Hook did not answer, for Parnelli had moved in between Douglas and the door, and his stance was that of a linebacker about to blitz.

“He ain’t going anywhere,” he said. “And neither are you, Jack, not without me.”

“Get out of the way, Bo.” Douglas said it wearily, like a parent.

“Look, man, I’m in this too, remember!”

“Nobody said you weren’t.”

“And I’m telling you—I ain’t gonna let him get away with it. I ain’t gonna let him railroad us.”

Douglas nodded indulgently. “What should we do, then? Do we kill him here? Throw him out the window? Call it suicide? What?”

“All I’m saying is I won’t do time, Jack! Not because some goddamn drunk kid fell off a cliff! That ain’t my idea of a crime!”

“So what do you propose?”

“I don’t know! You tell me. Maybe the three of us—maybe we could do business.”

Douglas looked quizzically at Hook. “What about it?” he asked. “You for sale?”

Hook did not answer.

Douglas turned back to Parnelli. “Get out of the way, Bo.”

“I’m telling you, I won’t buy this! I’m not gonna roll over and—”

But Douglas had begun to move past him, at the same time reaching out to lay his hand on the big man’s shoulder in a gesture more of camaraderie and reassurance than command. Hook followed, expecting Parnelli to knock him to the floor at any moment. Instead all he got was the man’s hot breath, an effluvium of gin and olives.

“Later, shitkicker,” Parnelli said. “Later you gonna pay.”

Hook did not break his stride. In the reception room, as Douglas unlocked the front door, Hook glanced back into the small office and saw Dorothy Rubin at her desk, still holding the handkerchief pressed to her nose and mouth. Above it, her eyes followed him like lasers.

When they reached the parking lot, Hook found his car empty, Liz gone. Douglas asked him if he would drive.

“I’m kind of shaky,” he added. “Can’t imagine why.”

In the car, he suggested they drive down to Cabrillo, the beach drive. “There’s a bar there,” he said. “Top floor of a motel. It’s a nice big room. Maybe we can get a table way off in a corner. So no one will hear me cry.”

He was smiling ironically as he said this, as if the two of them were about to engage in some casual business deal that would cost him a few dollars, which they both knew he could well afford. Hook decided to set him straight.

“This isn’t a laughing matter to me, Douglas. And I can’t see why it would be for you. You’ll wind up in prison. Don’t you know that?”

“If we confessed—yes, you’re probably right. I was a police reporter once, so I know a little about these things. It would be manslaughter and conspiracy. And you don’t get a wrist slap for that.”

“But you still find it funny.”

Douglas shrugged. “It’s just my way. The gallows humorist. You must’ve run into a few of us before. Say, a farmer making jokes at his own bankruptcy sale. That sort of thing.”