Tropical Depression (Billy Knight Thrillers 1)

He winked that single cold eye. “Don’t fuck with ’em.” He nodded to Ed and strolled away, back to his desk.

“All right,” I said. “So either this guy was following me—which is possible, considering how rusty I am. Meaning he picked me up when I was tailing Tanner. Or else—”

“Or else he was already there when you got there. Which means somebody in the neighborhood got a very unusual security system.”

“Or it’s a complete coincidence. The guy is a nut case, and he just happened to go off while I was around.”

Ed looked at me sadly. “Yeah, Billy. I think I could buy complete coincidence. You probably right, let’s go for a few beers. How ’bout those Dodgers, huh?”

I watched him look at me. Neither of us had anything much to say for a few moments, so we just stared.

Ed didn’t believe it was a coincidence. Neither did I, but I hadn’t believed it was going to be this easy, either. I realized I had been looking for a difficult task—

no, a quest.

I needed a quest to redeem me—something tough and pure and close to impossible. If I could work through a long fight against overwhelming odds, it would help make all the heartache and night sweats mean something. It wouldn’t bring my family back—nothing would. But it might give some focus to a reason for going on, something beyond fishing.

And I realized, too, that fishing wasn’t enough anymore. After just a few days and one medium jolt of adrenaline, I realized I needed to do this. I needed the feelings that only this kind of work gave me.

But it had to mean something. And it had to be tough. I needed penance. I needed to work for it, work hard, not have some geek in a flowered shirt fall into my lap waving a pistol.

If it was too easy, it wouldn’t count.

I smiled at myself, at the games Billy played with Billy. Silly, yes, but true anyway. I had to do this, and—

And what? Hope it got harder?

Ed cleared his throat. He was just waiting for me. I wondered how much of this he had figured out.

I let out a long breath. I knew I wasn’t giving up. “Let’s take a look at who else lives in that neighborhood.”

Ed nodded, like that was all he was waiting for. He made a small note on a pad. “I can get that easy enough.”

I reached over and took the pad and pencil that had rolled up against his Out basket. “Here.” I sketched out the street as I remembered it. “I was parked here—Doyle’s house was here. So these five houses ought to do it.”

I pushed the paper across the desk at Ed. He glanced at it and nodded. “Okay, Billy. Meantime I’ll put out a BOLO for Moss.” He waved the paper at me. “This take me a couple of hours. Say this evening?”

“Sure, uh—” It suddenly dawned on me that today was Friday. And Friday night was my date with Nancy Hoffman. I tried to sound casual, knowing how good Ed’s radar was. “Make it easy on yourself. Let’s say tomorrow morning.”

It didn’t work. His eyes fastened onto me immediately, and the old Cheshire cat grin spread across his face. “How about I call you this evening?” he said, pretending innocence.

“I’ll call you in the morning, Ed,” I told him. I could feel a blush spreading across my face, like a teenager caught holding hands.

“Well, ain’t you something. In town three days and already dated up.”

I stood up. “I’ll call you,” I said, and turned to go.

“Don’t forget to use a condom, Billy,” he called after me.

I could hear him hooting with laughter almost all the way down to my car.

Chapter Twenty-Two

There’s an old L.A. joke that goes: What do Porsches and hemorrhoids have in common? Answer: Sooner or later every asshole in Marina del Rey has one.

There’s some truth to the joke. Marina del Rey is a ridiculously upscale area, loaded with single millionaire dentists and plastic surgeons, Saudi princes, retired drug dealers, and other playboys. A high percentage of them seem to enjoy roaring around in Porsches, gold chains flapping in the breeze.

No one knows why they decided to infest this particular area. It’s not centrally located, it’s not close to Beverly Hills or Melrose Avenue. Of course, it’s on the water, and that counts for something.