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Maybe some of that showed because Kennedy said dryly, “Yes, I listen to music. And, I know this will amaze you, the pictures hanging on the walls of my apartment are not crime scene photos.”
Jason marveled, “You have an apartment?”
“Smartass.”
Jason laughed. “What kind of art do you like?”
Kennedy looked briefly and uncharacteristically self-conscious. “I’m sure my taste isn’t up to your standards. I collect paintings by an artist by the name of Redmond Granville.”
Jason stared. “Redmond Granville?”
“Yes?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Uh, no.”
“Redmond Granville is a key figure in California Impressionism. I did my thesis on Redmond Granville. I love that guy. In fact, I helped LAPD recover Seascape at Twilight.”
Kennedy looked taken aback. His expression changed to amusement after Jason had babbled on for about twenty minutes about California Impressionism and Granville’s role in establishing the movement, but the fact was Kennedy was very easy to talk to.
Or—Jason remembered the dinner at the Jade Empress—at least he was when he wanted to be. When he wasn’t in the mood to be civil, a glacier was more congenial.
It was getting late and the restaurant had emptied out when Jason, emboldened by a night of locked gazes and quiet conversation—not to mention a couple more drinks—said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Go on.”
“Why is the governor of Wisconsin so mad at you?”
Kennedy smiled, but it was not the smile Jason had been seeing over the past few hours. It was the kind of smile that made your scalp prickle.
“I don’t like incompetence,” Kennedy said. “I especially don’t like it from someone who’s in a position of authority.”
“Right.”
“As you’ve noticed, I don’t get called out to the cases where a happy ending is possible. Not everyone understands that. Including some of the people who ask for my help.”
It was not exactly an answer, but Jason thought maybe he understood what Kennedy was really saying.
“You’re still the one they call for.”
Kennedy gave him a strange look. “Yes,” he said. “However, I can’t afford another Wisconsin. I can’t afford anything but success here.”
The overhead lights flashed once, twice, picking out platinum glints in Kennedy’s pale hair and an enigmatic gleam in his blue eyes.
The waitress appeared. “Last call, gentlemen.”
Kennedy gave Jason an i
nquiring look. Jason shook his head. “I’m good.”
“I’ll have another,” Kennedy said.
Once again, he had guessed wrong where Kennedy was concerned. Jason had figured Kennedy was too controlled to risk going over the legal limit—even if they were only walking back to their hotel. Maybe drinking was a necessity when you had seen the things Kennedy had.
When you gaze long into the abyss…the abyss asks you out for cocktails?
With the arrival of Kennedy’s final whisky sour, the conversation abruptly shriveled and died. Kennedy downed his drink in a couple of grim swallows and looked unsmilingly across the table.
