I did drive through the alley as I circled the block, clocking that Ellen’s light wasn’t on. It was still the afternoon, so it didn’t necessarily mean anything, but her car not parked in the garage sure did.

I kicked myself, wondering if I was too late. Maybe she and Klein were already holed up at some hotel—maybe even the St. Leo. My brain kicked up a number of scenarios, none good: Ellen picking a fight. Klein deciding the current lay wasn’t worth the trouble. Ellen, in tears, reaching for his hands, trying to hold him. Too many scenarios ended with him giving her the brush-off, generously slipping a C-note into her hand to smooth things over. And then all of our effort, all those slaps, really would have been wasted. I pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose, squeezing hard, trying to think. I could turn tail and drive there. Barge into their hotel room—with what key?—and tell Ellen to hop off now, we had shit to discuss. If that’s even where they’d gone.

No, I’d wait to confront her here. I’d be able to tell by looking at her if she’d been with him. All that unruly blonde hair held a pillow imprint for hours.

I waited, parked at a gas station across the street, facing the entrance to Ellen’s garage, for nearly three hours. Wishing I’d brought something to drink, resisting the urge to go inside and pay for whatever six-dollar bottle of sweet red the gas station could serve me. Finally, Ellen’s blue Dodge rattled around the corner, pulling into her garage. I locked my car and crossed the street, creeping to the windows near the front foyer of the complex, lighting but not smoking a cigarette I’d nicked from Lou to give me cover.

Ellen had picked her living quarters with an eye to stardom. Through the gray smog that hung like smoke on the hot days, you could still catch a glimpse of the Hollywood sign, the land, the last third of it, long since knocked down. A block and a half from the Alto Nido, an old hotel where Houdini’s widow had once held séances had been converted into an old folks’ home, though they still called it a hotel. You could check in any time you liked, but you were only leaving with the coroner.

From Ellen’s lawn, I could peer into the hallway. She’d come up from the garage, pausing to grab her mail, and was staggering up the stairs to her floor under the weight of several purple-and-white department store bags. She hadn’t wasted any time spending that money.