by Avery Duff
“And your Bulgarian connection?” she asked. He caught the hint of a smile.
“I know it’s far-fetched, but that’s what happened. And whether the girl led him to them or vice versa, I don’t think it matters.”
They both reached matching conclusions about the trust’s money: Bulgarians or no Bulgarians, gone was gone.
Her take about what to do next: “Thirty-five-thousand dollars is a rounding error to most people on the Westside, but to your clients, it’s a new life. Having a home, her being in school. You should tell Judge Blackwell that saving what’s left is in their best interests. Do it on oral motion, and I bet anything it’ll go your way.”
Then she said. “I know I shouldn’t buy her things . . .”
“Kitty ears?”
“I never was a kitty-ears little girl, but she seems to like them. And one more thing—bored yet?”
“Not a bit,” he said.
“Thought I could handle sitting on a bar stool today, but . . . walk me out, would you?”
She said quick goodbyes to Gia and Delfina, pleaded a forgotten deadline, and headed to her car with Robert.
Evelyn said, “Doctors tell you, ‘You might become a little fatigued from chemo.’ Believe me, there’s no such thing as a little fatigued.”
“How much longer?”
“Another month. Beats the alternative—oh, listen. We—and by we, I mean you. We need to clear out Carlos’ house or his estate will owe another month’s rent. That money would end up coming out of your clients’ pocket.”
“Already working on it,” Robert said.
They stopped at her Volvo sedan.
“Let me give you one of my rare compliments, Robert. When we met at the courthouse, I had a mixed reaction to you. At first, I thought you were going to try bullshitting me about your probate expertise.”
“Hard to remember that far back, Evelyn.” She was right on point.
“Instead, you consumed the trust files I gave you and did so quickly. You were right—I was testing you—you even remembered the exact date I resigned as counsel.”
She looked at him until he said, “March twelfth.”
“Good memory, too. I know you had to do your own due diligence, to get comfortable about Carlos’ investments, about the money, but what you’ve done is much more than I could’ve bitten off lately. Maybe ever.”
“Coming from you? Thank you.”
She waved off the compliment. “So look,” she said. “I want to set up a trust for Delfina. Not for her father, whether he pulls through or not. For her. Nothing grand—for education and for emergencies until she turns twenty-five. A trust vehicle that I could fund with, say, twenty thousand dollars a year, as long as I’m able. What I’ve had on my mind—would you be agreeable to serving as trustee with me? And as successor trustee when the time comes?”
“I’d like to do that, Evelyn. Thanks again.”
“When are you going to disappoint me, Robert?”
“Give me time,” he said.
She smiled and started to get into her car. Then she looked back at the Apple Pan: one-story green-and-white wood-plank construction, like a beach cottage.
“Chet and I used to come here at closing time. They’d see him at the door, stay open as long as he wanted.” Smiling at the memory, she imitated the girls behind the counter: “‘I can’t let you drink that old coffee, Mr. Jordan. Let me brew you some fresh. Which do you like better, Mr. Jordan, the Boston cream or the key lime? I made ’em both myself!’”
“What was your pleasure, Evelyn?”
“Hot apple pie, straight-up. Embarrassing to admit how much fun it was, just along for the ride. Chet wearing his shades at midnight, so loaded he could barely talk, but those girls didn’t care—a star! That beautiful, sad man, dying the way he did.”
She came out of her reverie. Before he could speak, she said, “Think I’ll drive home now and throw up.”
Back inside the Apple Pan, Robert took a stool between Gia and Delfina. Without hesitation, he ordered a slice of apple pie straight-up in Evelyn’s honor. Delfina tugged on his sleeve.
“Can I order a slice of pie for Daddy? I can take it over to him tonight. Maybe he’ll wake up and be hungry.”
“Great idea,” Gia said.
“Listen, kitty,” Robert asked, “do you remember my name?”
“Robert Worth,” she said.
“No, my other name.”
She took a bite of pie, chewed it with her mouth closed. Then: “Magna Carta Man?”
“Right, and Magna Carta Man’s job is to find out about your daddy, right?
“Yes.”
“So if you know anything that might help, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
She nodded.
Gia nudged him. Her mouth was full of pie, but her eyes asked, WTF?
It’s okay, he mouthed back.
He searched the ceiling for the right words for a nine-year-old.
“I remember your rock from the chapel, and the more I know about it, the more I can help you and your daddy. So if you know anything else about another rock that might help me out—”
Two sharp sounds on the counter. Two rocks lay there. Her own stamped rock and a larger one. Teo’s rock. Like Benny said: Teo’s rock was XL-egg sized. Twice the size of Delfina’s and lighter gray.
Delfina looked sad. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Can I keep it?” she asked.
He realized that all this time, she’d been worried he might take away her father’s rock.
“Of course you can keep it.”
After talking to Benny, he’d remembered: Delfina had worn Teo’s backpack from his hospital room. That night, he figured, she’d looked inside before he did and held on to this keepsake of her father.
“Mind if I look at it?”
She handed it over. Right away, he saw white clack marks on its sides. An image had been etched into its surface by a human craftsman. Faded a bit by time, he could still see the outline.
Like Delfina’s, it was a tree. And like Benny had said: it was a Joshua tree.
CHAPTER 27
Once Robert dropped Reyes’ $5,000 cash into Carlos’ floor safe, he went back out to the kitchen. Reyes sat on the counter, drinking a beer, going over a furnishings list from his own walk-through of the place.
“These Sub-Zs,” Reyes said. “They not original. Want me to find some refurbs to go in here?”
Robert knew that either the original stove and fridge were furnished by the landlord or bought by Carlos. Either way, they’d be fifteen years old, next to worthless to the landlord.
“Sell the good stuff. Don’t bother replacing them.”
Reyes said, “So there’s that office desk, office chairs, leather living room sofa and two matching leather chairs, coffee table, a banging four-poster zebra bed, two other leather chairs, that sick sixty-five-inch Sony widescreen, four kitchen-counter stools, and this right here—the Sub-Zero stove and coolerator.”
“That’s about it.”
“Gonna need an advertising budget you want to capture top dollar.”
“How much?”
“Thousand oughta do it.”
“What? What’s this stuff worth?”
“Well, I put some half-assed yard sale posters on phone poles around this hood, stuff brings fifty-five hundred. I do my ad spend, and it’s worth three, four times that.”
“What’s your cut?”
“Well, you’re getting full benefit of my Chico State marketing degree.”
Robert didn’t ask. He waited for the explanation.
“Online degree, jefe. I’ll take that flat screen. Not worth much with Best Buy and Amazon cannibalizing the market, but I got a home for it, out back in my game room.”
Marketing? Chico State? Game room?
“And those books in the office?” Reyes said. “Gotta box ’em and junk ’em.”
“What about all those framed pictures?” Robert asked.
“Worth whatever
the frames’ll bring. Except that one.”
“Which one?”
“The good one.”
“I didn’t see it. Show me,” Robert said.
As they headed to the study, a heavy knock rocked the front door. Erik’s face filled the single windowpane. His scowl told Robert that he’d already seen Reyes’ whip outside. Robert let him in. Reyes was, Robert believed, the only person who got under Erik’s skin simply by breathing.
Reyes said, “Hola, Yaycobson. ¿Cómo estás, mi tocino?” My bacon.
“The fuck’s he doing here?”
“Well, I asked him to—”
“Head of marketing, Yaycobson. Es un trabajo muy importante. Having business cards printed up as we speak.”
“You know how to pronounce my name, don’t you, Ray-Ray?”
“Don’t see no Ray-Ray up in here. I see Reyes, meaning king, last I looked.”
“King of bullshit, last time I looked, and popular worldwide as a girl’s name. Gotta talk to you,” he said. You meaning Robert.
“We’re not done yet with—”
“Done with what, Double R? The yard sale?”
“No, my Risky Business event, Yake. My happenin’.”
“Risky what?” That was Robert.
“Play your cards right, I’ll get both ya’ll an invite. No, wait. Yake, he’s retired, hits Souplantation ‘bout four, four-thirty. Two bowls of tapioca and he nods off at sundown.”
Then to Robert: “Leave marketing to me and I’ll get you top dollar for Conchita, ¿sí? That right there’s no bullshit.”
“No bullshit? Another first,” Erik said. He took a seat on the couch, put up his feet on the coffee table. “What’s this couch and chairs going for, Robert?”
Reyes said, “You can enter with the general public, Yake, and learn my price points.”
“General public?” Robert asked. “What’re you planning to do?”
“Home’s a rental, Roberto. Look, I’ll give you fifty-five hundred cash right now, or you can do it up right.”
Erik said, “Yard sale with snacks? Never been done, Ray-Ray.”
“Keep it up, both of you. Ain’t nothing bad gonna happen up in here, unless you count bad as me makin’ Conchita a pantload of dinero.”
Erik said, “That’s a pantload, right there.”
Reyes said, “Tell you what, Roberto, this casita looks like this or better after the sale, or I forfeit my pay.”
“You got a witness on that one, Robert, but I need a word with you. Legal business, Ray-Ray, highly confidential.”
“Who cracked open your last case, Roberto? Who found Lark Man? That’s right, you lookin’ at him.”
It was true. Reyes was the one who had scoured all the beach-area convenience and liquor stores that sold cigarettes, looking for a man who smoked Larks. Without Reyes, Robert never would’ve found Lark Man, Stanley Tifton, the man who had tried to kill him. And without learning Lark Man’s identity, Robert might well have been facing tax-evasion charges.
He looked at Erik. “Es verdad, Yake.”
Erik knew it, too, and it pained him. “When you’re ready to talk about this case, lemme know,” he said, and slammed a pillow behind his head.
“Gotta flex anyway.” Reyes pounded Robert’s fist. “Cast and crew, we takin’ over Santa Monica Pier tonight.”
“For Street Cred Two Hundred?” Erik from the couch.
“Wrap party, baby. Free rides on the Ferris wheel, roller coaster, free corn dogs, and Skittles.”
Erik stood up. “For that low-budget, maybe straight-to-DVD POS? Bet you a thousand bucks that production’s not taking over Santa Monica Pier.”
“Don’t wanna take your money, Yake. Wrap party’s on, baby.”
“A grand, Double Ray. Man up.”
“How’s it gonna work? You come down to the pier tonight, you not on the list, can’t even get on. Oh, wait—you workin’ security?”
“I’m not going near that pier tonight. You gotta prove to me it did happen and you were there because you belonged there.”
“I gotta do all that extra, we notchin’ it up to two thousand.”
“Hear that, Beach Lawyer?” Erik said.
“Got it,” Robert said.
Listening to these two go at it was like a paid vacation for him. By the time Reyes walked out, the bet was up to three grand.
Erik watched Reyes drive away. “What a bullshitter.” When Robert didn’t answer, Erik turned around.
“I heard you,” Robert said. “Major bullshitter.” He recalled that fresh $5,000 sitting in the floor safe—somehow Reyes always came through. “What’d you find out at Playa Vista?”
“Ana Short—on the down-low, right?—she got the guard to let me check the guest registry. I went back three months; Carlos Famosa never showed over there, even as a visitor.”
“How long did it take you to drive over to Playa Vista?”
“From IHOP, twenty minutes, a little less.”
“Let’s say you might lose a ton of money with the SoccMom guys over in Playa Vista. What does Carlos do? He sends them twenty e-mails, sets up lunches, snail-mail threats, more e-mails—what doesn’t he do?”
Erik was already nodding. “Drive twenty minutes to Playa Vista, park his ass in the lobby till they show up. But this guy’s a flyweight, right? Not the same mentality as you and me.”
Robert said, “Money. Gone. Girlfriend. Going or gone. Brother’s money. Gone. Your father’s legacy. Gone. Twenty-minute drive from your front door?”
“Catch the light at Culver, more like eighteen.”
They sat in the living room, trying to make something more of it, and couldn’t. Once Erik left, Robert was closing up the house when he remembered the framed picture Reyes had just mentioned. The good one.
Robert checked Carlos’ office again. On the floor, leaning against the wall facing Carlos’ desk: the lineup of framed posters and prints. On the end of the row, framed better by far than the rest: a two-inch-deep, black-enamel frame with tinted glass.
Picking it up, he held it out in front of him.
Carlos’ match to Teo’s rock.
The rock, with its own clack marks and etched Joshua tree, rested on a wooden ledge inside the frame against an off-white background. Not an exact match in the physical world—Carlos’ rock being more irregular, slightly darker than Teo’s—but the clack marks connected the pair. Now Robert knew—that moment in the back seat of their parents’ car mattered. Both to Teo and to Carlos.
Teo’s feelings conveyed to Robert outside this house, sitting on the steps, fearful about coming inside: I loved my brother. It’s all right if he didn’t feel the same way about me.
But sitting inside this office ten, fifteen minutes later, Teo had come to believe: I loved my brother, and he loved me, too. The same conclusion Teo had shared with Benny.
Teo must’ve breathed it in, knowing how much Carlos had valued their back-seat time together. A rare respite to their troubled childhood. That explained Teo’s attitude leaving here for his last AA meeting: I’m not running away. I’m running toward.
Turning over the frame, Robert noticed a sticker for Omni-Tint, a glass-tinting process. Alongside that, the brand of scratch-resistant glass the framer had used on this job. At the bottom of the frame: an adhesive tag with information about Freize Framers, its address on Lincoln Boulevard, not far from here.
On the bottom right-hand corner, he then noticed a printed sticker: Date of Completion _______. Handwritten into the blank was a date—and one month after that date, Carlos Famosa lay dead on the floor, ten feet away from where Robert now stood.
CHAPTER 28
While Robert waited for the guy behind Freize Framers’ counter to finish with a customer, he looked around the place. Lots of framed movie posters. Several of Frozen—the owner’s pun?—Star Wars, Iron Man; a framed Penguins jersey; and a large framed print with Jimi Hendrix for the Clippers slam-dunking over Jim Morrison for the Lakers.
A voi
ce beside him: “Running back Jim Brown as a Cleveland Cav, dunking on Dallas Mavs Willie Nelson. Like the sound of that?”
The guy from behind the counter stood beside him. Midforties, five ten, he weighed three hundred pounds, give or take a few, and moved quietly for such a large man.
“Sounds cool,” Robert said, and meant it.
“Drew Freize. How can I help you this fine day?”
“Robert Worth. Let me show you something, Drew.”
Over at the counter, Robert showed him Carlos’ framed rock.
“I saw Freize Framers on the back. Date of the job was written there, too.”
“And you are?”
“His representative.”
When Robert tried showing him the tags—no more Fun Jim. Both hands went into the air: not my problem.
“On high-end jobs, using that nonglare glass, we date the work to set the warranty running. And I told Mr. Famosa, our glue might not hold the rock against that backing. Sooner rather than later, the rock’s gonna come loose.”
“It hasn’t. That’s not why I’m here, Drew.”
“I know this frame was quite expensive, but that was up to him. Over the years, I stopped second-guessing customers on matters of taste.”
“Again, I’m not here to complain. I think it looks perfect.” He meant that, too.
“Oh. Are you here for the pickup?”
What pickup? Robert wondered.
“Carlos’ pickup, yes, that was my next question,” Robert said.
Drew went in back. Robert could see him sorting through finished frames, pulling one out, and returning to the counter.
“Thought Mr. Famosa had forgotten about it.” Drew placed it on the counter. “What do you think?”
Another expensive frame with a white envelope taped to the glass. Mounted inside this frame: three stamped rocks, darker gray than the brothers’ two rocks—but to him, they looked identical to Delfina’s rock.
As Robert turned over the frame, Drew’s voice buzzed in the background, repeating his philosophy on high-cost frames for cheap mementos.
Back of this frame, too, the name Freize Framers and this job’s date, handwritten on an adhesive tab’s blank line. The date of completion this time: five days after Carlos’ death.