I hung a U in the parking lot opposite the restaurant to move back along the alley toward Hillhurst so I could dump her at her car. It was roasting in my car and the air in the alley was stale with garbage and the underlying but heady smell of flowers from the back of a florist. We rolled slowly past the delivery doors of some half a dozen businesses. From behind a brick building a red Chevrolet pulled across the alley, blocking me.

It was Tony Guerrero.

Tommy Hutchings must have called him the minute I set up my meeting with him. Guerrero could have hidden nearby to watch us talk. How had he followed me to Armando Diaz’s studio, then picked me up again on my way to Monica without me seeing him? I swore at myself. I threw my car into a fast reverse, burning rubber down the alley.

“Get down!” I screamed at Monica Fullbright, who was clutching the dashboard with her broken fingernails.

On Hillhurst I threw a quick right up to Los Feliz. I cut across two lanes of traffic. The red Chevy pulled into the lane behind me. I looked into the rearview mirror.

Guerrero’s eyes were furious. Did he actually think I’d killed Cathy? That I was involved with the Cuban? Did he know who Monica was? I didn’t want to get out of the car to talk.

The light changed. I charged into traffic to make a left turn. I hung in the intersection until the light was red and the other cars were coming toward us before I made my turn. I hit the gas and my car chugged gamely ahead, going through two automatic gear shifts. I thought I’d left Guerrero in the intersection, but behind me I heard horns honking. A car swerved to miss Guerrero as he followed me, making his turn through oncoming traffic. I saw him again in the mirror. With my foot to the floor I got into the right lane.

He was still behind me.

Monica Fullbright screamed into her skirt.

I clung to the curb and on beautiful Los Feliz made a sharp turn into the entrance of Griffith Park. On either side the road was full of parked cars. My car droned up the hill. I ripped it into low and it surged forward. The Chevy missed a few beats and I could hear its engine misfiring. It was having trouble making the grade too.

Suddenly a kid ran out in front of me, and I turned the wheel toward the parked cars on the opposite side of the street.

Monica Fullbright screamed again.