CHAPTER 44
Ridge arrived at the Il Forno Restaurant at 6:05, and John Gryme walked over immediately and introduced himself. “I’m sitting at the far corner of the bar,” he said. “Would you like a drink?” Ridge smiled inwardly. At least I’ll get my drink before I reject his offer.
“Margarita, rocks. Patron with a Grand Marnier topper,” Ridge said, taking the measure of the man as he followed him toward the end of the bar. Gryme was relatively short—five foot five or so—white, wiry build, late 40s, salt and pepper hair.
Climbing onto the plush bar stool, Gryme gave the order to the bartender and added, “Make mine a double scotch, Dewars.” Drinks in hand, they started out with small talk—the Dodgers, the Lakers, and of course freeway traffic. Then Ridge said, “John, I talked to my client. He rejected the offer.”
Gryme grimaced. “You have a counteroffer?”
“Not really. He wants to press forward.”
Gryme started to huff, but then as if on cue, a striking woman with long dark hair, blue eyes, and a killer smile came up to them. “John,” she said, “this must be Eric Ridge. Hi, I’m Sasha Kachingski.”
Ridge sensed just a hint of perfume as she offered her hand. When he took it, he noted the handshake was warm, strong, assured. Sasha was dressed in a dark blue form-fitting suit with a light blue silk blouse worthy of a courtroom, but still certainly sexy. She contrasted with Gryme who despite his thousand-dollar Brooks Brother suit and Ivy League tie looked—well, grimy. But then they both clashed in their own way with Ridge’s navy-blue blazer, open collar, and beige slacks. In fact, Ridge would have felt underdressed except—well, this was California.
Just then, Gryme stared down at his gold Rolex watch and said, “Look, I need to go. Got Dodger tickets at the last minute today. But Sasha knows the case inside out. See if you guys can reach some common ground.” Without hesitating, Gryme downed the rest of his double scotch, said quick goodbyes, and was off. Sasha turned to the bartender. “A Grey Goose martini, please. Dry, thirteen shakes and two olives on the side. Thanks.” Then she turned to Ridge. “I’ve gotta confess. I looked you up. You’re a NYU grad. So am I.”
At that, they launched into talk about Washington Square, Greenwich Village, Rockefeller Center, and how they both missed street-side chestnut vendors in the wintertime. It turned out she had graduated twelve years after Ridge, but New York being New York—the best never changed.
Things were going swimmingly when Sasha stared straight at Ridge and said, “Look, this is embarrassing, but I’ve got to make another confession. I left the case file at my condo this morning. I’d feel much better if I had it before we talk shop. I live nearby. Would you mind if we discussed the case there?”
Bells went off, whistles blew, and a perfect picture of Jayne sprang into Ridge’s mind. He gulped. Then regrouped. “Sasha—can’t do that. I thought this would go relatively fast, and I’ve got another meeting at 7:30. But look, let’s set up something when we get to our calendars—your office or mine—and soon. Then, we can talk things out.”
Sasha’s blue eyes moved down to her drink. “OK—I get it. No harm, no foul. I’ll tell Gryme you needed more time to talk to your client, OK?”
“OK.”
“Then I’ll just grab dinner here,” said Sasha, “and look forward to our next meeting.”
After goodbyes, Ridge walked back to his office thinking, better move fast to make that next meeting. It was almost 7 and Mister and Pistol expected dinner 7:30 sharp, or else.
CHAPTER 45
Monday evening, just after 7, Two sat in his car, all focus on the building across the street. He rang up the phone number for the fifth-floor apartment. No one answered. It went right to voicemail and a female voice said: “We’re away from the phone right now. Leave a message at the beep. We’ll get back to you.” Probably, the bitch who yelled “Get out!” and then shot me, thought Two. If she’s upstairs, I might not be able to control myself. But, got to remember, Hess may be right about one thing: Control. Or lack of it. That’s my big problem. Gotta fix that.
7:30. Two decided to check the apartment from a different vantage point by walking around to the beachside. All lights were out. No one was home. So, he returned to his car, laid low in his seat, and continued to watch the underground-parking garage and main entrance.
Ridge arrived home a few minutes after 7:30. Mister and Pistol gave him a break. No complaining, which was good because Ridge was beat—maybe because of Lake’s bad news about WebBird—although the mention of insurance did pique his interest. Maybe because of the Toyota brief or having to spend time with the likes of Gryme, or whatever Sasha was trying to pull. Whatever. Ridge didn’t even turn on the lights. He just fed the pets, walked to the bedroom, and crashed on the bed. I’ll just lay down a minute and get some dinner later, he thought, as Mister and Pistol jumped up and cuddled in next to him.
Back in his car, Two slipped lower in the seat. He ate the two Whoppers and fries he’d brought for dinner, while looking up every few seconds at the garage and main door. This time, he promised himself, I’m gonna do it right. He gazed again at the photo of the lawyer from the law firm’s website and checked everyone entering the apartment house to make sure the yahoo was nowhere in sight. The plan was to get into the apartment at midnight and leave the lawyer and his lady a message they would never forget. The damn dog would be gone, dead no doubt. And if the opportunity came up, he wouldn’t mind finishing off that goddamn cat too.
He reasoned to himself, If Hess knew I faked being the alarm-system apprentice and got their phone numbers and alarm codes, even he’d be proud of me. I did my homework. Planned it to a gnat’s ass. Answered the “Help Wanted” ad at Redondo Security Lock. Became an assistant. Put the “15% Off” flyer in their mailbox. Watched the phones. Took the call. Made the appointment. It was genius. What the hell more could I do?
One got all Hess’ attention. Sure, the guy was good, but he wasn’t any better than he was, Two thought. “I’m really friggin’ tired of not getting any credit,” he muttered aloud. “But this—this will change everything.”
At that moment, Two got a text message from One, asking where he was. He concocted an excuse and texted back. Then cleaned up the Whoppers and finished his fries. From that point on, he just sat and watched the garage and main entrance, while playing games on his smartphone. Incredibly, no one entered or left, except some giggling gaggles of teenagers. So much for hot night life in the beach cities, he thought, and it’s only friggin’ 8:45. Midnight can’t come soon enough.
CHAPTER 46
Just as she planned, Terry met Ava Monday evening at 9 sharp at the Coastline Restaurant. One of the most romantic restaurants in the Beach Cities, it jutted out over the surf in Redondo Beach. At night, lights flooded white water waves, and surfers below came and went, carrying their boards, like actors in a surf movie. She’d reserved a secluded, candle-lit booth near the windows and before their entrees even arrived, her talk turned to marriage and babies. Terry tried a preemptive strike.
“Ava, you know I love you. I’ve always loved you, ever since our first date at UCLA. But we have to slow down. Give ourselves some time to get re-aquainted.”
Ava’s smiling face twisted to a pout. “Slow down? Neither of us is getting any younger. We love each other. Who knows what tomorrow brings? Especially in this mixed-up world we live in.”
“We have too much history to jump back in so fast,” Terry said, his voice gentle. “Especially with how it ended last time. And right now, Eric and I are working some strange cases. My hours are crazy, and I may be out-of-town a lot. I don’t want to disappoint you if I can’t meet your expectations right now.”
Ava frowned in frustration, then pushed back her chair and stood, looking down at him. Her eyes were swimming with unshed tears and she wore an expression Terry couldn’t read. “I need to go to the restroom. Get some tissues. I’ll be right back. But we can work this out. I’m sure of it!”
Ava picked up her purse and headed to the Ladies Room near the restaurant’s entrance. A few seconds later, a sound vibrated. Ava’s cellphone. She’d had left it to the side of her plate setting. It vibrated again. And again. Terry reached over and picked it up. The display showed several unanswered text messages. But the earliest one caught his eye. It was from “Producer” asking her to “Call about Pao.”
When Ava returned to her seat, she was obviously more composed. Terry was not. He caught her eyes and pinned her with a hard stare. “Who is ‘Producer’ and what does he have to do with me?”
Ava’s eyes went wide. Her gaze flicked to where her phone had been and then to where it was now cradled in Terry’s hand. He held it up and showed her the screen.
“Your phone kept buzzing.”
“Terry. God.” She brought her hands up to her face as if she was going to start crying.
He reached out and pulled her hands away from her face. “Tell me.” Was that shame on her face? Embarrassment? Or fear? What the hell was going on?
“I swear I was going to tell you.”
“Then do it, Ava. Tell me.”
