“I’ll see what my buddies have to say. You know where he did his banking?” In the background, I could hear Aaron tapping out a note to himself on his computer.

“I don’t, but I was just setting out on a scouting mission if that’s okay with you. I know bankers can be tight-lipped, but I’m hoping someone will at least confirm a customer relationship. It’ll help if I can drop your name into the conversation like I’ve been officially blessed.”

“Do that. Once we know which bank we’re dealing with, I’ll see if we need a court order to get into the box. Did you find out what he was doing with your phone number?”

“He was hoping to contact family in the area and needed an intermediary. I was recommended by a pal of mine named Pinky Ford. You remember him from the warehouse shoot-out last May?”

“Oh, man, do I ever,” he said. “You did good. R. Terrence Dace from Bakersfield. I’ll get back to you as soon as I get a line on him.”

•   •   •

Once in my car, I went back to the beach and began driving the surface streets, starting from the point where Terrence pitched his tent. I’d decided Pearl was right about his doing his banking business in walking distance. While he could have taken a cab, it was money he probably wouldn’t have wanted to spend. A man who won’t pay for shelter isn’t likely to pay for taxi rides.

There were five banks in Montebello, another twelve in downtown Santa Teresa. Nine were scattered over a six-block strip of State Street and another three on Santa Teresa Street, which runs parallel to State. Once I plotted my course, I began with the closest financial institution and worked my way outward.

Doing a canvass of any kind can be tedious unless you’re in the proper frame of mind. I took a Zen-like approach. This was the job I’d assigned myself. It wasn’t about finding the right answer; it was about patience and diligence. I surrendered to the process, ascribing the same importance to this work as to anything else I did.