“And you shouldn’t have any problem finding Alan Gray. He’s still a big shot in the Los Angeles area. Got a new firm though, named ACG Investments. He’s the CEO.”

“Thanks.” Bentz said. “I already tracked him to ACG, but haven’t figured out what he’s into.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Great. You did good.”

“I know,” Montoya said, and with a few clicks of his mouse, forwarded all of the information to Bentz’s personal e-mail address. He was about to hang up, but said, “Hey, Bentz?”

“Yeah?”

“Watch your ass.”

CHAPTER 23

She’s dead!

As I shake a fresh pitcher of martinis, I give myself a pat on the back for how neatly the killing went off. Without a goddamned hitch. Despite those miserable yapping little dogs.

That bitch Shana never knew what hit her.

Her reaction, a look of surprise melding into a mask of sheer horror, was priceless. Our eyes met for a heartbeat, then I sent her reeling and fumbling and splashing into the water.

Perfect!

I hum to myself as I add a little vermouth, very dry, just a whiff, then pour myself a drink.

Bentz is sweating now, I know. He’s wondering about the trap he’s fallen into, searching for a way out. What a joke. His little stunt at the pier followed up by Shana’s unexpected, and oh, so unfortunate, death.

“Boo-hoo,” I whisper aloud.

Smiling to myself, I dig in the refrigerator, find a jar of olives, and drop two into my glass. Drab green, stuffed with pimento, they dance in the clear liquid and slide to the side. Like little eyeballs staring at me.

“Proud of me?” I ask the drink, then take a sip. “Ummm. De-lish!”

I pluck one olive from the glass and suck the pimento from it, savoring the taste and smell of gin as I walk into the living room and drop into my favorite chair.

I taped the news coverage of Shana McIntyre’s death and I play it over and over, listening to that imbecilic reporter, Joanna Quince from KMOL, trying to stutter her way through the story.

“Idiot,” I say to the TV, dangling the other olive over my mouth as Joanna tries to pronounce McIntyre. “It’s Mac-En-Tire,” I say, irritated. I’ve watched it three times before, waiting for the on-camera flub and it grates on my nerves. “Shana would be soooo upset if she heard you screwing up,” I say to Joanna, and that’s the truth. Shana was so proud of stealing Leland away from his first wife. It seemed that getting him down the aisle was payback for the same thing happening to her.

“What goes around, comes around,” I say, then click off the moronic reporter and think about the next one who will have to suffer a similar fate to Shana’s.

It should happen soon, I think, to make my point.