“I said that? I never said that. What I said was people like that don’t have to have a reason. Yeah, they gave an excuse. Family matters. And that’s after I referred them to you, so what the fuck was their problem?”

His eyelids dropped farther. “Here’s a confession, Alex. For a while I got paranoid. About you. Did they go see you and you laid some shrink crap on them—spend more time with the kids, whatever—and that’s what fucked things up? For a while I had … thoughts about you. Then I realized I was getting psycho, if I didn’t watch out I’d go totally psycho.”

He reached across, patted my wrist. “I have to be honest, that’s one reason I wanted to meet with you. To find out what the fuck happened. So now I find out you don’t know what the fuck happened and you’re asking me what the fuck happened. Funny. Ironic. Ha ha ha. And they’re in some kind of trouble. Good. I’m happy. They should rot in hell.”

“What kind of people are they?”

“What kind do you think? Selfish, narcissistic, inconsiderate, he’s an idiot, she’s a controlling bitch. You buy that Super Mom-Super Dad crap? It’s just part of the façade, everything about people like that is a façade. You ever hear him talk? Dluh dluh dluh dluh. That’s what passes for James Dean, now. Welcome to my world.”

The waiter came over. “Anything else, gents? Coffee?”

Brent said, “No. Check.”

I paid.

Brent said, “Good man.”

CHAPTER
43

I reached Milo at the coroner’s.

“Just watched a .45 slug get pulled out of Wedd’s head, a weapon ever shows up, it’s early Christmas. His apartment was vacant except for a mattress on the bedroom floor and some over-the-counter pharmaceuticals in the john. He used to get heartburn and headaches, now he’s passed both along to me. Had the place dusted, sent the meds and the mattress to the lab, located one relative, Wedd’s brother, cowboy-type in Montana where Wedd’s originally from. No contact with Brother Mel for years, was appropriately shocked about the murder, said Mel was always the wild one but he never figured it would get that bad.”

He paused for breath.

I said, “Wild but no criminal record.”

“Minor-league stuff when he was young—joyriding, malicious pranks, neighborhood mischief, a few fights. No criminal record because the sheriff was his uncle, he’d bring Mel home and Mel’s dad would whup him. Then Mel got bigger than Dad and the parents basically gave up.”

“When did he come to L.A.?”