Private #1 Suspect (Private 2)

“If I were chief of police, I’d tip off the DEA. And take them down with a traffic stop, Mickey. Keep me completely out of it.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Fescoe. “Hey, Jack, how did you come into all this information?”

“I can’t say.”

“Right. It’s private. Sorry I asked. I don’t need to know,” said Fescoe.

I said, “Not that I’m keeping track, Mick, but don’t forget that I helped you with this.”

Another way of saying You owe me a big one.

“I’ll help you if I can,” said Fescoe.

Another way of saying I’ll help you if I can, but don’t count on me if you killed Colleen Molloy.

CHAPTER 105

IT WAS A hell of a send-off for Cody.

The Bazaar was a five-star restaurant on La Cienega, a “movable feast” that called up Spanish fiestas of the kind you only saw in movies.

We had booked the tasting room, called Saam, for our party of thirty. The furnishings were leather and Murano glass, and the food was bizarre and terrific: tapas and cheesy confections and foie gras lollipops wrapped in cotton candy.

People were lit on magic mojitos infused with end-of-the-workday relief. There were silly toasts and drunken laughter, and a couple of girls were crying and laughing at the same time.

As I said, it was a hell of a party.

But some people were missing: Del Rio, Scotty, and Cruz were out working the hotel murder case. Justine had given Cody a cashmere sweater and begged off the festivities.

I wanted to be anyplace but here. But I owed it to Cody to give him a bash worthy of how much we all loved him. He’d stepped into his job after Colleen left six months ago, filling her place without a hitch. Like he was made for it. I’d always be thankful to him for that.

I clinked my glass with a fork, and the whooping only escalated.

“Cody,” I said. “Cody, we’re going to miss you.”

There was whistling and guys yelling Cody’s name. Mo-bot was beaming. Even Sci stood up and gave Cody some applause.

“We’re going to miss your clothing commentary,” I said to my former assistant, “and your impersonations of all of us, especially me.”

I did an impersonation of Cody doing an impersonation of me, running his hand through his hair, giving himself a serious look in the mirror, straightening his tie.

People roared.

I said that I had put a contract out on Ridley Scott for taking Cody away from us, but that I was grateful to Cody for finding Val.

Cody broke in to say, “Val, stand up, girlfriend.”

And she did, laughing too, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the magic mojitos. She was just having fun.

I said, “Cody, you’ve kept us on track and you’ve brought us a lot of happiness too. And if the acting thing disappoints you, I’m going on the record: You’ll always have a home at Private.”

I gave him the gift-wrapped camera and card from everyone at Private, and after the applause had abated, Cody wiped his eyes with a red napkin and used his foie gras lollipop as a microphone. “Jack, I want to thank you,” he said. “Seriously, this has been the best job of my life. You taught me more than this,” he said, grinning as he ran his hand through his hair. “You showed me honorable leadership in action. That’s what I’m going to remember most.”

I didn’t know thirty people could make so much noise with their hands.

CHAPTER 106

DEL RIO EYED the King Eddy Saloon, a bar within an old bootlegging hotel by the same name on Skid Row, East Fifth and Los Angeles Streets. This was a bad section of town, but King Eddy’s attracted all types, from homeless drunks to young people with dreams who owned condos around the corner.