“I’m not answering any more questions until you answer some of mine. I’m not surprised Johnny’s blowing me off, but David I expected better from. This is bullshit.”
A motorcycle roared by, giving me a moment to think. In my years of dealing with touchy actors and underpaid crew, I had learned that trying to soothe an angry person is like pouring gasoline on a fire. There are only two good ways to deal with someone’s anger: give it what it wants, or failing that, agree with it.
“You’re right,” I said as soon as the motorcycle had passed. “It’s bullshit.”
I was rewarded with a few seconds of silence. “What?” she finally managed.
“Screw him,” I said. “He gets what he wants and then kicks you to the curb. It’ll be me next, just watch. I don’t blame you for wanting to punch him in the mouth.”
“Well, it’s not right.” I could hear her relax a little.
“Damn right it’s not. And since when is John Riven anything but a hot piece of ass? Why does the world seem to revolve around him all of a sudden?”
“What is he up to?” Another pause as she reengaged her Reason Mind. “What exactly is your relationship with David?”
“He prefers I don’t talk about the specifics.”
“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re a PI, aren’t you?”
Sure, why not? “Well, at least I can honestly say I didn’t tell you that. David hired me to look into Johnny.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Just hold up a minute here. David hired a PI to check out his best friend? What the hell?”
“I don’t ask my clients a lot of unnecessary questions in this economy.” I loved dropping “in this economy” into conversation; it was like a get-out-of-logic-free card, especially if you were talking to people who couldn’t remember the last time they had to pick up their own dry cleaning.
Inaya started to laugh. “Sweet Jesus, this is a clusterfuck. You know Ellis Barnes?”
“Rings a bell.” It didn’t.
“I hired him to follow Berenbaum around.”
“Unbelievable,” I said. “People never just talk to each other.”
“If they did, you’d be out of a job.”
“You know I’m going to have to tell Berenbaum you’re investigating him, right?”
“Good!” she said. “Maybe that will get him to answer my damned calls. I never get ugly on voice mail, because I don’t want to see it on YouTube cut to paparazzi shots of me picking my nose. So you can be the one to tell him, I know about all those late-night trips to the construction site with Johnny and Vivian.”
“You do?” I said, trying not to sound thrown as I groped my memory for details. “Down in Manhattan Beach?”
“Mm-hmm.”
But I couldn’t ask what trips, or when, without casting severe doubt on my credibility.
“Tell you what,” I said. “I will tell Berenbaum you know about the Manhattan Beach meetings. I’ll tell him he’d better call you if he doesn’t want a PR disaster. In return, I would love to hear any juicy tidbits you have about Johnny’s life these days. The more illicit the better.”
“You have no idea how much I’d love that,” Inaya said. “But Johnny has always been the perfect gentleman. Almost suspiciously so.”
“I need more than that,” I said. “Like why the police would be looking for him.”
“The police? Shit, I had no idea.” But she was grinning; I could hear it.
“I just made your day, didn’t I.”
“Hell yes.”
“Do you have any reason to suspect Johnny did anything to Aaron Susman or anyone in his family?”
“Not that I’ve heard. But I’m going to put Ellis on this; he’s brilliant. I promise, whatever he finds out, after me you’ll be the very next person to know.”
My new pal and I said our good-byes, and I hobbled my way back into the coffee shop to find the table empty except for my backpack. My disappointment was intense until I saw the napkin that had been pushed over to my side of the table. I gave my damaged brain a moment to process the words on it.
WORK CALLS, URGENT. LET’S DO THIS AGAIN. And then his number, which I already had, but it lent sincerity to what might otherwise have seemed like a blow-off. I grinned as I folded the napkin and tucked it into my pocket.
Thanks to a reckless cabdriver, I returned to the Residence in plenty of time to head upstairs and check out my thigh wounds in the privacy of my room. They were looking better after some fresh air and attention, so I took a chance and carefully donned my AK prosthesis again. Then, grabbing my cane, I walked down the hall to pester Teo.
His door was ajar, and he was at his computer, surfing a recipe site at light speed while muttering something about butternut squash.
“Hey,” I said. “Do you post your recipes online?”
“Are you kidding?” he scoffed. “Would da Vinci make a YouTube tutorial on how to paint the Sistine Chapel?”
“Get up, Leonardo; the cripple needs your chair.”
To his credit, he did get up, pulling the chair out for me. I sat down with a muffled groan, and he started kneading my shoulders.