at the Burbank airport. The squirrels scattered.
"Mr. Callahan? Mick?"
It was Tina with the expansive gums. I went back over to the counter, and she stepped away from her station. A small man in a dark suit gave me a foul look. Tina whispered in my ear, "By the way, Mr. Callahan, how did you know to ask for me?"
I wasn't about to tell her that Jerry was the smartest hacker on the planet. "I can't tell you that," I whispered back. "Part of the TV pilot."
She nodded vigorously. "Oh, I see, sure. Well, anyway, you were right. Mr. Joseph Faber rented a black Range Rover. Here is the license number. I didn't remember at first, but I do know that car because it was in an accident just after."
"Just after?"
"After they turned it in. Well, maybe before, we're not sure."
"Can you clarify that for me, Tina?"
"Mr. Faber rented the car and drove it to Las Vegas. He turned it in there, later on the fifteenth, but it sat in the lot for another day. The report shows some minor damage to the driver side and the front fender, but we don't know when that happened exactly."
"Because it sat in the lot?"
"Yeah. Anyway, he came back and rented it again."
"The same car?"
"Apparently he asked for the same car. And they hadn't had a chance to fix anything. He said he was bringing it back to this outlet, but he never showed up."
"So the car is still missing?"
"Yes, it is overdue and missing, but people are a day or two late all the time. I'm sure he'll turn it in soon."
"Oh, I'm sure, too."
"Anyway, I ran you a copy of the rental form, but don't tell anyone or I'll get fired." She slid it across the counter and winked.
I already had the form, thanks to Jerry. I shook my head. "That won't be necessary, Tina, thanks anyway. If we get this off the ground, I'll have my people be sure and get you tickets to the first taping."
"That would be cool! And can I have your autograph?"
Some days things are just too easy.
The day was turning hot. I drove over Coldwater, then turned on Sunset and doubled back. As I drove down the strip I had a bit of a scare. I thought I saw the same white Toyota I'd seen by the radio station, with the identical dark-haired young woman driving. I flashed on a girl named Frisco, who'd once followed me in disguise and led me into a trap. The sun blinded me for a second. I blinked and looked again, but the car, if it had ever actually been there, was gone. Sure. Someone following you following Jerry following Brandi to see if she's being followed?
During my conversation with Tina, Jerry had tailed Brandi DeLillo to the posh Beverly Center, where he planned to turn the function over to an off-duty detective named Dave Lopez. Lopez was moonlighting for Larry Donato, the ex-cop cousin of Darlene Hernandez.
I parked in the loud garage, blended into the crowd and rode up the escalator behind two young women in black Goth clothing. One was Hispanic and skinny, the other white and heavily muscled. They were engaged in a fierce argument about the quality of some rapper's new CD.
I flipped my cell open, hit auto. "Where are you now?"
"She just went into the Pizza Kitchen. Dave Lopez is here, and he's going to pick her up when she leaves. Like I said, I'm kind of liking this cloak and dagger stuff . . . except for the feeling like a pervert part."
"Why start regretting that now?"
"Funny."
"Okay, you can take off. Give Lopez my cell. I'll call you later."
I paused at the top of the escalator, stepped to one side, and dialed Brandi DeLillo's cell phone number. I pictured her groping through a large purse, looking for the instrument. She answered after four rings. There was a brief silence, perhaps as she checked for a Caller ID.
"Hello?"
"Brandi, my name is Mick Callahan. Bud Stone may have mentioned me somewhere along the way."
She didn't answer. I heard her take a deep breath. I turned away from the mall and towards the busy street. "Hello?"
"I'm here. Did he give you this number?"
"Yes."
"Because he really
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley