Chapter 120
THIS WAS ONE of those times when the news was too big to text or e-mail or even say on the phone. I wanted to tell Justine, and I wanted to see her face when I told her.
I drove to Wetherly, a neat little street in the flats, and parked outside Justine’s three-bedroom 1930s house that was just as solid and sweet as a house could be.
A lot of cars were parked along her block. School was out and it was a pretty summer night. Kids rode by on bikes, sprinklers slapped at the lawns; TVs turned the windows blue and added a cool glow to a nice domestic scene.
Justine’s car was in her driveway and I was glad that she was home. I took the walk to her front door. Rapped on it. Rang the doorbell. Called her name.
There was no answer, so I went around back to her yard that is fenced in for Rocky and curtained with shrubbery. There’s a patio back there and also a pool.
As I approached the backyard, I saw Justine picking up some glasses and a wine bottle from a table by the pool. Her hair was wet, and she was wearing a white terrycloth robe. Cool jazz came over the speakers, which explained why Justine hadn’t heard me at the door.
Before I got to the chain-link fence, I called out so I wouldn’t startle her.
“Justine, it’s me.”
But she jumped anyway and grabbed her robe at her throat. Then she saw me through the leaves and said, “Jack, what’s wrong?”
“I’ve got news,” I said. “Why don’t you go around front and let me in?”
“What’s the news? What happened?”
“Nothing much. Maybe just proof that God exists. Or that there’s justice in the world.” I laughed, opened my arms expansively. I couldn’t wait to tell her.
“This had better be good,” she said. She put down the glassware and came closer to the fence.
“The Sumaris,” I said. “A car going about ninety the wrong way on I-5 slammed into them. Khezir and Gozan are dead.”
“Oh my God,” Justine said. “So much for diplomatic immunity.”
“You want to say, ‘Jack, come in’?”
She shook her head no.
I tried to read her expression and that’s when I put the wineglasses and the music together. I looked past her and saw someone hauling himself out of the water at the far side of the pool.
He called out to her, “Justine? Is everything okay?”
Cruz hooked a towel around his waist. His long hair dripped water down his chest as he came across the yard toward us. “Jack?”
I grabbed the fence, rattled it hard, and shouted, “What the hell is this, Emilio? What the hell?”