The twilight sun melted into a magenta haze as Cole crept up the hill toward home. The traffic on Laurel Canyon was brutal, so Cole took a neighborhood bypass, winding between the trees and gated homes up Outpost Drive to Mulholland. Cole drove a yellow 1966 Stingray Convertible, and liked it a lot. It ran well and was fun to drive, but Cole didn’t wash it often, so it was dirty. Pike washed his Jeep every day. Its immaculate red skin was so slick with polish, Cole joked that dirt probably blew off with the wind. Thinking about Pike’s gleaming Jeep left Cole feeling sad. It would have been a lovely drive home, any other night, with the Stingray’s top down and the cool canyon air scented with eucalyptus and wild fennel. Any other night, it would have been fine.

Home was a redwood A-frame on a narrow street off Woodrow Wilson Drive at the top of a canyon. The little house was a two-bedroom, two-bath fixer Cole bought during a flush year before prices went crazy. If he wanted to buy it today, he couldn’t. There was no yard to speak of, what with being perched on a drop-away slope, but a deck across the back of the house gave Cole a great view of the canyon and glimpse of the city.

Cole pulled into the carport, and let himself in through the kitchen. A black cat was on the counter. It looked at its bowl when Cole walked in, and made a soft mrp.

“Okay. Let’s get you squared away.”

Cole put out fresh food and water, then helped himself to a beer. Negro Modelo. The cat looked up from the food.

“Mrp.”

“Okay, but not too much.”

Cole poured a little beer into a saucer.

The cat had come with the house, and had been part of Cole’s life longer than any living thing except Joe Pike. It was a mean animal, and given to attacking people. Cole did not know why. Once, a heating and air-conditioning repairman was working on the forced-air unit in Cole’s hall closet. The repairman was kneeling in the door with his back to the hall when the cat climbed his back and bit him on the neck four times. Cole’s insurance company settled the claim, but Cole had to do a personal job off the books for his broker to get a new policy.

“It’s going to be a tough night, bud.”

The cat bumped his hand with surprising gentleness, then went back to eating.