Chapter 80
GOZAN REMARI HAD fallen hard for Rodeo Drive, but the Grove put Rodeo in the shade. This outdoor mall was delicious and ostentatious in the unique American way that he both loved and abhorred.
Mostly, he loved it: the wide avenue lined with excellent shops and restaurants, the electric trolley that zipped up and down between First Street and the Grove and the Farmers’ Market, taking tourists through this sugarcoated Disneyland of excess.
And then, at the center of everything, there was this.
Gozan stood in front of the dancing fountain, watching it shoot up jets of water in time to one of Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits. He couldn’t keep himself from singing along: “‘The summer wind came blowing in from across the sea.’”
Someone put a hand on Gozan’s shoulder, and he jerked around. Khezir was calling his name, breaking into his thoughts.
“Don’t leave me by myself with them,” Khezzy said, reminding Gozan that they were not alone.
The three men from Ra Galiz, standing with their hands behind their backs, were not amused by the many delights of the Grove. To them, the mall was obscene, but it was also a noisy backdrop for a meeting, a place where they would not be noticed.
They were here to issue directives and warnings to Khezir and they had given Gozan an actual headache, right at the top of his head. They didn’t understand Khezzy. Talking to him as if he were slow only angered his nephew and would make him defiant.
Gozan turned his back on the incredible fountain and joined the men strolling along the street. He was thinking that there could not be a more bizarre collection of people than the five of them walking together in sports jackets among the waves of visitors in shorts and flip-flops and floaty summer dresses.
He assumed a studious expression. He walked, listened, interjected a patriotic comment every now and then, but he was also watching the women who were everywhere, shopping and smiling and showing themselves off.
He caught the eye of a lovely, plump woman who was dallying in the doorway of Nordstrom, and she returned his look, boldly. She was with a friend. Blondes, both of them. Out here, they were almost always blond.
Gozan had spent a long week with Khezzy at Shutters, keeping a low profile, as they’d had to do. But now he was hungry for the touch of a woman. He’d heard an American expression that he found hilarious: chubby chaser. He wanted to say it to Khezzy right now, because it made both of them laugh.
Gozan interrupted the top man of the Ra Galiz unit, said, quietly, “I think this is a good time for us to part company, Balar. Good to see you again.” He shook the man’s hand. “We’ll be in touch. Khezzy. Come have lunch with me.”
Khezir gladly fell into step with his uncle, who said, “There is a time to discuss politics and a time to be chubby chasers.”
Khezzy started laughing and he kept at it until tears came into his eyes. Gozan turned back before the crowd swallowed them up, called to the men in black, “See you. Have a nice day.”
Then he forgot them. He and Khezir backtracked toward Nordstrom. Gozan hoped he could find that fleshy woman now. The way she had looked at him was promising.