It does matter, Curtis says. It matters to me.
Kagami doesn’t respond. He’s staring at the night, looking very sad and very tired. Smoke rises from the ash of his cigar in a solid wavering column, like the ghost-white proboscis of butterfly, until the HVAC whisks it away. Curtis is watching it snake toward the ceiling when he notices a low rumble of turbofans outside. He looks out the window, searching the sky for moving lights.
Recognize that? Kagami says.
Curtis listens hard, then shakes his head.
New stealth fighter. I’m pretty sure. Haven’t seen it yet.
The sound of the engines fades. Heard any news about the war? Curtis asks.
Kagami shifts in his chair, leans forward. Curtis can see him getting comfortable, shuffling facts in his head, winding himself up for another practiced run of summary and analysis. Then he stops, like he’s tapped out, like he just doesn’t have it in him. Curtis, he says, when’s the last time you talked to Damon?
I got a fax from him this morning. I haven’t talked to him since I been out here. He’s not returning my calls.
The waitress passes, and Kagami signals for the check, scribbling on an imaginary pad with the cigar. Then he lifts the panatela to his lips, takes a series of quick puffs, and crushes the stub in the cutglass tray.
Listen, kid, he says. Stanley’s gone. He left town this morning, before dawn. I dropped him at McCarran myself. He didn’t say where he was going, and I didn’t ask, but my guess is that he went back to AC to settle with Damon. I think he’s done about all the hiding out he can stand.
Veronica’s still here. I just saw her.
Well, she would be, right? If Veronica and Stanley both have the goods on Damon, then they’re gonna split up. They become each other’s insurance.
I figured they’d be watching each other’s back.
Kagami shakes his head. You got this all wrong, he says. You’re still talking about Stanley and Veronica like they’re regular people. They’re not. Different set of rules, different set of concerns. You’ve put yourself in a bad spot here. You want me to believe that you’re a stand-up guy, that you’re not some kind of thug? Okay. Be a stand-up guy. Go home to your wife. You can’t help Stanley, kid. You don’t have the juice. Not here, not anywhere. And that’s not something to be ashamed of, believe me. The best thing you can do for him is to forget about all of this. We’re not talking about your old Uncle Stanley who used to do magic tricks. You’re not in that scene anymore. I could tell you some stories. But I won’t. Because he wouldn’t want me to.
The check comes. Kagami lays a crisp bill in the plastic tray.
I will tell you this, he says. I heard this one maybe a year or two before I even met Stanley. Back when he was still a very young guy, he was in this poker game in Pasadena—