by P. A. Brown
He had been reassigned to South-Central, for the next six months, to work a gang detail. They had forged a tight partnership; a partnership that even David’s abrupt outing over four years ago had not disrupted. David wasn’t looking forward 8 P.A. Brown
to breaking in the new kid, even if he was, as rumor also claimed, top of his graduating class. Good grades, like good looks, weren’t everything.
He moved around to stand beside the grave again. A tarp had been laid over the torn earth to protect against the coming storm. He thought he could still see the outline of the arm. He glanced sideways when a flash of lightning illuminated the dense brush. He almost felt sorry for the boots who was going to have to guard this site all night.
He turned back to face the grave and its nameless victim.
Jairo came up to stand beside him. David kept his eyes on the tarp, ignoring the man beside him.
“I’ll find him,” he promised.
CHAPTER TWO
Friday, 11:35 AM, Two California Plaza, South Grand Avenue, Los Angeles
Christopher Bellamere reached across the black melamine table and vigorously shook Dr. Curtis R. Jantz’s hand. Jantz, the head of R&D for Microchip Interface Technologies, gestured for Chris to sit, and did the same. A young, preppy looking man appeared and offered coffee. Chris accepted, and within seconds a steaming china cup was delicately placed in front of him, along with a silver cream and sugar service. He accepted both.
After sparing a brief look out the polarized glass, fifty stories above the Los Angeles city center, looking west toward the hazy beaches of Santa Monica, and Venice fifteen miles away, he turned his full attention on Jantz. At least the storm had blown over. Maybe the weekend would be decent, after all. Nice. Go into the weekend with a new job under his belt. Now if only David would get some time off, it would be perfect. He might even be able to plan a little make-up sex to let David know he was sorry for being such a bitch.
“You’ve seen our business plans,” Jantz said. It was more a statement than a question.
“I went over them last night,” Chris said, anxious to get to the meat of their discussion, but equally anxious not to show his eagerness. The delicate dance of negotiation.
Jantz steepled his fingers, his eyes, behind a pair of Gucci glasses, pale blue and watchful. “I’ve already spoken with my partners, and they’ve indicated they’ll leave this decision up to me. I still have some concerns I’d like to address, if that’s acceptable to you.”
“Of course. We both want to know this is a good fit. I have some questions as well.”
10 P.A. Brown
“Good” Jantz pulled a slim-line gunmetal gray attaché case onto the table, and popped it open. He withdrew a sheaf of paper. “I see you’ve put some consideration into assembling a local team. I assume you’re familiar with all these people.” He held aloft the list Chris had faxed to him yesterday. “But, first, our non-disclosure agreement.” Jantz pulled out a second ream of paper. “I’m sure you’re familiar with them. Have your lawyer look them over if you’re not.”
Chris took the pages and skimmed through them. He’d signed enough such contracts, over his career, to see it was a basic boilerplate agreement, simply stating that he wouldn’t use what he learned at Microchip Interface Technologies for personal gain. Nothing hinky, as David would say. He slipped his Mont Blanc pen out of his jacket pocket, and used the nib to guide his eyes through the verbose legalese. He blinked a couple of times at the tiny print and wondered if it was time to start looking for reading glasses. Unlike David, he wasn’t ready to admit he was getting old. Maybe he should look into laser surgery. Across from him he sensed Jantz’s growing impatience.
Refusing to be rushed, he finished the first page, and glanced up to find Jantz still watching him, with an intensity that might have made a lesser man blink.
He didn’t, and after another couple of minutes he slid the papers into his laptop case. “I’ll give my lawyer a call and get back to you with these tomorrow.”
“Of course.” Jantz stood up. “I’ll have my secretary set up an appointment. Is ten good for you? I have a conference call at eight with our European affiliates.”
“Sure, ten’s fine.” Chris extended his hand, and felt it engulfed in Jantz’s cool one. Back in the elevator he descended to the parking garage where his kiwi green Escape sat nose in to a parking stall. He fished out a couple of bills, parked his Prada shades on his nose and activated his BlackBerry.
Des, his best friend since their days together at UCLA, answered on the third ring. He sounded breathless, but that was Des; he always sounded like he was racing through life, eager to get from one fabulous scene to the next.
L.A. BONEYARD 11
“Oh thank God you called. I’m in such a tizzy. Clive has just lost it. Completely lost it. He put together a window yesterday with our latest shipment of Nicole Farhi, and he put them out with this old rag that was left over from last season! I ask you, if a little queen like Clive doesn’t know yesterday’s news from the trash what’s a girl to do?”
Chris laughed, which only incensed Des more. “Hon, you take this all way too seriously,” Chris said. “Come on, I want to take you out for a drink. Surely you can trust the store to Clive for the afternoon.”
“Not if I want to retire before I’m 50,” Des sniffed. “What are we celebrating?”
“Why do we have to be celebrating anything? Maybe I just want to have a drink with my best friend. You ever think of that? Besides,” Chris flicked on the radio and got KROQ. The sounds of Rise Against filled the cab. “I think I’m about to sign my biggest contract yet. I may be retiring before you.”
“That is so not fair. I take it you’re buying then? Koutoubia?
We can get the Couscous Royal pour Deux.”
“I haven’t signed the contract yet. Besides, I thought I said
‘drink,’ not ‘gourmet Moroccan feast.’”
“Drink. Tagine. Same diff.”
“Fine,” Chris said, knowing he’d never win an argument with Des. “Give me an hour to shower and change.”
“I can already taste that Princess Martini.”
He swung onto the Pasadena Freeway, and had just gotten off the freeway onto Silver Lake when he saw the dog at the side of the road. He slammed on the brakes when the gaunt, black and tan animal stumbled into the street, nearly going under his wheels. He threw the door open with a shout, and barely missed getting creamed himself by a pickup truck, that swerved around both of them with a blare of horn and Spanish expletives. Chris ignored the irate driver. He crouched down and eyed the shivering animal.
“What are you up to, guy?” Chris looked around, hoping to see someone coming out of one of the shabby businesses that 12 P.A. Brown
lined this area of Silver Lake Boulevard. He turned back to study the dog, disgusted to see ribs and gaunt hip bones protruding from its dull coat. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”
The animal’s stub of a tail wagged uncertainly. Chris reached into the car and retrieved his BlackBerry from the passenger’s seat. He’d have to do a search on animal shelters to find somebody equipped to help. He looked up from Googling to find the dog’s eyes staring at him intensely.
“What?”
The tail moved again.
Christ, he was losing it here, talking to a half-starved mutt, in the middle of Silver Lake, while traffic flowed around them.
Asking to get them both killed.
Another car came too close, its horn dopplering into an angry mutter as it swerved around them. From inside his Escape came the surreal lyrics from Good Charlotte singing about walking in the shadow of L A. Chris straightened.
“Okay,” he said, indicating the inside of the SUV. “We’ll settle this at my place. But don’t start thinking I’m a pushover. I’m not. You’re going to the pound.”
The dog wiggled his nearly tailless butt and despite his half-starved appearance leapt into the cab easily, settling onto the seat,
as though he did it every day.
Half an hour later Chris pulled into his drive-way. David’s yellow and white ‘56 Chevy coupe wasn’t there. But then it was early. It could be hours before David got home, and if there were any troubling deaths, then he could be gone longer than that. It was probably a good thing David wasn’t home. Chris didn’t have to strain his imagination to know what David would say about him bringing this stray home.
He took the path around the side of the house, and let himself in through the locked gate to the backyard. Telling the animal to stay put, he slipped into the house, grabbed a large ceramic bowl, which he filled with tap water, and pulled a plate of leftover chicken pasta from the fridge, carrying both outside.
The dog hadn’t moved. Chris offered the water first, then slid L.A. BONEYARD 13
the plate onto the pavement stones. The dog emptied the plate in two inhalations, and looked for more.
Chris still made no move to touch the animal. He did see it had a collar, but no tags. Had it gotten away from someone’s yard? Or had it been dumped? It was skinny, so whatever had happened wasn’t recent. He couldn’t see any sign of abuse or injury. He wished he knew more about dogs. But all he’d ever owned were cats, and that was mostly due to David’s love of them. Chris could have happily gone through life without owning any animal.
“What am I going to do with you?”
The dog crept close and tentatively shoved its damp nose into Chris’s hand. Without another thought, Chris pulled out his BlackBerry and punched in Des’s number. Before Des could speak, he said, “I need you to come over here, right now.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just come out. I can explain it better then.”
“If this is your way of getting out of lunch—”
“Trust me, Des.”
Des sniffed. “Well, okay. But don’t think you’re getting off.
I still expect lunch.”
While he waited for Des, Chris got a towel, and a bucket of warm water, and tried to wipe down the short-coated dog. The dog seemed to have lost its reticence, and tried to lick Chris’s skin off his face. Warm doggy breath, smelling vaguely of pesto chicken, washed over his face. Chris belatedly realized he was still wearing his Brunello Cucinellis suit from the interview. Not exactly dog washing attire. He took one final swipe of the animal and stood up.
He changed into jeans and a T-shirt, since the day had turned warm. Back outside, he found the dog sprawled on its side, on the sun-warmed patio, looking more asleep than aware.
His upright ears barely moved when Chris shut the French doors behind him.
“You sure know how to make yourself at home.”
14 P.A. Brown
Chris studied the sleeping dog and began to realize it looked familiar. In fact it looked just like the dog a neighbor down below the stairs owned. He remembered David had admired the dog more than once. A Doberman Pinscher.
“Is that what you are? Sprechen sie Deutsch?”
The dog smiled, revealing perfectly white, gleaming teeth.
“So does that mean if I try to take you in you’ll chew my ass off? You’re worse than one of David’s drill sergeants.”
He heard Des pull in behind his Escape. Chris opened the patio gate and called Des over.
“What are you doing back here?” Des pulled the gate shut behind him. “Now, will you please tell me what the hell is going…?”
He caught sight of the dog, which had half-risen at his appearance.
“Jesus.” Des backpedaled until he was pressed back against the redwood gate. “What is that?”
“It’s a dog.”
“No shit. What are you doing with it?”
“Well, that’s the problem,” Chris said, guiding Des to one of the Adirondack chairs and settling him into it. “I found him.
How about you keep an eye on Sergeant and I get us a drink.”
“Jesus, you named it already? You know you can’t do that.
Once you name it, how can you get rid of it?”
“You see our problem then.”
“Our problem? I didn’t participate in this doggie rescue operation. How is it my problem?”
Chris went inside and returned minutes later with a bottle of Pinot Blanc and two glasses. He handed one to Des. “Mi problema es su problema.”
“Ha, good luck with that. I’ve got enough problems keeping Trevor in line. This is a whole other can of Alpo.”
“Speaking of which, what do you feed dogs? I doubt they should have cat food.”
L.A. BONEYARD 15
Des eyed the empty plate on the patio stones. “Not that, I’m sure, if it came out of your fridge. You’re not seriously thinking of keeping him are you? What is David going to say?”
“I adore you, Chris.” Chris batted his eye lashes. “Whatever you want is fine with me, Chris.”
“You do live in a fantasy world, don’t you?”
“A very rich one, thank you very much. I’m not worried about David. He likes animals.”
“No, he likes cats and he likes you. I think you’re stretching the definition of animal lover here.”
“Oh pish,” Chris said, getting the requisite smile from Des.
“Well, I don’t know about you,” Des said. “But I’m still hungry, and since going out for lunch isn’t an option anymore, how about we order in?” He gave Chris a mock glare. “Your treat.”
They ordered souvlaki and Greek salad from down on the Boulevard. Chris followed that up with a call to his lawyer about going over the contract and an area pet supply place which promised to deliver a bag of dog food by the end of the day.
Waiting for lunch, Chris faxed the contract to his lawyer.
The dog food arrived before their own, and Chris found a small bowl to portion some out. He left the dog happily scarfing down his food, while he and Des headed into the kitchen to eat.
It was nearly seven before Chris heard David’s key in the door. He hadn’t heard the car, but then David probably had to park on the street, since Des’s Mercedes was taking up the other parking space. Des jumped to his feet, a half grimace on his classically beautiful cafe-au-lait face. “Well, I think I’m going to call it a night. You two take care—”
“Des—”
David paused in the door to divest himself of his weapon and badge and dropped his shoes in the foyer. He passed Des.
“Leaving so soon?” David asked, when Des gave him a hurried hello and goodbye.
“Gotta go, Trev’s waiting.”
16 P.A. Brown
They both watched Des race out the door; David turned to greet Chris. “What’s with him?”
“Don’t know,” Chris said. He stood up and kissed David.
“You hungry?”
“You have no idea.” David grimaced. “Let me take a shower and get changed first.”
“Rough day?”
David only mumbled something as he dragged himself upstairs. Within minutes the shower came on.
Chris threw together some left over lamb and couscous, and had it on the table with a bottle of David’s Bud. David bussed him more thoroughly before he sat down. Sweeney, David’s Siamese, strolled into the kitchen looking for attention. David scratched him behind his ears then pulled his plate over toward him. He looked over at Chris’s empty place setting.
“You eat already?”
“Des and I had a late lunch.”
David dove into his food, letting Chris know he’d had a busy day; too busy to eat. Pretty typical of David.
“You going back out?” Chris asked when David declined the beer and poured himself an orange juice instead.
“Yeah,” David sighed. “Paperwork. I’ll be leaving at first light tomorrow, too.”
“New case?”
“Body in Griffith Park.” David refused to talk about his job with Chris, which Chris didn’t mind at all. He wasn’t into dead bodies or mangled corpses. He was happy to spend his days in the antiseptic and non-violent world of comp
uters. “Don’t wait up for me,” David added.
It was Chris’s turn to sigh. Once David was finished, Chris scooped the plate and glass up, rinsed them out and loaded the dishwasher. Then he took David’s hand and pulled him off the chair.
“Need to show you something.”
L.A. BONEYARD 17
“What?” David hastily wiped his mouth on a napkin, and followed Chris through the back of the house, to the patio door.
Chris put his finger on his mouth and peered around the French door. The dog was curled up beside his empty food bowl, his sides bellowing in and out in gentle sleep. The instant Chris popped the door open, the dog bolted upright.
David stood on the stone step overlooking the patio. He stared at the animal, who stared right back.
“Chris...”
“I found him. I almost hit him with my car. I couldn’t very well leave him out there, now could I?”
“And animal control—”
“Who knows what they’d do to him. Look at that face.”
Chris crouched down by the dog’s wedge-shaped head and fondled his ears. The dog wriggled his butt. “How can you send a face like that into purgatory?”
“I hardly think an animal shelter is purgatory,” David said dryly. “Most of those people love dogs. Besides, maybe somebody’s looking for him. You ever think of that?”
Chris snorted. “Didn’t do a very good job of looking after him, if you ask me.”
“You have to look, Chris. You can’t just take something you found, just because you want to.”
“I took you, didn’t I?”
“You hardly found me lost on the street.”
“Close. You were a lost soul until I rescued you.”
“Very cute.” David pulled Chris to his feet and enfolded him in his arms. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
A low growl punctuated his words. They both looked over to see the dog standing, glaring at David.
“Whoa, guy.” Chris crossed over to the angry dog and made him lie down. “Don’t go throwing a hissy fit.” To David, “He’s just jealous.”
