Midway through the newscast, a male anchor with a lantern jaw and a rough-hewn face and squinty eyes reported a federal study that concluded that the L.A. basin had the dirtiest air in the country. He grinned when he said it. The black female co-anchor grinned, too, and reported a corollary story that Angelenos drive more than urbanites in any other major American city. The jut-jawed anchor grinned even harder and said that maybe Los Angeles wouldn’t have such a bad smog problem if they put in a subway to the beach. That got a big laugh from everybody. Especially the weatherman.

Joe Pike said, “Assholes.”

I turned off the television.

It was ten minutes before six.

We sat and stared, neither of us saying much, and then Joe Pike went into his room. After a while I heard his water running. I took off my clothes and did a little yoga, stretching to warm myself, then working through the cobra, and the locust, and the wheel pose, but I couldn’t concentrate. I tried doing push-ups and sit-ups instead, but with no better luck. I kept losing count. After a while I got off the floor and called the local news station in New York and told a young woman that I wanted to speak to the jut-jawed anchor. When the young woman asked me why, I said that I wanted to call him a prick. She wouldn’t put me through.

Pike stayed in his room and I stayed in mine, and at twenty minutes after seven we went down to the Taurus and drove to Karen Lloyd’s.

Tough guys like me never miss home.

Chapter Eighteen

Eighteen

The air was crisp and cold and the sky was a velvety black as we parked in Karen Lloyd’s drive and walked up to the door. I rang the bell and Karen Lloyd answered. When she saw Joe Pike, she said, “Oh.”

I said, “Karen Lloyd, this is Joe Pike. Joe, this is Karen Lloyd. Joe is my partner. He owns the agency with me.” Dark, and he still wore the glasses.

Pike said that he was pleased to meet her. Karen looked uneasy but she said hello. Another person invading her life.

The three of us went into the dining room. There was a 9 × 12 manila envelope on the table and a glass of white wine next to it. Most of the wine was gone. I said, “Where’s Toby?”

“In his room, doing homework. I told him that people were coming and that I had work to do. He has his radio on. He won’t be able to hear us.”

“All right.”

Karen picked up the 9 × 12, handed it to me, then picked up the wineglass. “This is what I had in the computer.”

“Okay.”

Pike and I took off our jackets. When Pike took off his jacket, Karen leaned forward and made a little sound like ssss.