by Steph Cha
She was also pretty useful as a plus-one on stakeouts, not that she always knew when we were on one. She disapproved softly of my PI work, maintaining that it was unsafe. Fair enough, really, as I’d been drugged, threatened, and held at gunpoint since I’d met her, among other things. But even she recognized that my experience had been largely atypical, and most days she was content to leave me be.
Manhattan Bar & Deli of Pasadena was a cozy neighborhood place, and I guessed from the name that it was run by newish immigrants. I felt minorly vindicated when we were greeted by a middle-aged Chinese woman with halting, friendly English.
Lusig was already seated when we arrived. The restaurant was small and relatively empty, so I spotted her right away. She looked less fresh than she had in Rubina’s wedding photo, though this, of course, was understandable. She was younger then, but I suspected the difference was due more to pregnancy and lack of makeup than to advancing through her mid-twenties.
Nothing about her appearance suggested an ideal surrogate mother. She looked slovenly and unnurturing, like she could hardly bother to take care of herself. Her hair was dyed crow black and cropped messily above her chin. It looked choppy and unwashed, with an oily shoe-polish shine. She wore a black T-shirt under a bulky military jacket big enough to hide a boar. Her ears were studded up and down with a spray of metal and stone. A tiny bright dot adorned one side of her thin nose, and above it, her huge, wild eyes were the focal point of the room.
Lori and I sat at a nearby table, within comfortable eavesdropping distance. I glanced at the young man sitting across from Lusig. He was clean-cut and handsome, with the kind of nonthreatening face that did well with mothers. He had dark hair, thick eyebrows, and sideburns that looked difficult to groom. Lusig had his full attention.
I ordered a hot pastrami Reuben and Lori got lox and cream cheese, which she formed into bite-sized bagel sandwiches, setting one on my plate. Fifty bucks left beer money, so I had a pint while Lori tucked into a milkshake. I told her it was my treat, and she thanked me with unnecessary enthusiasm.
She chattered about her job and her boyfriend Isaac, and I gave her the greater part of my attention while keeping one ear open to receive any revealing tidbits from Lusig’s table. Lusig had a low, steady voice that cut across space without apparent effort. It was easy to track, even while carrying on my own conversation, and when I heard a change in tone and tempo, I pretended to devote all my energy to my sandwich. The small talk was over.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to meet you till now,” she said with a note of remorse.
The man laughed uncomfortably. “You’re eight months pregnant, and I know this hasn’t been easy for you, either.”
“No, it hasn’t. To be honest, it had nothing to do with pregnancy. There is nothing easier for a pregnant woman than to eat a pastrami sandwich.”
He laughed again, but stopped when she didn’t join him. “Okay,” he said instead.
“Do you want to know the truth?” she asked.
“Of course.” He didn’t sound especially excited to know the truth.
“I was mad at you.”
“Mad?”
She stared at him across the table, her eyes searching his. “You didn’t keep her safe, Chris. You were supposed to be there for her, that was the whole”—she made a framing gesture with her hands, encompassing his figure—“point of you, and you didn’t keep her safe.”
He moved back in his seat, dragging his chair a few loud inches across the floor. “I didn’t keep her safe? You have some nerve, Lusig.”
She watched him closely, and then her expression softened, taking on the contours of contrition. “I’m sorry. I’m projecting, I know.” She shook her head and looked disapprovingly at her dinner, then looked up again at her companion. “Where do you think she is, Chris? Where could our girl have gone?”
Chris was slumped over, looking helpless and crestfallen, and as I waited for him to answer, I noticed Lori was raising her eyebrows across the table.
“Unni,” she said. “Are you listening?”
I made a show of chewing and swallowing the bite of sandwich in my mouth. “Sorry, I zoned out a little.”
She shook her head and bit her lip with her crooked tooth. “Unni, are you working right now?” she whispered.
“Shhhhh,” I said, widening my eyes. “Jesus.”
“I knew it.”
“I’ll tell you about it later, okay? Sorry, what were you saying?”
She twisted her lips, but I could tell she wasn’t really annoyed. She was used to my work mode after living with me for so long. Our friendship was also the only good remainder of a case that had left us both devastated, and she knew that the job stabilized me, even if she didn’t understand how.
“I was just asking if you’d noticed how much time I’ve been spending at Isaac’s.”
“I am a detective, Lori.”
She’d been spending most nights at Isaac’s for the better part of a month. He’d moved into his own place downtown, and suddenly he was less interested in sleeping in my apartment. I hadn’t seen his face at all for a couple weeks, and even Lori was scarce. His place was within walking distance of her job—she worked in human resources for an accounting firm—and she only seemed to stop home for an hour or two here and there to pick up clean clothes and make sure I had enough to eat.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
I smiled, a little wider than felt sincere. “You’re an adult, Lori. I don’t stay up all night worrying about you.”
“I know, but you aren’t too lonely?”
I shrugged. “No, not too. I’m good at being alone.”
She nodded, still looking solicitous, but she changed the subject.
It wasn’t long before Lusig reclaimed my attention, along with Lori’s and everyone else’s in the restaurant. Her voice was raised, and she was glaring at the waitress.
“Guess what’s none of your fucking business,” she said.
The waitress looked around the room. She was a small Chinese girl, about college-age, probably the owners’ daughter. She wore a Manhattan Bar & Deli T-shirt over slim blue jeans and dainty shoes. Her face twisted into a look of scorn that searched for validation as she scanned the restaurant.
“You’re acting very belligerent,” said the waitress.
“Am I? I’m sorry. I just thought I could order a beer without being interrogated.”
“I only asked if you were pregnant.”
“Sure. Not a loaded question.” She scoffed. “Of course I’m pregnant. Look at me. You knew I was pregnant, so don’t fucking pretend you were just being curious.”
“I don’t know if I’m comfortable serving alcohol to a pregnant lady.”
“It’s a beer.”
“You’re acting pretty drunk already.”
Lusig stood up, rising a half head taller than the waitress, who seemed stunned to have this irate customer glaring down at her face. “I’ve had five drinks in the last three months, you judgmental cunt.” She flung a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “Come on, Chris. Let’s get out of here.”
Chris gaped at the scene in front of him, and then stood up after Lusig, half bowing with apology. He left more bills on the table in a quiet hurry, then followed her out of the restaurant.
The door swung closed with a tinkle of bells, leaving an awed silence in its wake. The waitress stared at the door with her mouth hanging open.
I caught Lori’s eye, and we both covered our mouths to suppress overt laughter.
“Oh, unni,” she said. “Please tell me you were here to watch them.”
I shrugged, and a sly smile spread across her face.
“She’s fun,” she said. “This could be a good one.”
*
I couldn’t exactly leap from the table and follow Lusig to her car, so I texted Rubina to report that she’d left. I told her to let me know if she couldn’t get hold of Lusig, and after a minute, she ascertained that her cousin was on h
er way home. I convinced Rubina she could wait for my report until I was done eating. I finished dinner with Lori and called from the car. She picked up immediately.
“Did something happen?” she asked by way of greeting. “She’s in a terrible mood.”
“She did storm out of the restaurant,” I said.
Rubina sighed. “What did she do?”
I told her about the scene in the deli.
“I told you she was behaving strangely,” she said. “She’s always been a passionate sort of girl, but she usually has good control over her temper. She’s not one to make a fool of herself in public.”
“In my opinion, the waitress was being unreasonable and kind of insulting.”
“That’s no reason to make a scene.”
“Are you upset about the beer?”
“Yes.”
“I thought the occasional beer was pretty much harmless.”
“I know what it says on WebMD, but I also know many, many doctors who have had children. Every one of them abstained during pregnancy.”
I thought about nine months without alcohol, the first big sacrifice forced on new mothers. It seemed daunting to me, even with ordinary levels of stress.
“She said five drinks in the last three months. That doesn’t seem dangerous or anything.”
“It’s the attitude. She’s not acting like a woman putting another’s needs before her own. And I don’t really believe she’s been careful enough to count.”
“I don’t know, she sounded pretty indignant. I’ll bet she’s been counting, even if it’s with some measure of resentment.”
She sighed. “And who was this man she was meeting? Did he look suspicious?”
I almost laughed. There was something childish in the question. “His name is Chris. I was going to ask if he was someone you knew.” I paused and decided to add, “It sounds like he’s involved with Lusig’s missing friend.”
”She didn’t tell me she was meeting him.”
“Who did she say she was meeting?”
“A friend from college.” Rubina sounded dissatisfied. “Which wasn’t a wholesale lie. She and Chris were at USC together.”
“But not exactly the truth, I take it.”
“No. He’s Nora’s boyfriend.”
“It doesn’t seem off or anything, that her boyfriend and best friend would spend some time together.”
“Maybe not. But I know they aren’t close friends on their own.”
I pictured the two of them, Lusig with her tattoos and oily hair, Chris in his square gray polo shirt. They didn’t look like two birds of a feather. Then again, I thought of my friendship with Lori.
“Shared experience counts for something,” I said. “They both love Nora, and she’s gone now.”
“I would go as far as to say that they dislike each other.”
“She’s talked about him with you?”
“Many times. She adores Nora, and she has always thought Chris was a cold, condescending misogynist. Chris, on the other hand, seems to think Lusig is a deadbeat, a bad influence. He blames her for Nora dropping out of law school. I’m sure both of them have better shoulders to cry on.”
There was something suggestive in her tone. “What are you worried about, Rubina?”
“I just wonder,” she said. “Do you think she’s looking for Nora?”
“I’ve seen her one time. You’d know better than I do.”
“She was talking about her.”
“Yes.”
“And she was asking Chris where he thought she was.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But what else do you think she’d talk about with her missing friend’s boyfriend?”
“Nothing at all.” Her tone was clipped and a little impatient.
“Oh, I get it,” I said. “You think she was pumping him for information. She thinks he knows something.”
“Lusig must know Nora might be dead.”
“And if Nora was murdered…”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“You think she suspects him?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But if that is the case, then she was going out of her way to meet a man she judged capable of murder. If she wants to endanger herself, that is one thing, but she is carrying my child.”
“Rubina, I think it’s important to maintain perspective here. She was getting dinner in a public place with a college classmate.”
“You’re right, of course.” Her tone was gentle but unyielding. “Still, there’s no harm in being watchful.”
Two
Chaz was in the office when I arrived the next morning, and I plunked into the chair across his desk with theatrical heaviness.
“It’s hump day,” he said with a tsk tsk. “Not slump day.”
I looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather I humped the furniture?”
He smirked and shook his head. “Did not think that joke through. Don’t go telling Art I harassed you.”
“Okay, likewise then.”
“So,” he said, after an appreciative moment of silence. “Why the sighs, Girl Detective?”
“I think I’ve been hired to find a missing woman.”
“Sure. We do that. But what do you mean, you think?”
“The client hasn’t come out and said so, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
I gave him a rundown of the case, and he nodded along, paying attention.
“It sounds to me like you’ve got a neurotic woman who wants eyes on her most prized possession. What makes you think she wants any more than that?”
“She may not want any more than that, but it sounds like there’s a big underlying problem. I mean, let’s say you have a big scary mole and you go to a doctor to get it removed.”
“Oh, you’re a doctor now?”
“Come on, Chaz, it’s an analogy.”
“You know what I got on the SAT?”
“What?”
He smiled expectantly and let out a loud fart. “Okay, proceed.”
I rolled my eyes. “So you have this nightmare mole, and you want it gone, but you kind of know there’s a good chance something else made the mole pop up in the first place.”
“Like cancer.”
“Yeah, or whatever. But even if it’s just a mole generator, what’s the point of just treating the mole? Wouldn’t you want to know the underlying cause? Isn’t that kind of why you went to the doctor in the first place?”
“Okay, even I can tell this analogy is a mess.”
“But you get what I’m saying?”
“I get it, but you’re not a doctor, and an endangered baby is more serious in its own right than an unsightly mole.”
“Do you remember Rusty Regan and the General? In The Big Sleep?”
“You always bring up that book like I didn’t read it thirty years ago.”
I nodded. “Fair enough.”
“Anyway, what about the Rusty general?”
“The General is this rich old man who hires Marlowe to investigate a blackmailer, but from the beginning, Marlowe knows this guy has a missing son-in-law.”
“Okay, that sounds familiar.”
“Marlowe thinks he’s been hired to find Rusty Regan, and the General keeps denying it and denying it, but of course, in the end, that’s Marlowe’s whole job.”
“So you think you’re supposed to find this best friend.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. It seems more like the kind of thing you’d pay money for than stalking a pregnant lady. Pregnant women can’t be so hard to stalk on your own. You should see this girl. She is out to here.”
“Your client— Does she seem particularly interested in what’s happened to this girl?”
“Honestly? No.”
“Is she callous?”
“She reads kind of cold, and yeah, maybe callous, but that isn’t exactly it. She’s interesting. I don’t dislike her, but she is off. She has this almost socially feral quality, like she’s been caged in her education so lon
g she doesn’t know how to deal with people.”
“She’s an actual doctor, right?”
“Dermatologist.”
“Zit zapper?”
“Sure, but do you know how hard it is to become a dermatologist? You have to crush med school for four years, and then get through a three-year residency. She was probably thirty years old before she even got to breathe.”
He shrugged. “She’s a smarty-pants like you, is that right, Yale-bird?”
“Much smarter than me, probably.”
“Don’t be so modest. She’s just less of a screwup.”
I frowned. I’d gone to an expensive prep school and an Ivy League college, and it was true that I’d never dreamt of becoming a PI when I grew up. I was an introverted kid who had no talents other than studying, and my strict mother gave me a narrow, exalted vision of my professional future. Lawyer, doctor, rocket scientist. Something to let her strut a bit around other Korean moms. My little sister Iris had been less of a nerd, and my mom would’ve been satisfied if she’d become the head designer for Louis Vuitton or Chanel.
None of that quite panned out. Iris killed herself when she was sixteen after a disastrous affair with her history teacher. I was a freshman in college, and it was something of a miracle that I finished school at all. I still loved my mom—I never blamed her for what happened, and I was grateful she didn’t blame me—but we weren’t close anymore. She’d also adjusted her expectations on every category of my life prospects. When I started working for Chaz, she’d been amazed that I had a job with health insurance. If I’d nab myself any kind of man, she’d probably shit herself for joy.
Chaz liked to joke that I was slumming it. Both he and Arturo, the other named half of Lindley & Flores, were products of the L.A. Unified School District. I met a lot of Angelenos in college—my school alone sent eight kids to Yale—but not a single one from our city’s giant public school system, where a quarter of the kids didn’t make it to graduation, let alone a four-year college.
Chaz wasn’t a dermatologist, but he was a success story, more or less. He had a bachelor’s degree from Glendale Community College, and he worked in IT for many years before he got into private investigation by way of computer forensics. He had a wife and two daughters, and he was one of the happiest people I knew. None of this prevented him from making fun of my expensive education, which I’d used to work as a part-time tutor before Chaz hired me to be his gofer.