The Watchman

12

PIKE was driving hard toward Glendale and the LAPD’s Scientific Investigation Division when his cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the number and saw it was Ronnie.

“Go.”

“They hit your store fourteen minutes ago. Those boys are willing to work in broad daylight. They want you, m’man.”

Larkin, beside him, said, “Who is it?”

Pike held up his finger, telling her to wait.

“Did the security guys roll?”

“Code three, lights and sirens, and they called in LAPD. Denny and I are rolling over right now. You wanted a full-on response, you got a full-on response.”

“File a report with the police. If we have any physical damage, have an insurance adjuster come out. If anything needs to be repaired, call out the repairmen today.”

“I get it. You want noise.”

“Loud.”

Pike put down the phone, and Larkin punched him in the arm.

“I hate how you just ignore me. I asked you a question, you just show me your finger.”

She showed Pike a finger, but it wasn’t her index finger.

Pike said, “We’re going to see someone in Glendale, then we’re going to meet Elvis where you had your accident-”

“Why can’t we just go back to the house?”

“Someone is trying to kill you.”

“Why can’t we just hide?”

“Someone might find you.”

“You have an answer for everything.”

“Yes.”

She punched him in the arm again, but this time Pike ignored her. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she slumped back in the seat, sullen.

Pike was glad for the silence. They climbed up through the Sepulveda Pass, then down into the San Fernando Valley. The valley was always much hotter, and Pike could feel the increasing heat even with the air-conditioning. He watched the outside air temperature rise on the dashboard thermometer. From Cheviot Hills to Van Nuys, they gained fifteen degrees.

Larkin was quiet for exactly nine minutes.

Then she said, “Would you like to watch me masturbate?”

Pike didn’t look at her or respond, though he wondered why she would ask such a thing. She had probably wanted to shock him. Shocking statements probably worked with some people, but Pike wasn’t one of them. Shock was relative.

“I could do it right here in the car. While you’re driving. Would you like that?”

She slid her hands down over her belly to where her legs met. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper.

“I’ll ask your friend. I bet he’d like to watch.”

Pike glanced at her, then continued driving.

“Day I got to Central Africa, I watched a woman. Her family had been murdered that morning, just two hours before we rolled in. She cut the fingers off her left hand, one by one, one each for her husband and her four children. She started with the thumb.”

Pike glanced over again.

“That was how she mourned.”

Larkin folded her hands in her lap. She stared at him, then turned to the window. The silence was good.

They drove through the valley heat.