He gestured with his head at a storefront up the block that had a rusted iron and white enamel facade. “ That’s it, right?” he said when I walked up to him. He was drinking coffee from a paper cup and wearing a dark blue suit that was exactly the same cut and material as the steel-gray one from the days before. At the top of a pedestrian knoll on Rodeo Drive, eighteen minutes after eleven o’clock, Fearless Jones was waiting for me, standing out in front of a store that sold expensive Italian suits. Later I drove past my house to make sure things looked copacetic at least from the outside. Three minutes on one side and two on the other and I had a first-rate griddle cake without all the fuss.

I poured that concoction into a griddle of sizzling butter, then sprinkled diced strawberries on the wet side. For breakfast I took a slice of sourdough bread, an egg, a dash of vanilla, a tablespoon of sour cream, and a pinch each of sugar and salt and pureed them in an Oster blender. I woke up with an almost clean slate in my mind. My pistol back over to the blue sofa and fell into a dreamless sleep. Those are your choices, Denise.” I didn’t exactly feel like a dog on the ride from my office into the canyon. I can tell you the things you need to know or you can figure them out on your own. Waters?” “I can come to your house or not.

“ I’m involved in a difficult, um, negotiation and later I can’t promise that I’ll be available.” “ What’s your name?” “Ted Waters.” “ Where is Peter, Mr. I promise that I’ll answer every question you have.” “I don’t know.” “I can come there now,” I said.

I didn’t want to show up at your door unannounced.” “ What’s happened to him?” “I can be to you in forty-five minutes. “I have to see you in person.” “Peter told me never to tell anyone where we lived.” “I already have the address, ma’am. Boughman.” “What is it?” she cried, her voice doubling in volume. “Ma’am, I have to talk with you about Mr. Now all she could do was wait for that call telling her that the life she had been living was over. She probably had bags packed and ready for a journey he’d promised. He hadn’t called or told her where he was going. I almost did because I read the story behind Denise’s tones. “Miss Devine?” “Yes?” The sleepiness was laced with fear.

Charcoal joe by walter mosley