L.A. Requiem

Some of us find our way with a single light to guide us; others lose themselves even when the star field is as sharp as a neon ceiling. Ethics may not be situational, but feelings are. We learn to adjust, and, over time, the stars we use to guide ourselves come to reside within rather than without.

I love L.A. It's a great, sprawling, spread-to-hell city that protects us by its sheer size. Four hundred sixty-five square miles. Eleven million beating hearts in Los Angeles County, documented and not. Eleven million. What are the odds? The girl raped beneath the Hollywood sign isn't your sister, the boy back-stroking in a red pool isn't your son, the splatter patterns on the ATM machine are sourceless urban art. We're safe that way. When it happens it's going to happen to someone else.

A fine layer of ash had blown into the carport, showing a single set of cat prints going from the side of the house to the cat hatch built into my door. People in Minnesota see things like this with snow.

Officer Pike took off his dark glasses, and looked at her. She felt her breath catch. His eyes were the most liquid blue, the blue of the sky over the high deserts of Sonora, the blue of the ocean where it has no bottom and is infinitely clean. But it wasn’t the blue that stopped her breath. For just a moment when the glasses were first pulled away, she could have sworn that those eyes were filled with the most terrible and long-endured pain. Then the pain was gone and there was only the blue.

People often die from love, and this is a secret we all keep, even from ourselves.

the lobby pay phone, and called her. She answered on the second ring.

there was nothing.” “Did you look for oil drips?” Cole said it just like that, without accusation, and Chen felt himself darken. “What do you mean?” “The Lake Hollywood report mentions oil drips that you found at the scene. You took samples up there and identified the oil.” “Penzoil 10-40.” “If the shooter’s car was leaking up at the lake, it probably left drops here, too. If we found them, maybe you could prove they’d come from the same vehicle.

the police could follow him without dogs or helicopters. As we banged down the stairs, I said, “There’s a trail works south through the mountains to a subdivision above

a cop shouted our location to the people on the road. Krantz wasn’t holding a gun, but his eyes were on Pike as if he were a down-range target. I expected him to start with our rights, or tell us we were under arrest, or maybe even gloat, but he didn’t.

Wozniak wet his lips. “You’ve got Paulette and Evelyn to think about.” Wozniak’s wife and daughter. The cloudy eyes flicked to Pike, as bottomless and as dangerous as a thunderhead. “I’ve been thinking about them, Pike. You bet your ass.

That Sunday, the sun floated bright and hot over the Los Angeles basin, pushing people to the beaches and the parks and into backyard pools to escape the heat. The air buzzed with the nervous palsy it gets when the wind freight-trains in from the deserts, dry as bone, and cooking the hillsides into tar-filled kindling that can snap into flames hot enough to melt an auto body.

In L.A., next to riots and earthquakes, fires are our largest spectator sport.

She stepped away and considered the couch. “First we have to get this house in order. Would you please move the couch again?” I stared at the couch. I had moved it maybe eight hundred times in the last two days. “Which wall?” She chewed at her thumb, thinking. “Over there.” “That’s where it was two moves ago.” It was a big couch. It probably weighed three thousand pounds. “Yes, but that was when the entertainment center was by the fireplace. Now that we’ve put the entertainment center by the entry, the look will be completely different.” “We?” “Yes. We.” I bent into the couch and dragged it to the opposite wall. Four thousand pounds. I was squaring the couch when the phone rang. Lucy spoke for a minute, then held out the phone. “Joe.” Joe Pike and I are partners in the detective agency that bears my name. He could have his name on it if he wanted, but he doesn’t. He’s like that. I took the phone. “Hernias R Us.” Lucy rolled her eyes and turned away, already contemplating new sofa arrangements.

She said, “What did Joe want?” “The daughter of a friend of his is missing. He wants me to help check it out.” Lucy looked up at me, her face now serious. “A child?” “He didn’t say. You mind if I go?” She glanced at the couch again. “You’ll do anything to avoid this couch, won’t you?” “Yeah. I hate that damned couch.” Lucy laughed, then looked into my eyes again. “I’d mind if you didn’t go. Take a shower and go save the world.

Is Dolan there?” “What’s it to you?” “I want to talk to her.” “Haven’t seen her. You wanna know what I heard Krantz say?” “I’m not going to like this, am I?” “Krantz says you were probably in on it with that bastard, Pike. He says if he can tie you into it, maybe you and Pike can do the IV tango together.” Williams

Here’s the scene: The three of us are by the Olympic-sized pool. The Latina with the thick waist is hovering in the shade of the veranda up by the house, her eyes on Frank in case he might want something, but so far he doesn’t and he hasn’t offered anything to me. If he did, I would ask for sunblock because standing here next to his pool is like standing on the sun side of Mercury. Gotta be ninety-six and climbing. Behind us is a pool house larger than my home, and through the sliding glass doors I can see a pool table, wet bar, and paintings of vaqueros in the Mexican highlands. It is air-conditioned in there, but apparently Frank would rather sit out here in the nuclear heat. Statues of lions dot the landscape, as motionless as Joe Pike, who has not moved once in the three minutes that I have been there. Pike is wearing a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, faded Levi’s, and flat black pilot’s glasses, which is the way he dresses every day of his life. His dark brown hair is cut short, and bright red arrows were tattooed on the outside of his deltoids long before tattoos were au courant. Watching Joe stand there, he reminds me of the world’s largest two-legged pit bull.

The woman with the thick waist showed us out through the cool of Frank Garcia’s home. Joe’s red Jeep Cherokee was parked beneath an elm tree at the curb. My car was parked behind it. Pike and I walked down the drive without speaking until we came to the street, and then Joe said, “Thanks for coming.” “I guess there are worse ways to spend a Sunday. I could be wrestling that damned couch.” Pike canted the glasses my way. “We finish this, I’ll move the couch for you.” Friends.

I said, “Pretty.” “Yes. She is.” “You had to be seeing her, when, before you knew me?” His eyes never left the picture. “I knew you, but I was still on the job.” I remember Joe dating back then, but the relationships seemed as they were now, none more important than any other. “I guess you were tight with this girl.” Joe nodded. “So what happened?” Pike handed back the picture. “I broke her heart.” “Oh.” Sometimes prying is a lousy idea.

There is great audacity in the willingness to change, more than a little optimism, and a serious dose of courage. It

Pike held out Karen’s photograph. “Have you seen this woman?” “No. I am sorry.” Every word like that. Without contractions.

We asked the people at the flower shop if they had seen anything, but they hadn’t. We asked every shopkeeper in the strip mall and most of the employees, but they all said no. I hoped they had seen something to indicate that Karen was safe, but deep down, where your blood runs cold, I knew they hadn’t.

know.” She took a breath, and suddenly I liked her smile a great deal. “Maybe you are.