Even Sci stood up and gave Cody some applause.
“We’re going to miss your clothing commentary,” I said to my former assistant, “and your impersonations of all of us, especially me.”
I did an impersonation of Cody doing an impersonation of me, running his hand through his hair, giving himself a serious look in the mirror, straightening his tie.
People roared.
I said that I had put a contract out on Ridley Scott for taking Cody away from us, but that I was grateful to Cody for finding Val.
Cody broke in to say, “Val, stand up, girlfriend.”
And she did, laughing too, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the magic mojitos. She was just having fun.
I said, “Cody, you’ve kept us on track and you’ve brought us a lot of happiness too. And if the acting thing disappoints you, I’m going on the record: You’ll always have a home at Private.”
I gave him the gift-wrapped camera and card from everyone at Private, and after the applause had abated, Cody wiped his eyes with a red napkin and used his foie gras lollipop as a microphone. “Jack, I want to thank you,” he said. “Seriously, this has been the best job of my life. You taught me more than this,” he said, grinning as he ran his hand through his hair. “You showed me honorable leadership in action. That’s what I’m going to remember most.”
I didn’t know thirty people could make so much noise with their hands.
CHAPTER 106
DEL RIO EYED the King Eddy Saloon, a bar within an old bootlegging hotel by the same name on Skid Row, East Fifth and Los Angeles Streets. This was a bad section of town, but King Eddy’s attracted all types, from homeless drunks to young people with dreams who owned condos around the corner.
The building was gray with black trim, bars on the three windows around the door, a security gate attached to that, attesting to what could and often did happen in this neighborhood.
Del Rio went through the door, Cruz right behind him, like Samuel Jackson and John Travolta going into that diner in Pulp Fiction.
“Cold Cold Ground” was playing on the jukebox, and some people were singing along. The circular bar was jam-packed with local characters. A cheap wooden platform held the TVs, which were tuned to a basketball game. At that instant, the Lakers lost by a point.
Customers groaned.
Alongside the wall opposite the bar was a line of tables under decorative neon beer signs. At one of the tables a pair of trannies was getting crazy. From the pitch and volume of the screaming, Del Rio thought it was just a matter of moments before it got physical.
With luck, they’d be out of there before the trannies blew.
Del Rio had seen a picture of the guy they were looking for. It was a couple years old and the guy had been holding a number under his chin, but Del Rio was pretty sure he could recognize him inside his favorite hangout.
He searched the backs of heads and profiles, and then he saw the African American guy with a short beard sitting at the bar. He was eating a free doughnut and talking to the old barfly sitting next to him.
Del Rio got Cruz’s attention, tilted his chin toward the guy with the beard. Cruz squinted, then nodded, and Del Rio pulled his nine.
Del Rio walked over to the guy having his beer and doughnut, put the gun to his spine, and felt the guy stiffen. The guy stared into the mirror over the bar for a second, looked into the faces of the two men who weren’t joking, raised his hands, and held them up.
Del Rio said, “Mr. Keyes, walk with me.”
Keyes said, “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Then don’t do anything stupid.”
This was Tyson Keyes, the badass limo driver who was Karen Ricci’s first husband. According to her second husband, Paul Ricci, Keyes was the man who had tipped Carmelita Gomez that her john had been killed by a limo driver. Maybe he’d done more than that. Maybe Tyson Keyes had killed five businessmen who’d hired party girls for a couple of hours in their hotel rooms.
Keyes swiveled around, then got off the stool very carefully. “I’m not the guy you’re looking for, man.”
The barfly said to Keyes, “You through with your beer?”
“He’s through,” said Del Rio. “Let’s go.”
A couple of people looked up, then looked away real fast. They would say that they hadn’t seen anything.
With his hands still in the air, a former limousine