At the moment, of course, I am convinced that it’s the best plan I’ve ever had. Partly because I was not on cocaine when I came up with it, and partly because I’m on cocaine right now. That’s the problem with coke. It makes everything sound like a great idea. If at all possible, never make plans on coke.

“What can I do for ya?”

I tell him.

“I can have that by next Tuesday.”

“I need it today.”

“That’s gonna cost. A rush order? That strong? You know the types of folks I have to go to for that.”

“Whatta ya want for it?” Whatever it is it won’t be money. MacFee lives by the rule that the bigger a pain in the ass something is, the less inclined he is to do it. I have basically just told him that I will handle his biggest pain in the ass. I’m prepped for him to ask me to kill somebody. Not crazy about it, but if it’ll get the job done, I’m all in.

“Goats,” he says, which is about as far away from what I expected as it is possible to be.

“Excuse me?”

“I got fifty black bucks on a farm in Ojai I gotta move. A cult bought ’em for a ritual two months ago but then it turned out somebody had a problem with animal cruelty or some shit, so they did the ritual and used, fuck, I dunno, tofu or somethin’.”

“Demon summoning?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask. But last I heard they were all dead, so probably.”

“And you want me to take the goats off your hands?”

“Yep.”

“What’s wrong with them? Possessed? Fire breathing? What?”

“They’re just goats. My ex-wife wants ’em off her land by end of the month.”

“You have an ex-wife?”

“Three of ’em. Couple kids, too.”

“The thought of you raising children has suddenly turned this into a terrifying conversation. I’ll get rid of the goats if for no other reason than to make it stop.”

“Fantastic. When do you need this thing by?”

“Noon enough time?”

“I can do noon.”

“Cool,” I say. “One problem.”

“I’ll get it up to ya,” he says. “Just call me and tell me where ya are.”

“You’re a pal,” I say. Traffic’s so snarled with the fire in Vernon that there’s no way I’ll get down to him to pick up anything.

“Nah, I’m just a guy who needs to get rid of some goats,” MacFee says, and hangs up.

The Santa Ana winds have picked up overnight and they’re blowing hard and hot through the streets, fanning the toxic flames of the Vernon fire and spreading them west into Alameda. Smoke and grit fill the hot air, get in the eyes, the nose, the mouth. A lot of people are wearing goggles and bandanas.