“If you do your best to find the device, I’ll do my best to remain patient. We’re done now. I’ll have someone drive you home.”
“You know where I live?”
“At the Chateau Marmont, of course. Lovely place. I fucked many a charming starlet there back in my prime.”
“Thanks for sharing. The driver can drop me off where I got picked up.”
“If that’s what you want.”
A flunky comes in with my drink and a piece of paper. He hands it to Quay, who scans it.
“Just set the drink down, Jeffery. Mr. Stark is leaving.”
Quay stares at the paper for a few more seconds. I don’t like it.
Finally he says, “You’re probably wondering who that was shooting at you a few minutes ago.”
“You have your cars monitored?”
He raises his eyes to mine.
“Naturally. How else would I have the license plate of the car that shot at you? The car was allegedly stolen from a used-car lot near LAX.”
“Allegedly?”
“Before that, it was a rental car in the City Runaway fleet. City Runaway is owned by a small company in San Francisco which itself is owned by a much larger transportation conglomerate in Zurich, mostly investing in air and sea transport companies.”
“Thanks. I’ll call my broker.”
“A principal shareholder in their sea freight division is Nasrudin Hodja.”
Oh, shit.
“The Cold Case kingpin?”
The way Quay laughs I know that it is. He folds the piece of paper and hands it back to the flunky who brought it.
“A bit of trivia that might interest you is that Zurich is also the birthplace of our own illustrious Saragossa Blackburn, though he likes to play down his international origins.”
“Is he part of the company too?”
“Not that I know of.”
“And you would know if he was.”
“Oh yes. Good-bye, Mr. Stark.”
I’m walking out with one of Quay’s Titans when he says, “Of course, there are things that get by even me. Even I don’t know everyone Saragossa knows.”
I turn around.
“Now you’re just fucking with me.”
Quay smiles.
“Have a nice evening at the Chateau. If you haven’t tried the duck, do. It’s to die for.”
The Titan drives me back to Bamboo House of Dolls in a Mercedes SUV. He turns a classical station on the radio loud so he has an excuse not to talk to me. I go inside the bar and get very drunk. A Lyph in a Hollywood Walk of Fame T-shirt asks for an autograph. I’m too tired to refuse.