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“You wouldn’t think it to see this boneless wonder, but I got half a mil in the bank. Go see. I mouth-to-mouth-breathed Wall Street stocks not dead, just asleep. From 1941 through Hiroshima, Enewetak, and Nixon. I said buy IBM, buy Bell. Now I got this great spread with a view overlooking L.A., a one-holer Andy Gump behind, and the Glendale Market, well tipped, sends up a kid with Spam, canned chili, and bottled water! The life of Riley! You guys done shadow-boxing my past?”
“Almost.”
“Rattigan, Rattigan,” the old man went on. “Good for a few hoots and raucous applause. She was written up in those papers from time to time. Grab one paper off the top of each stack, four on the right, six on the left, all different. She left snail-track spoors on the path to Marrakech. Today she came back to clean her catbox.”
“Did you actually see her?”
“Didn’t need to. That yell would split Rumpelstiltskin and sew him back up.”
“Is that all she wanted, Califia’s address?”
“And the papers! Take ’em and go to hell. It’s been a long divorce with no surcease.”
“Can I have this?” I lifted an invitation.
“Take a dozen! Only ones showed up were Rattigan’s Kleenex guys. She used to wad and throw ’em over her shoulder. ‘You can always order more,’ she said. Grab the invites. Steal the newsprint. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.”
“Thank God! Out!” said Clarence Rattigan.
Crumley and I threaded our way, gingerly, through the labyrinthine towers, borrowed copies of eight different newspapers from eight different stacks, and were about to head out the front door when a kid with a loaded box barred our way.
“What you got there?” I said.
“Groceries.”
“Mostly booze?”
“Groceries,” the kid said. “He still in there?”
“Don’t come back!” King Tut’s voice cried from deep down far away in the newsprint catacomb. “I won’t be here!”
“He’s there, all right,” said the kid, two shades paler.
“Three fires and an earthquake! One more ahead! I feel it coming!” The mummy’s voice faded.
The kid looked at us.
“It’s all yours.” I stepped back.
“Don’t move, don’t breathe.” The kid put one foot inside the door.
Crumley and I didn’t move, didn’t breathe.
And he was gone.
Chapter Eleven
Crumley managed to swerve his wreck around and head us back downhill without falling off the edge. On the way, my eyes brimmed.
“Don’t say it.” Crumley avoided my face. “I don’t want to hear.”
I swallowed hard. “Three fires and an earthquake. And more coming!”
“That did it!” Crumley hit the brakes. “Don’t say what you think, dammit. Sure, another quake’s coming: Rattigan! She’ll rip us all! Out, out, and walk!”
“I’m afraid of heights.”
