still receding. He realized that she was probably as drunk as he was. He slapped his face and it felt numb. He had that bad feeling in his stomach again.
The Audi stuttered as it hurtled through the darkened upscale neighborhood. He was doing about seventy but could no longer see Janet’s taillights. The stutter happened again and he began to lose speed. He pumped the gas and picked up some power for a moment, but then the engine quit and he was coasting, out of gas.
“Shit. Unbelievable. Shit.” He hit the steering wheel with both hands. He had pulled over into the bike lane, miles from a gas station. He opened the door to step out but his leg didn’t support him and he rolled onto the street instead. He thought of Janet. Fuck her , he thought. If she hadn’t gone so damned fast she could have given him a ride .
He stood up and brushed off his jeans. He was only about a mile from the Canyon.
He had only been walking a short time when he heard a car coming up behind him. He turned around and saw a new Lincoln Continental slow down, then stop, in the middle of the street.
The window slid down. “Would you like a ride?” It was a man. He looked small, older. Jeff was grateful and let himself in.
“Where are you headed?” the man asked.
“Canyon, almost to the beach,” Jeff replied.
“Oh, well, that’s lucky. So am I.” Jeff noticed a softness to the man’s S’s. There was a cluster of gay bars in the Canyon. He put his head back on the plush leather headrest and hoped that the spinning would subside. He was glad that the driver didn’t try to make conversation.
When they got to the bottom of the Canyon, he asked the man to drop him off several buildings away from his apartment. He said, “Thanks a lot,” and closed the door. The window slid down again.
“Can I do anything for you?” the man asked.
“No, thanks, I’m all set,” Jeff replied.
“Well, I mean, is there anything you would like?” The man smiled this time.
“Yes,” said Jeff, “I would like to never feel like this again.” He turned away from the car.
“I know what you mean,” the man called out. “I’ll probably be saying the same thing in the morning.”
Jeff watched the man’s taillights fade as he walked the short distance to his apartment and then quickly let himself in. He crossed the dark room to sit at his desk and put his head down on its hard surface. He sat like that, wondering how anyone could wake up at nine at night, almost get busted, run out of gas, and drink until he was sick, all before one o’clock.
He glanced at his phone, which now told him he had sixteen messages. He couldn’t put it off anymore, so he dialed voicemail.
“Jeff, are you there? Jeff, pick up the phone. It’s your dad.” There was a click, then the voicemail recording telling him his options. He chose delete and played the next message.
“Jeff, call us at home, it’s . . .”
The next message was his mother. “Jeff, call us right away. I don’t know where you are but this is very important.” Christ, he thought, I can’t handle it. I need to straighten up just to call them.
The next call was the one he was worried about.
“Jeff, Richard.” Okay , he thought, how pissed off is Richard about his money? “Listen, man, sorry about your sister. I read about it. But you know what? I need some money tomorrow or you’re in deep shit.”
CHAPTER 12
⍫
Ron Pool woke early Friday morning and considered the day ahead. He would begin with a bowl of oatmeal and then head over to Griffith Park to run. He had a six-mile circuit that he ran four times a week. Then he would return home and shower, get dressed, drink some coffee, and drive downtown for an interview with a possible witness at the county jail. At lunchtime he would cross town to meet Joe Greiner at the station. The evening was open ended.
At half past noon, Ron headed toward the Westside. It was another hot and humid day in the seemingly endless sweltering
The Audi stuttered as it hurtled through the darkened upscale neighborhood. He was doing about seventy but could no longer see Janet’s taillights. The stutter happened again and he began to lose speed. He pumped the gas and picked up some power for a moment, but then the engine quit and he was coasting, out of gas.
“Shit. Unbelievable. Shit.” He hit the steering wheel with both hands. He had pulled over into the bike lane, miles from a gas station. He opened the door to step out but his leg didn’t support him and he rolled onto the street instead. He thought of Janet. Fuck her , he thought. If she hadn’t gone so damned fast she could have given him a ride .
He stood up and brushed off his jeans. He was only about a mile from the Canyon.
He had only been walking a short time when he heard a car coming up behind him. He turned around and saw a new Lincoln Continental slow down, then stop, in the middle of the street.
The window slid down. “Would you like a ride?” It was a man. He looked small, older. Jeff was grateful and let himself in.
“Where are you headed?” the man asked.
“Canyon, almost to the beach,” Jeff replied.
“Oh, well, that’s lucky. So am I.” Jeff noticed a softness to the man’s S’s. There was a cluster of gay bars in the Canyon. He put his head back on the plush leather headrest and hoped that the spinning would subside. He was glad that the driver didn’t try to make conversation.
When they got to the bottom of the Canyon, he asked the man to drop him off several buildings away from his apartment. He said, “Thanks a lot,” and closed the door. The window slid down again.
“Can I do anything for you?” the man asked.
“No, thanks, I’m all set,” Jeff replied.
“Well, I mean, is there anything you would like?” The man smiled this time.
“Yes,” said Jeff, “I would like to never feel like this again.” He turned away from the car.
“I know what you mean,” the man called out. “I’ll probably be saying the same thing in the morning.”
Jeff watched the man’s taillights fade as he walked the short distance to his apartment and then quickly let himself in. He crossed the dark room to sit at his desk and put his head down on its hard surface. He sat like that, wondering how anyone could wake up at nine at night, almost get busted, run out of gas, and drink until he was sick, all before one o’clock.
He glanced at his phone, which now told him he had sixteen messages. He couldn’t put it off anymore, so he dialed voicemail.
“Jeff, are you there? Jeff, pick up the phone. It’s your dad.” There was a click, then the voicemail recording telling him his options. He chose delete and played the next message.
“Jeff, call us at home, it’s . . .”
The next message was his mother. “Jeff, call us right away. I don’t know where you are but this is very important.” Christ, he thought, I can’t handle it. I need to straighten up just to call them.
The next call was the one he was worried about.
“Jeff, Richard.” Okay , he thought, how pissed off is Richard about his money? “Listen, man, sorry about your sister. I read about it. But you know what? I need some money tomorrow or you’re in deep shit.”
CHAPTER 12
⍫
Ron Pool woke early Friday morning and considered the day ahead. He would begin with a bowl of oatmeal and then head over to Griffith Park to run. He had a six-mile circuit that he ran four times a week. Then he would return home and shower, get dressed, drink some coffee, and drive downtown for an interview with a possible witness at the county jail. At lunchtime he would cross town to meet Joe Greiner at the station. The evening was open ended.
At half past noon, Ron headed toward the Westside. It was another hot and humid day in the seemingly endless sweltering
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