The Kill Clause

20

YAMASHIRO,a japanese restaurant perched atop a hill in East Hollywood, looks down over its steep-sloped front gardens to the distant neon flash of the Boulevard and Sunset. Through the miasma of smog and car exhaust spread low along the Strip, Britney Spears threw a five-foot gaze from a building-side banner ad, all wide grin and vacant eyes, a Dr. T.J. Eckleburg for the aught decade.

About two years back, Tim and Bear had collared a fugitive who’d injured Kose Nagura’s wife in a jewelry-store heist, and the restaurant manager had shown his gratefulness in the form of ceaseless imploration for them to dine at his restaurant free of charge. Despite their discomfort at the place’s specious high-class ambience and raw-fish fare, they tried to take him up on his offer at least once every few months to avoid insulting him. Besides, the drinks were good, the view from the hilltop bar was the most spectacular in all of L.A., and the building-an exact replica of a grand Kyoto palace-had a certain majestic appeal.

Tim wound his car up the precipitous snaking drive to the restaurant and left it with the valet. As usual, Kose seated him at the best table immediately upon his entering, a four-top at the restaurant’s southeast apex, where glass wall meets glass wall, providing a panoramic view of the smoldering billboard-and smog-draped buildings below-a view of the L.A. that the Mastersons deplored. The crass money-and fame-grubbing sprawl of middle-class aspiration for stardom, an asphaltopolis that raised child stars as tall as buildings and rewarded greed and ruthlessness, a town where rapists and child-killers could gorge their appetites in like company.

Tim played with the straw in his water glass, waiting for Bear, rehearsing all the dumb things he knew he was going to say in hope of discovering better wording. A couple to his left was holding hands across the table, casually, as if their easy-found affection were something to be taken for granted, something found everywhere, like frustration, like smog, like aspiring actors. He sensed the deep tug of his need to be with his wife. He reframed his thoughts, deciding what he would impart to Bear, the messenger. A white flag, perhaps.

Bear appeared, a large form in gray polyester pants and a just-mismatched blazer, stretching past one of the sliding shoji walls leading from the inner courtyard. Tim stood, and they embraced, Bear holding him for an extra beat before sliding into his chair.

Tim nodded at Bear’s rumpled suit. “You’d better hurry up and get that thing back on the body. The wake’s at seven.”

“Clever.”

“Court duty?”

“Yup. Tannino found out I bet against Italy in the World Cup last year, so he stuck it to me. Two days before I can go out-of-pocket again.” Bear’s face seemed to move and settle into an expression of weariness. “There’s no way for me to say this, so I’m just gonna spit it out.” He paused. “If you don’t knock off the strong, silent routine, Dray’s gonna figure out she’s fine without you.”

“What does that mean?”

“While you’ve been MIA, Dray’s been going through Ginny’s stuff, getting out of the house, seeing friends. She doing this on her own. You sure you want her to?”

“Of course I don’t want her to. But we don’t know how to do it together.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re knocking yourself out trying.” Bear picked up the paper-hat-folded napkin, then set it back down. “Are you having an affair?”

Tim fought to find impassivity. “Bear, I understand you’re trying to help, but this isn’t really-”

“What? My business? Let me tell you what is my business. You may not embarrass your wife. It’s your right to embarrass yourself all you want, but Dray’s been through enough. You’re not gonna drag her through more.”

“Bear. I’m not having an affair.”

“I talk to Dray every day. And I’m getting a weird vibe from her when your name comes up, like she doesn’t trust what you’re up to. Plus, if you hadn’t Houdinied on her, I hardly think she’d need-” He stopped. Pulled the napkin from the table and smoothed it across his lap, eyes lowered and regretful.

“She’d need…?”

Bear’s hands paused. “Mac. She’s had some really bad nights. Mac slept over a few times-not like that, just on the couch-to see her through.”

“Mac?” Tim snapped his chopsticks apart and frictioned off the splinters. Hard. “Why didn’t she call you?”

“Because I’m still your partner first and foremost. Mac’s one of hers. And that’s the wrong damn question. The correct question is, why didn’t she call you?”

“What’d you tell her?”

“What do you think I told her? That she was being a fucking idiot, that she should have swallowed her pride and called you, like you should have swallowed your pride and called her.” Bear took no note of the glances from neighboring tables. He shook his head, disgusted. “You’re both stubborn, spiteful people who will die alone.”

Tim continued to work the chopsticks back and forth, harder. “We decided we needed to take a little time off. We were tangling up in each other.”

“Have you really not seen her in five days?”

Tim felt a sudden heat in his cheeks. He took a sip of water, got a mouthful of lemon. “That doesn’t mean I don’t love her.”

The waiter came up, and Bear ordered quickly for both of them without looking at the menu, naming the spicy shrimp simmered in sake, crab cakes, and seven-spice mussels. He’d been coming here more than once every few months, that was clear. Probably taking the occasional date.

When the waiter left, Bear fixed Tim with an apologetic stare. “Look, I’m just saying you should call her. You need each other. And she needs you-that house went from full to empty in a hurry. Can’t really blame her for wanting someone around in the wake of all this, even if it is Mac sleeping on the couch. And while we’re at it, when are you coming back to work?”

Tim looked up, surprised. “I’m not coming back, Bear. You know that.”

“Tannino’s wondering why he’s having so much trouble reaching you. He’s pulled me into his office twice this week to make clear he hasn’t accepted your resignation.”

“He doesn’t have a choice.”

“What are you doing, Rack? What are you up to?”

“Nothing. I’m just dealing with things on my own for a while.”

For the first time Tim could remember, he didn’t recognize the look in Bear’s eyes. “Let me add to the list of things that I will make my business. You can’t embarrass me. Not as your partner. And you can’t embarrass the service.” Bear leaned back, crossed his arms. “I know you’re up to something. I don’t know what, but I’ll figure it out if I want to.”

“You’re overreacting. There’s nothing going on.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have a phone.” Bear’s voice was firm, driving. “So what was the bulge in your pocket when you hugged me? It hasn’t been that long.”

Tim had instinctively grabbed his cell phones so as not to leave them unattended in the car with the valets. An unforgivable oversight. “Picked it up this morning. 323-471-1213. Don’t give the number to anyone.”

“Why all the cloak-and-dagger?”

“There’s still a lot of fallout from the shooting, media hounding me, so I’d just as soon stay under for a while.”

“Really? I haven’t seen anything lately. Everyone’s whipped up about the Lane assassination now. You hear about the guy who pulled that off? They’re snake eyes on leads-guy must have been an ice-cold professional.” He shook his head. “Cranium ventilation. They always can find a new trick.”

Tim shrugged. “It’s not so bad. One less mutt on the street.”

Bear’s forehead furrowed into a wrinkled pane.

Tim looked down, played with his straw. An emotion rippled through him that took him a moment to identify. Shame. He realized he was giving off nervous energy, so he dropped the straw, placed his hands on his knees.

Bear pointed at him with a chopstick. “Don’t let Ginny’s death eat you away. Don’t let it corrupt you. There’s enough ignorance out there. The one person I don’t expect it from is you.”

The waiter arrived with their food, and they ate in silence.

•A funeral procession passed by while Tim idled at the stoplight at Franklin and Highland. The hearse led, somber and dignified, and a convoy of rain-polished cars followed-Toyotas, Hondas, and the obligatory drove of SUVs. Seized by an impulse, Tim pulled out behind the last car and followed the line of vehicles to the Hollywood Forever Memorial Park. He parked a block and a half away. By the time he’d made his way through the solemn front gate and over the first grassy hill, the ceremony was under way.

He watched from a distance, the mourners arrayed in black and gray, diminutive like figurines. When the sun managed to knife through the smog, Tim donned sunglasses to cut the glare. The presumed widower shovel-turned a scattering of rocks and dirt into the open grave, and, despite the distance, Tim could hear it patter on the unseen casket. The man collapsed to a knee, and two young men stepped forward quickly, chagrined, to help him up. He managed as best he could, a patch of mud weighing down his wind-flickering trouser leg, the sun glimmering off his cheeks.

A murder of crows swept in and blanketed an overlooking sycamore, where they looked on, sleek and inauspicious. Tim waited several minutes for the birds to depart, but they didn’t, so finally he turned his back and headed down the too-green slope toward his car.