“Then I ran into a girl I used to take around. She works for Louella now.”
Louella, the one Brody had called Hearst’s gal pal. “The woman who writes for the papers, good friends with Hearst?”
“That’s her. Real chummy with Roy Lester and his bunch.”
Oscar sat back and crossed his arms. “And?”
“This girl, Amelia, is a nosy parker and likes to gossip. She said Louella was all burnt up about some kind of note Victoria showed her. I wouldn’t have cared, except for the note being so queer and her saying that Louella and Hearst had a terrific row about it over the telephone.”
“What did it say?” Oscar asked, and when Max told him, another piece of the puzzle clicked in place.Dear Mrs. Lester, I have something you want. You pay me $10,000 for it, or I take it to somebody else.Oscar let out a breath. “That’s a lot of money.” Enough to kill for. And Louella and Hearst had some kind of stake in whatever it was.
Max took a long puff from his cigarette, letting out a thin stream of smoke. The antics on screen were heating up and a few patrons in front were guffawing. “The note, it was typed up all proper and mailed from downtown. And get this.” Max waved his cigarette. “That butler, the big fella?”
“Feng Li?”
“Yeah, except his real name is Felix Young.”
Oscar perked up. Something else Brody could use.
“I didn’t place him that night, but I knew I’d seen him before, so I checked around the studio yesterday. Turns out he does more than butlering.”
“Like what?”
“Little strong-arming, some rough stuff. People are afraid of him, that’s all I got, but it’s suspicious.” Max crushed out his cigarette on the ashtray in the chair arm and met Oscar’s gaze. “Oscar, you got to give me another day—that’s all I’m asking. Twenty-four hours. Keep her safe for me.”
Oscar gritted his teeth. Another day with that woman in his house? He couldn’t take the risk. The music swelled. Hardy hit Laurel one more time with his hat and the screen went dark. Max waited. His face in the low light seemed younger, like the Max who had been his brother. Was that Max still there, somewhere under that sharp suit and slick hair? Padre’s words came back to him. Max had helped his family when they needed it most. Itdidn’t change what Max had done, or make up for Maria Carmen, but... “Twenty-four hours.”
Max let out a breath. “Gracias, Oscar.”
Oscar took a last puff of the cigarette as the house lights came up. Max might deny it, but Oscar figured his cousin had more than a professional interest in Minerva Sinclaire. “You should know, your trick with the Seconal worked, just not how you planned.”
“What do you mean?” Max got a worried crease in his brow.
“Your girlfriend drank it instead. Can’t remember a thing past going upstairs with him. Says she passed out before... anything happened with Lester.”
Max let out a long breath. “Well, that’s something, anyway.”
Oscar dropped the cigarette on the floor and ground it out with his heel.Americanos. He’d never understand them.
——————
Oscar hurried along Vine, praying Brody would still be at the Hard Times. How much could he tell the detective? Brody had said it himself: trust nobody. Was Oscar playing into some kind of trap that would land him in hot water? Brody and Adams could be—probably were—working together.
He slipped inside the Hard Times, where smoke hung under the low ceiling lights, giving the place the murky feel of dusk in the middle of the day. Brody sat in the back booth, a plate streaked with egg yolk and scattered with bacon rinds in front of him. Oscar let out a breath of relief.
Brody stood as Oscar approached, brushed toast crumbs off his broad chest, and stuck out his hand. Oscar shook it, then settled across from Brody as a waitress sloped to the table, a menu dangling from her hand.
“He’ll have what I had,” Brody said before Oscar could refuse. “On my bill.”
Oscar supposed he should be grateful; he was hungry. But he didn’t like to owe anybody, least of all agringo.
Brody got right down to business. “Got anything for me?”
Oscar started out safe. “The Garcias, Lupita and Alonso, they didn’t have much to say.” That was the truth at least. He wouldn’t say anything about the Seconal. Not for Max’s sake, but for Lupita’s. It still burned him up that Alonso had tried to hide Max’s little trick from him. Did the boy have no loyalty at all? And Lupita... he didn’t want to think about Lupita right now.
“Did they see this girl, Minerva Sinclaire?” Brody tapped the newspaper.
Oscar tried not to react to her name. He shook his head. “They spend their time in the kitchen.”
