There was a certain amount of satisfaction I felt cutting through the smug confidence that was Mona Strael. Her smile disappeared behind a look that was both speculative and deadly, causing my mood to shift from momentary pleasure to familiar caution. I felt like a child staring through bamboo bars at a Siberian tiger. I was safe, scared, and sacred inasmuch as I was destined to be sacrificed.

Strael smiled again, relaxed again.

“Would you like to come with me, Cousin Easy?”

“Where to?”

“The management has a small building behind this property. We can use it from time to time if we don’t abuse the courtesy.”

“I don’t have the five hundred.”

“You can owe it to me.”

“All I need is a couple’a answers,” I said.

“This is a public place and it sounds like you have private concerns.”

Concerns.

“Nothing private,” I assured her. “I just need to get to Roxanna.”

“And why would you think I’d deign to help you?”

First undoing, then concerns, and now deign—I had to switch up.

“What school you go to, Mona?”

For the first time the bar girl showed actual surprise.

“You’re good, Cousin Easy. I’m right down the street at UCLA. Prelaw. Now you tell me what this is about.”

“There’s a lot I could say. Robbery, attempted murder, actual murder, kidnapping, and big-time embezzlement. But the only thing you need to hear is that a man named Eddie Brock, also known as Brock Oldstein, has been breathing down my neck to find Donata. I want to get together with her and tell her what I know.”

“Brock.” The name lodged in her throat like a chicken bone. “And you want to warn Roxie?”

“I want to talk to her.”

“And then tell Brock where she’s at?”

“Not necessarily. But even if I did, that’s better than me tellin’ him that you might know where to find her.”

I wouldn’t have told Brock her name, but she didn’t need to know that.

36

36

She was staying on Ogden Drive between San Vicente and Olympic Boulevards. A huge oak tree dominated the front of the property. The house itself was small and disheveled like an old dollhouse lost and then forgotten in a dark wood.

When I knocked on Donata/Roxanna’s door I wondered what to do if she didn’t answer. I could go around back and climb in a window or call Anatole McCourt or have someone else call the cops. If Donata was dead Brock might decide to leave me alone. But I knew that nothing short of homicide would ensure safety from the gangster.

I’d killed men before . . .