Chapter Twenty
Vish expected something seedy, but Mulgrew’s was clean and comfortable. It was a ramshackle wooden structure with a wide, sprawling patio that faced the ocean. A row of shiny motorcycles were lined up in the crowded parking lot near the entrance; they might belong to customers, but they looked like props. Mulgrew’s was a sanitized Hollywood version of a roadhouse, one geared more toward college kids and beachgoing tourists than legitimate tough characters.
He walked inside and was assailed by loud music. The interior was huge and airy, with exposed wooden beams plastered with bumper stickers. A glass case by the front register displayed t-shirts for sale. A waitress with a lot of curly blonde hair and a pink crop top edged past him on her way to the patio, balancing a tray of food on one shoulder. Baskets of onion rings and gigantic hamburgers. Vish’s stomach growled. In all the excitement, he’d forgotten to eat today.
Vish looked around, uncertain. The payphone was located against the back wall, next to a sign pointing toward the restrooms. He could ask the waitress if she had worked last night, if she remembered anyone receiving a call at the payphone. Seemed like a long shot, but there wasn’t much else he could do.
Except… Ah. At a booth in the far corner, sitting by himself, a bottle of beer on the table in front of him. Longish dark hair, an aristocratic nose, a black Hawaiian shirt. One of the surfers who attacked him on the beach, the ringleader. Vish was certain of it.
He should go. Duck out of the restaurant before he was spotted, call the police, tell them whatever he could.
He didn’t. He navigated his way through the maze of tables and bodies and slid into the booth across from the surfer.
The surfer looked up. He was several years older than Vish, with a tanned face and very dark eyes. His hair was pulled off his face in a loose ponytail; dark wisps of hair fell in his eyes.
His expression didn’t change at the sight of Vish. Then, finally, he smiled and settled back into the high wooden booth. “Balls,” he said.
“Who are you?” Vish asked. He was pleased with how calm and confident he sounded. No hesitation, no nerves.
The surfer just stared at him for a moment. “Call me Tommy,” he said at last. “I already know who you are.”
“You attacked me on the beach the other day,” Vish said. “I’d like to know why.”
“Maybe I don’t like you,” the surfer—Tommy—replied. He took a swallow of his beer and smiled again.
“Yes, I got that,” Vish said. “You broke into my apartment last night, didn’t you?”
The smile morphed into a smirk. “Couldn’t say. But it sounds like the sort of thing I’d do.”
“Kind of stupid to use my phone, wasn’t it? It led me right to you,” Vish said.
“Yeah. Because that wasn’t intentional at all,” Tommy said. “I guess that was carelessness on my part. That sure wasn’t me leaving you a trail of breadcrumbs so you could find your way here.”
Vish felt a thrill of fear. “You couldn’t have known I’d come. I could have called the police,” he said. “I could have told them all about you.”
“Probably should have,” Tommy said. “Kind of dumb that you didn’t, actually.”
Vish glanced around. “We’re in a public place,” he said.
Tommy shrugged. “I got friends. Lots of friends. And people disappear in this city all the time.” He locked eyes with Vish. “You’re going to disappear, you know. Not today, probably, but just as soon as I get the word to go for it. Nobody’s ever going to hear from you again.” Another smile. “Maybe you should spend some time thinking about what I’m going to do to you. We’ll have fun, you and me.”
“Who’s the dead guy in my pool?” Vish asked. “One of those friends of yours?”
A flicker of irritation crossed Tommy’s face. He curled his upper lip. “Yeah. Joey. So you’ve got some friends too. So maybe Joey getting offed wasn’t really your doing, but that doesn’t mean we’re not going to take it out on you.”
“Who killed him?” Vish asked.
Tommy looked like he was about to reply. His glance shifted to just behind Vish, and he froze. “Well, hell,” he said.
Vish turned and saw Poppy standing beside him. “Vish. I thought that was you. What a surprise.”
Vish stared at her, unable to reconcile her presence in this setting. She was overdressed for the place in another tailored suit, this one in a deep violet. “Poppy,” he said at last. “Why are you here?”
She held up a Styrofoam takeout container. “This place has the best loaded potato skins in the city. It’s worth going out of my way.”
She placed her free hand on his shoulder. “Come on. If you’re done here, I’ll give you a ride home.”
Tommy glared at her. “We were talking,” he said.
“Not anymore, Tom.” The hand squeezed Vish’s shoulder once, kind of hard. “Ready, Vish?” Her tone was brisk and cheerful.
Vish slid out of the booth. Poppy dropped her hand to his upper arm and closed it around it.
“See you soon, Vish,” Tommy said. He gestured with his chin toward Poppy. “Maybe you too, sugar. Kind of interesting to think how your boss would react if you disappeared on him.” He settled back, draping one long arm over the top of the booth, and smiled at her.
A corner of Poppy’s mouth quirked up. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to find out.”
She half-marched Vish out of the restaurant. She didn’t speak until they were out in the parking lot. “Really, Vish? That struck you as a good idea?” She shook her head. “And you seem so bright, too.”
“He broke into my apartment last night,” Vish said. “He took pictures of me with my phone.”
“All of which was designed to scare you, or provoke you into a confrontation, and you took the bait.” She stopped beside her sleek black car, all elegant lines and shiny detailing. “Hop in.”
Vish obeyed. Poppy slipped behind the wheel. She handed her Styrofoam container to him. “Hang on to these,” she said. Vish could smell bacon and onions and grease.
She slipped out of the parking lot and started heading north. “Why’d you go there?” she asked without looking at Vish. “You had to know that was dumber than hell.”
“Because I’m tired of everyone knowing more about whatever is happening in my life than I do,” he said. “Nobody answers my questions, and everyone seems to know what’s going on, and I want it to stop.”
“It’s confusing, I know,” she said. “That still doesn’t give you carte blanche to be reckless.”
“You told me I wasn’t in any danger,” he said.
“No. I told you not to worry about any danger, the implication being that I’d be around to bail you out in case you muddled into something you couldn’t handle.” Poppy smiled. “Hence my sudden need for loaded potato skins.”
Vish stared at her. “You’ve been following me.”
“No kidding.” Poppy drove north on Vista Del Mar, heading up the coast. “And you’re welcome.”
“Did Sparky tell you to watch me?” he asked.
“Nope. This was on my own initiative. Mind you, he’d probably think it was a pretty swell idea. Turns out you’re in desperate need of babysitting.”
Vish stared at the passing scenery, at the oil refinery and the sewage treatment plant, great monolithic structures that rose up next to the ocean, monstrosities of shiny pipes and tall towers and vast metal tanks. Still keeping her hand on the steering wheel, Poppy pointed a finger at the refinery.
“Sparky loves El Segundo,” she said. “All the refineries and crap. He goes crazy about that kind of thing. If it looks uninhabitable and apocalyptic, that’s where he wants to live. I once had to talk him out of moving our offices to an oil platform off the coast. He tried to convince me the commute wouldn’t be too bad.”
“Who’s Tommy?” Vish asked.
“Hired muscle. He works for someone who doesn’t like Sparky very much.” Poppy glanced at him. “Sparky’s
got a lot of enemies, and you’re getting caught in the crossfire, which is totally his own damn fault. Sparky is maybe a little less concerned about it than he should be, which is why you’ve got me running interference for you.”
“You know they found a dead body in the pool in my apartment complex this morning?” Vish asked. “Tommy called him Joey. He implied that someone got rid of him to protect me.” When Poppy didn’t answer, he swallowed hard and continued. “You didn’t do anything to him, did you? You or Sparky or… anyone else?”
She snorted. “Wait for the medical report. It’ll show you that no one did anything to anyone. The guy in your pool decided to dive in the shallow end in the middle of the night and, not surprisingly, broke his neck in the process. Autopsy’ll show he had a bunch of illicit substances in his system.”
“How do you know that?” Vish asked.
“I’m good at guessing. Just like I’m good at knowing what changes need to be made to a book to get it published, or to a screenplay to get it optioned.”
They’d reached Marina Del Rey now, the usual tangle of docks and sloops and boats. “You’re not going to tell me anything I want to know, are you?” Vish said.
She smiled. “Not directly, no. But surely you must be used to that by now.” She turned onto Venice. “Try not to worry so much. Things will wrap up pretty soon. I can’t say you’ll get all the answers you’re looking for, but…” She shrugged. “Odds are pretty good you’ll get out of this alive, so there’s that.”
She pulled up in front of his apartment building, then reached over and took her food out of his hands. “I believe this is you.”
“It is,” Vish said. He glanced at her. “I haven’t thanked you. I know I should.”
“I get it. I won’t feel snubbed if you’re more frustrated than grateful.” She smiled at him. “Take care of yourself, Vish. It’s a scary world out there.”
He climbed out of her car. She waved at him once and drove away.