Decker said, “You know, Margie, the job dampens us emotionally. Has to be that way—otherwise, we’d be crying in our beer all the time. So the few times I react with my heart instead of my head, I don’t really think about the consequences. I just enjoy the pleasure of feeling.”

Marge furrowed her brow. “Know what I’m going to do? I’m gonna think like that.”

Decker smiled, then stared out the window.

Turning left, Marge hooked the Plymouth behind a velvet green golf course and followed a small, winding road chiseled into the mountains. The foothills were mounds of sand-colored rock dotted with withered shrubbery, and tall grass parched straw yellow in the dazzling sunlight. Specks of color sprouted through the gravel—tiny blooms of white-purple, lemon-hued dandelions, orange poppies, giraffe-necked sunflowers. The unmarked’s transmission bucked as the car ascended and as they reached the top of the first hill, a huge crater of stone and steel came into view. The concrete bowl had once been filled with millions of gallons of water. But deemed old and unsafe, Hansen Dam had been drained in the early eighties. Marge looked at the empty shell and sighed.

“Every time I see it, I can’t help but think of the millions of dollars and work hours…just gone.”

“It’s rumored that Manfred wants the land,” Decker said.

“You’re kidding. I didn’t hear that one.”

“I think Mike told me,” Decker said. “He’s up on that kind of thing. Be nice if they filled it again. We could take our boats out here instead of going to Lake Castaic.”

“Knowing Manfred, they’ll probably fill it with toxic waste,” Marge said. “There’s going to be a big meeting at the municipal courthouse about their newest plans for a seven-story office building. On the twenty-seventh of this month. The ranchers are going to try to put a freeze on buildings over two stories. Interested?”

“Not really.”

“What are you going to do? Wait until they invade your neighborhood?” Marge shook her head. “They’re building right behind my house, beautiful piece of land that used to be cornfields. You know, I could accept the fact that maybe L.A. needs more houses than corn, but they haven’t even sold out their last two developments. They’re turning this place into tract-o-land.”

Decker said, “Watch the curves, Marge.”

“I see them.” She mopped her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand. “All those tracts don’t bother you?”

“I’d prefer to leave things status quo,” Decker said. “But I’m not losing any sleep over it.”

“Until they build behind you.”

“No,” Decker said, “I wouldn’t like that.”