THIRTEEN

COOP HAD HOPED HE’D NEVER FIND HIMSELF IN THE Grande Old Tyme again, but the drinks were cheap and it was easy for everyone to get to and in a bar full of career drinkers, the lightweights like the bunch at his table were generally ignored. He and Morty were there, as well as Sally Gifford and Tintin. They were at a table in the back corner of the place. Coop sat with his back to the wall, a habit he’d picked up in Surf City. But he was trying hard not to think about prison right now.

“This is a charming place you picked out,” said Sally. “You two big spenders must be knee-deep in pussy.”

Looking around, Morty said defensively, “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes, it is,” said Coop. He looked at Sally. “We didn’t choose the place for its ambiance. It’s low key and no one we know comes here.”

“Color me shocked,” said Sally. She had short hair dyed sapphire blue and wore a gray and black Pendleton shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

“Too bad this isn’t up in San Francisco,” said Tintin. “Those tech types? They love dive bars. You could charge them twenty bucks for a can of Pabst. Call it an ‘artisanal classic.’”

“Seriously?” said Sally.

“Seriously.”

“Fucking idiots.”

“Which is why I’m down here with you nice people, getting a breath of fresh, clean L.A. air.”

Tintin was a large, bearded man in a black dress shirt and chinos. Coop tried not to stare, but he had a hard time picturing a store where a guy as big as Tintin could find such non-comical clothing. He imagined a special boutique for giants, one where the clothes racks had elevators, the shoes could double as canoes, and eagles built their nests high up in the light fixtures.

“Did everyone have a good flight down? How’s your hotel?” said Morty.

Sally and Tintin glanced at each other.

“I’ve stayed in worse places,” Tintin said noncommittally.

“So have I, but I didn’t think it would be on this job. There’s hardly any hot water and the ice machine is so old I think I found a dinosaur skull inside,” said Sally.

“Okay, so it’s not the most up-to-date place in L.A. Sorry,” said Morty. “Our client is financing the job, and you know rich people. Penny-pinchers, all of them.”

Coop took a swig of his whiskey sour. It didn’t taste any worse than the last time, just sadder. Like it was embarrassed to be there. He made a mental note to never let Morty order drinks for them in the future. “With luck, you won’t be suffering long. The job happens tomorrow night.”

Sally frowned. “Really? What’s the rush?”