“Head over to Chu’s. We’ll talk more then.”

“Uh . . .” I hear glass crashing in the background. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“If you don’t get out of there and let things calm down, eventually she’s gonna nail you with one of those glasses she’s throwing. And I don’t think either one of you is going to like the result. Trust me on this one.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“You have to ask?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think fast,” I say. “The more she throws, the more you’re looking at stitches and sending your wife to jail for a domestic.”

“Don’t even fucking joke about that,” she says. “Look, I’ll try to get over there. But no promises.”

“That’ll have to do. See you then. And good luck.” I hang up to the sound of another glass shattering. Though I want to, I don’t entirely trust Letitia. I really don’t trust Chu and his lapdog. I want her there to see how she reacts to the fireworks once I’ve got everybody where I want them.

The inside of the motel room is hot, and that’s with air conditioning. It’s nothing compared to the temperatures outside. Nobody’s predicting a break from the heat for the next few days. Then it might drop a degree or two. The car, the same Corolla I stole last night, is a piece of crap, but whoever owns it really took care of the A/C. It’s like stepping into a pizza oven at first, but cools down by the time I’m heading up the hill toward the Valley.

Though the greenery in the hills of southern Encino has a cooling effect, the temperatures are soaring. As I get closer to Chu’s place, I start seeing more and more expensive cars parked along the side of the road. Of course. He has a lot of parking in that driveway, but he’s the political hotshot right now. This fundraiser is a big deal and it attracts a lot of attention.

I get up to Chu’s place and sit in line as the valet guys park the Maseratis, Ferraris, Mercedes, and BMWs in front of me. When it comes to a twenty-year-old Corolla, they stare at it a minute before one of them, a sweaty, pimply-faced Asian kid, comes up to take my keys.

He takes them but I don’t let go. “This is a very valuable piece of antique machinery that’s worth more than all of these cars combined,” I say, face serious. “Less than a hundred of these prototypes were made. I don’t want to see a goddamn scratch on this car when I come back. Do you understand me?”

“Uh, sir, there are a lot of—”