me, whacked me in the head with a bat, and taken the attaché case. That I have strange mental blank spots about the next twenty-four hours. I look at her and spread my hands as if to say, “So there you have it.”
She twists the top button of her blouse. I’d like to twist it off, along with the rest of them, but then what could I do? I honestly don’t know. She says, “So what do you mean, maybe you can help me get it back?”
I tell her that I switched out the reports and that all the goons got were copies. Her hand flies back to my knee and she says, “You’ve still got it? Are you kidding me? Let’s go get it.”
It seems dumb—I was just at Jimmy’s—but hey, who knew? What I do know is that nobody wakes Jimmy before two in the afternoon. I tell her it’s not that easy and I’ll phone her in a few hours, then I get up to leave.
She stands up, hugs me, and says, “I’m sorry I got you into this. And about what I said earlier.”
I tell her “No problem,” but what I really want now is to get out of here and figure some things out.
Tanya lets me go and takes a step back. She says, “These are really dangerous people. I think they’ve killed before.”
I don’t doubt her for a minute. I tell her, “Hey, I’m unkillable.”
7
I step out into the Venice morning. Traffic is heavy on Lincoln, both ways, and the shops are starting to open. There’s not a cloud in the sky, but the scene looks like a charcoal sketch to me. Some people brag about dreaming in color, but I think anyone who dreams in black and white must be in need of some new meds. I watch the traffic light change and the cars start moving. The difference between red and green is subtle when they’re both just shades of gray.
I’m in the Z and buckling up when my cell rings. The screen tells me it’s my ex-wife. I could ignore it, but instead I answer with one of her favorite lines: “I’ve got a headache and I’m not in the mood.”
She says, “You need to come over here right away.” It’s 9:00 a.m. and she’s slurring her words.
“I don’t think so,” I tell her. I’ve seen her benders. She can get crazier than a bag full of rats in a burning meth lab, and I prefer to stay as far away as possible.
There’s a click, and my daughter picks up an extension. “Dad, for Christ’s sake, get me out of here.” She sounds desperate.
Allison screams, “You get off the line right now, you little bitch. Charlie, get your ass over here now and pick up your goddamn drug-addict daughter or I’m sending her to a lockdown in
There was a bindle in the top left drawer in the bathroom. I had just had four drinks and my back was feeling pretty good, so I snorted a third of the powder and folded the rest up for when I got home. On a whim, I took out the geologist reports and put them in a cupboard under the sink, folded into a plush green towel. I left the photocopies in the Halliburton.
This time I headed the opposite direction, north toward Washington Boulevard, and then doubled back to get my bike. I was pretty high when I got to it. The ride home was mostly a dream until I got to my street. It got darker when I turned off Venice Boulevard, and I noticed a silver Mustang, shiny and new, turn just behind me. It caught up and paced me for the length of a few houses and . . .
And that’s all I remember.
¤ ¤ ¤
“What do you mean, that’s all you remember? You left the Cheesecake, you went across the street to your friend’s and had a drink, you rode your goddamn bike home, and that’s all you remember? That’s your whole fucking story?” She’s just about shouting.
The kid next to us stops his drumming and looks at her and says, “It’s as good as your lame story,” and then closes his eyes and starts conducting his inner symphony.
I tell her that’s when they must have jumped me, whacked me in the head with a bat, and taken the attaché case. That I have strange mental blank spots about the next twenty-four hours. I look at her and spread my hands as if to say, “So there you have it.”
She twists the top button of her blouse. I’d like to twist it off, along with the rest of them, but then what could I do? I honestly don’t know. She says, “So what do you mean, maybe you can help me get it back?”
I tell her that I switched out the reports and that all the goons got were copies. Her hand flies back to my knee and she says, “You’ve still got it? Are you kidding me? Let’s go get it.”
It seems dumb—I was just at Jimmy’s—but hey, who knew? What I do know is that nobody wakes Jimmy before two in the afternoon. I tell her it’s not that easy and I’ll phone her in a few hours, then I get up to leave.
She stands up, hugs me, and says, “I’m sorry I got you into this. And about what I said earlier.”
I tell her “No problem,” but what I really want now is to get out of here and figure some things out.
Tanya lets me go and takes a step back. She says, “These are really dangerous people. I think they’ve killed before.”
I don’t doubt her for a minute. I tell her, “Hey, I’m unkillable.”
7
I step out into the Venice morning. Traffic is heavy on Lincoln, both ways, and the shops are starting to open. There’s not a cloud in the sky, but the scene looks like a charcoal sketch to me. Some people brag about dreaming in color, but I think anyone who dreams in black and white must be in need of some new meds. I watch the traffic light change and the cars start moving. The difference between red and green is subtle when they’re both just shades of gray.
I’m in the Z and buckling up when my cell rings. The screen tells me it’s my ex-wife. I could ignore it, but instead I answer with one of her favorite lines: “I’ve got a headache and I’m not in the mood.”
She says, “You need to come over here right away.” It’s 9:00 a.m. and she’s slurring her words.
“I don’t think so,” I tell her. I’ve seen her benders. She can get crazier than a bag full of rats in a burning meth lab, and I prefer to stay as far away as possible.
There’s a click, and my daughter picks up an extension. “Dad, for Christ’s sake, get me out of here.” She sounds desperate.
Allison screams, “You get off the line right now, you little bitch. Charlie, get your ass over here now and pick up your goddamn drug-addict daughter or I’m sending her to a lockdown in
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