The Hell Yo, стр. 8
find a…a disk, did you?”
“What kind of a disk?” I was thinking favorite CD.
Friedlander looked flustered. “A floppy. It has research notes on it.”
“You think you lost it here?”
“I didn’t lose it,” he said irritably. “Gabe thinks he lost it. He’d had a lot to drink Friday
night, in case you didn’t notice.”
And he was walking around with a floppy disk stuck in his skin-tight leather jeans?
“I’m pretty sure I would have noticed a loose disk by now,” I said. “I can keep an eye out for
it.”
This must be some valuable disk if Savant was afraid to go anywhere without it – in
which case, how had he managed to lose track of it?
Reluctantly Friedlander turned back to me. “That would be great,” he said without
enthusiasm.
“This research,” I said, “would it have anything to do with the book Savant isn’t
writing?”
The glasses glinted blindly. “There is no book.”
“But maybe there should be?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no idea what you’re talking
about.”
“And Savant apparently had no idea what he was talking about, so that makes it
unanimous. All the same, this isn’t idle curiosity. I’ve heard rumors of a group here in LA.”
Friedlander stared at me. “My advice to you,” he said. “The next time you hear rumors?
Cover your ears.”
Chapter Three
Toward the end of Saturday’s brunch, Lisa wrangled a promise from me to meet “our
new family” for dinner Monday night. When I questioned the urgency, she had blushed, said
that she and the councilman were considering a winter wedding.
“You mean…this winter?”
She nodded eagerly. “If we can pull it off.”
Having spent years watching Lisa organize all kinds of last-minute emergency fund-
raisers and charity functions, I figured she could have marshaled a full-scale military
campaign in less time. I had no doubt the “golden, mellow wedding bells would be ringing
through the night, ringing out in all delight,” or whatever the hell it was Poe said in “The
Bells.”
“How extended is our new family?” I’d inquired cautiously.
“Bill has three lovely daughters.” She gave a long, sentimental sigh. “I never had a
daughter, and now I’ll have three.”
“You don’t even like girls.”
She looked indignant. “Of course I like girls!”
“You sure never liked any girl I brought home.”
“None of those girls was right for you, Adrien.”
She had a point there.
I figured the least I could do was keep the English end up – in a manner of speaking. I
closed the shop as soon as I reasonably could, showered, shaved, and hauled the charcoal
gray Hugo Boss suit out of the back of my closet. The last time I’d worn it had been to Robert
Hersey’s funeral. My mood wasn’t a lot more cheerful that evening.
I brightened a bit driving the Forester. Nothing like a new toy. I did a kind of Car and
Driver interior monologue – smooth ride with decent acceleration…light but responsive
steering – as I pulled onto the freeway. Thoughts of battling the forces of evil temporarily
took a back seat.
We were meeting at Pacific Dining Car on West 6th Street in Los Angeles. Starting out
as a railway dining car parked on a rented lot in downtown Los Angeles, the legendary
family-owned restaurant has been around since 1921. This was the place where the city’s
bigwigs, politicians, lawyers, and businessmen broke bread and cut their deals. It was pricey,
but unpretentious. The food (and wine list) was excellent. I thought it was a good sign that
we were dining there rather than at another overpriced, trendy eatery.
Our party had already been seated by the time I arrived, but Lisa came to meet me as I
made my way across the dining room. She looked radiant in something blue and beaded. Her
eyes were shining, her cheeks were flushed; she didn’t look a day over forty.
“Oh, darling, you look so handsome,” she whispered before hauling me off to meet the
Gang of Four.
Dauten rose from the head of the table to meet me. I’ve got to admit he was not at all
what I expected.
“Adrien.” He gave me a curt nod, though his handshake was hearty. He was big, bigger
than Jake even, though soft around the middle. Big and bald. His eyes were a shrewd Dutch-
Boy blue in his darkly tanned face. He would never have been good-looking, and I didn’t get
the impression he wasted a lot of time being charming. But he had a definite air of authority.
The aura of power. It would have been hard to find anyone more unlike my slim and
sophisticated father.
“Sir.” I tried to apply the right amount of pressure returning his handshake. Did these
people know I was gay? Was that going to be a problem? Not that I gave a damn what they
thought, but if Lisa had her heart set on this, I sure as hell didn’t want to be the deal breaker.
“Call me Bill.”
Thank God, because I was never going to call this guy Pop.
“And here are the girls,” fluted Lisa, sounding nervous.
There seemed to be a mob of them. Lisa was right; they were lovely. I was briefly
enveloped in a butterfly swarm of scented breasts and long legs and silky hair as the girls
maneuvered around each other, hugging and bussing cheeks with me, smiling meaningfully
at each other, and changing their seats for some unfathomable reason.
Once we were all seated, I realized there were only three of them. The eldest, Lauren,
looked about my age. She wore a wedding ring, though there was no sign of a husband. The
youngest, Emma, was twelve.
Their drinks arrived. My order for a double was taken by a sympathetic-looking waiter.
Everyone proceeded to talk at once.
“Adrien writes murder mysteries as well as owning a bookstore,” Lisa was explaining to
Dauten. I wondered if she’d waited till five minutes before dinner to break the news that she
had a grown son. “They’re terribly clever and terribly malicious, which is so surprising,
because he was always the most gentle little boy.”
“Her accent is too adorable,” Lauren said of my English-born mum, mercifully breaking
my concentration. “I just love to hear her talk.”
“Oh, me too,” I said. “Especially right now.”
On my right, the kid, Emma, giggled. I grinned at her.
Lauren and the middle girl (what the hell was her name?) were tall, willowy blondes,