Click here for previous installments TWENTY-SIX Rain bent the camphor tree branches, swirled under the streetlights, danced and sheeted on the pavement. It ran off the shake roof of the big Craftsman as Wil pulled into the driveway and under the...
Click here for previous installments TWENTY-FOUR Saturday morning brought thundershowers, rain falling and the sun shining, then the last of the clouds crowded out of the L.A. basin east toward Arizona. By nine the sky was clear and blue, odd contrast...
Click here for previous installments TWENTY-TWO “She’s at Guerra’s, dammit. What more do you need?” For an hour they’d kicked it around, Wil thrusting, Epstein parrying. “You know damn well,” Mo came back. “Even if the DA likes it, we have to convince...
Click here for previous installments TWENTY The cemetery lay on land a developer would die for; oaks grew there and cypress trees and, beside the bluff overlooking the ocean where the five were gathered, purple-flowered succulents. Wil parked the...
Click here for previous installments EIGHTEEN The day had been mierda, the aroma of soiled diapers well suited to the degenerating tenor of their confrontation. First there was Bolo’s incredible macho stupidity in revealing himself to...
Click here for previous installments SIXTEEN Wil waited until they’d finished breakfast to explain about the danger; afterward, in the silence, he took her hand. “I just think it would be a good idea for you to stay with your parents. A few days,...
