Free Move to Strike by Perri O'Shaughnessy Page A

crash to the concrete parking lot three stories down.
    Just in time he caught himself, openmouthed and ready to scream, eyes bulging and hands gripping the railing. He fell back onto his deck, gasping.
    Had he really almost killed himself there? Casually fallen over the railing like a goddamn fool in a moment of inattention? Feeling profoundly shocked, he lay propped on an arm, blinking, getting his heart back into his chest.
    After a while he went back into the kitchen and popped another beer. Nothing had actually happened, except that he had to go clean up the broken glass before somebody drove over it. The fall amounted to a nonevent. But he felt very odd about it. The week before, he had slammed the limo door on his index finger. He held up his hand. Blue had turned yellow and black.
    He’d have to pay more attention, that was all.
    Drinking half the bottle in one long series of gulps, he set it down on the coffee table and picked up the phone. Time to roll.
    “Trumbo and van Wagoner,” said a voice.
    Since when did Deano’s name get mentioned, much less first in line? Oh, well. Deano had been substituting for six months. It was probably less confusing while Paul was gone.
    “Hey, Deano,” he said. “It’s me.”
    “Hey! How you doin’, buddy?”
    “Great. Just arrived back a couple of days ago. This morning, I did a quickie interview for the
Herald
to drum up some business, and here I am.”
    “All right! How long you in town for this time?”
    “I’m back. The job’s over. Finished up early.”
    A pause. “That’s just great!”
    Deano sounded a little flat. Well, having Paul back meant the end of having the run of the place. Deano was an old friend from the Monterey police who had been working for Paul while figuring out what else he was going to do with the rest of his life. He had explored accounting school, then played around with the idea of opening up an Italian restaurant on Ocean Avenue. Finally, he had accepted Paul’s offer as a stop-gap arrangement. For months now he had been managing the business, and recently the reports hadn’t been sounding too good. That had created another incentive for Paul to come back. Anyway, Deano would lay it all out at the office, and Paul would get busy pumping some new life into the old girl. Maybe Deano was disappointed that Paul was back. Tough. Paul owned the business. That was the fact, Jack.
    “Let’s get together,” Deano said, putting on a more plausible show of enthusiasm. “Dinner? I’ll fill you in.”
    “I thought I’d stop by the office in a half hour or so.”
    “Not a good plan, ol’ buddy.” Paul could almost hear the long hair slithering from side to side over his shoulders as Deano shook his head. He was making up for the regulation short haircuts of his cop days. The black Cossack mustache he wore these days wouldn’t have gone over too well on the force either. He claimed its rakish look drove women mad.
    “Why’s that?”
    “I wasn’t expecting you. I need a chance to straighten up in here before you come waltzing in to claim the kingdom.” He laughed. “At least give me a day to get someone in to do the filing.”
    Paul thought about it. Yeah, cut Deano some slack, if he wanted it.
    “Okay. The Hog’s Breath?”
    “Shut down. Big deal here, Clint’s restaurant closing. Surprised you didn’t hear about it. Let’s try Triples in Monterey. They do a mean gazpacho. Seven okay? I’ve got a few things to do here.”
    “Sure.” So the Hog’s Breath was gone. Nothing good lasted, baby, he knew that. Still, it was a blow. He’d rented the office specifically so he could look down at the Hog’s Breath courtyard with its long-legged tourists.
    “Think you can find it?”
    “I can still muddle my way around Monterey, Dean.”
    “Ha, ha! I’ve missed you, dude!”
    Paul hung up and started making other wake-up calls. Susan Misumi had left a message on his voice mail a month before. She was a friend, a professional