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My blood stopped flowing through my veins and dropped to my feet. “Who is this?” I said.
The line was open. I could hear static, but there was no answer.
I stared at the rear end of the Porsche, but I wasn’t seeing it. I was picturing the face of a cop. One cop in particular.
“And you’re not safe from me, Vasquez.”
There was a click as the call was disconnected, and at just about the same instant, the driver of the panel van behind me blew his horn.
I put my foot on the gas, wondering if I’d been right when I said “Vasquez.”
But whether my caller was Vasquez or some other vicious hater, I wasn’t going to let this call ruin my evening. That was what I told myself, but I felt a tremor, an internal earthquake, a shifting of my sense of security in my own home. It was almost intolerable.
So what was I going to do about it?
CHAPTER 100
YUKI HAD PICKED the perfect venue to toast our crime reporter friend on her return from her triumphal book tour.
I parked the car at a metered spot on Market and walked a couple of blocks to the historic Hearst Building.
The doorman escorted me down the stairs to the subterranean room that once housed the San Francisco Examiner’s printing presses and was now a dark and glamorous club.
The ceilings were high; typewriters lined the walls; the long bar was of polished wood, with rows and rows of wineglasses hanging on overhead racks by their stems. Looking around the perimeter of the room, I saw red leather booths facing white leather swivel chairs across white marble tables, and a number of huge presses were still on the floor, adding to the 1950s feel of the place.
I released a long sigh.
I was going to drink and laugh tonight, that was for sure.
The doorman showed me to our table, and I was about to sit down when Yuki appeared and fairly danced across the floor.
I was reaching for Yuki when Claire called out “Hey, you two,” and joined us in a three-way hug.
When we were seated, we said “Phones off” in unison, and when we had done it, Claire said to Yuki, “I heard you’ve got big news.”
Yuki had already called me about her settlement for her client, but it was a great pleasure to hear her telling the story to Claire, using her hands, imitating Parisi’s voice.
“When he signed the agreement, he said to me, ‘You really are a little shit, Yuki.’ And I said, ‘I learned from the biggest and the best.’”
And then Yuki laughed her joyous, infectious chortle, and we laughed with her, loud and long. When she got her breath, she said, “Then he winked at me.”
“Did he?” I asked.
“He did. He winked. He smiled. He passed the document across the table and said, ‘Have a good day. I think you will.’”
“He adores you,” Claire said. “He still totally adores you.”
Feeling her presence before we saw her, we looked up to see Cindy wearing slinky black, smelling of lilies of the valley as she leaned down, hugging and kissing all of us.
“Who still adores you?” she asked Yuki, sliding in beside her.
Yuki got to tell the story again, and as Cindy had been out of the loop, she heard the long version. She laughed and asked for more detailed explanations, which broke up the dramatic flow, but hell, Cindy is a reporter and facts are her thing.
Then Cindy said, “I’ve got a little news of my own.”
“We know your book got great reviews,” Claire said. “What else you got?”
Cindy said, “I found this next to my clock this morning.”
