Free A Savage Place by Robert B. Parker Page B

member of the Los Angeles underworld.”
    “And the nature of that transaction?”
    “A payoff.”
    Brewster nodded again. He looked at me. “Is this your eyewitness?”
    “No.”
    “Who is your eyewitness?”
    Candy shook her head. “He’ll have to remain anonymous for now.”
    “Of course,” Brewster said. “Of course he would. You media types are all the same, aren’t you. You have information but you can’t give me specifics. You have an eyewitness, but he’ll have to remain anonymous.”
    “Do you wish to comment on the allegations?” Candy said.
    “The allegation is without foundation,” Brewster said. “And you are without professional ethics. I shall be discussing you with the management of KNBS shortly.”
    “I’m only trying to do my job, Mr. Brewster,” Candy said.
    “And I seriously doubt that you’ll have a job for very much longer,” Brewster said.
    “You mean, you’re going to get me fired?” Candy’s gaze was final, but her voice had softened a little.
    “Precisely,” Brewster said.
    I looked at Holmes, the lawyer. “Is that actionable?” I said.
    “And I am sick of your smart mouth too,” Brewster said. He did his stare again. “Who is your superior?”
    “I have none,” I said. “I’m not sure I even have an equal.”
    “Spenser,” Candy said, “please! You’re not helping. Do you have any statement for me, Mr. Brewster?”
    “I’ve made it. Now I want you both off of Oceania property. Now.”
    Candy said, “Mr. Brewster-”
    Brewster said, “Now.”
    Simms, the security type with the tinted glasses, got to his feet.
    I looked at him. “Simms,” I said, “this horse’s ass that you work for has made me very edgy. If you do anything more than stand up, I will put you in two weeks of traction.”
    Simms said, “Hey.”
    “I mean it,” I said. “Sit down.”
    Candy’s face was flushed. She moved in front of me. “Come on,” she said. “You’re making it worse. Come on. I want to go home.”
    Brewster pushed his desk intercom. “Miss Blaisdell,” he said, “send some security people in here at once.”
    Candy said, “See what you’ve done. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
    I said, “It is not dignified to run off like this.”
    “Come on,” she said and headed for the door. There was nothing left there for me to do. Telling Brewster he’d be hearing from me seemed graceless. I thought about kicking him, but by the time I got around the desk, the entire security force would be setting up gun emplacements in the reception room. I lingered another few seconds, hoping that Simms would lay hold of me. No luck. Nobody moved. Everyone looked at me. I felt like I’d stumbled into an Italian Western.
    Candy was out the office door. She wasn’t waiting. I was supposed to guard her. I went after her. On the way out I picked the globe off the table in the booklined room and dropped it on the floor. That oughta fix ‘em.

Chapter 12
    IN THE ELEVATOR there were tears in Candy’s eyes. In the parking garage her lower lip was shaky. In her car, pulling out onto Santa Monica Boulevard; she cried.
    As we passed Bedford Drive I said, “If you’ll tell me why you’re crying I’ll buy you a large frappeed margarita at the Red Onion, and maybe a nacho supreme.” She sobbed. We crossed Camden.
    I said, “It’s down here, on Dayton at Beverly. You keep sobbing and driving and you’ll miss an outstanding margarita.”
    She kept crying, but she turned right on Rodeo, drove down past stores that sold eight-hundred-dollar farmer’s overalls, and parked near the corner of Dayton. Then she put her head down on the steering wheel and wept full out. I cranked the seat back as far as it would go on my side of the MG and leaned back and stretched my legs out and folded my arms on my chest and rested my head and closed my eyes and waited.
    It took about five more minutes before she stopped. She straightened back in the seat, turned the rearview mirror toward