“And lately I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Me too.” The man with Norton was wearing a Dodgers sweatshirt and faded Levi’s. His head was shaved. He looked serious, too.
“Detective Wolfe,” Maggie said. “Gordon’s told me about you.”
“Yeah. But Mr. Takoda is Maggie Nesbitt’s friend. He’s not supposed to know you.”
Maggie looked beyond Wolfe to Gordon, who was standing next to Gay, behind the two policemen. His expression was blank. She’d always been able to read him. Not now. The open book of his face was closed to her. She was afraid.
“Just say what you have to say and get it over with.” She balled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
“The Lakewood Sheriff’s had a homicide a few months back,” Detective Wolfe said. “A blind woman, Helen Nighthyde. Gunshot in her own house.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with me.” Maggie struggled to stay calm. How could they come here now, on this, her happiest of days?
“Because of the quick way it was closed, the Sheriffs didn’t follow up on the prints they took in the Nighthyde house, but we did, Abel and me. Yours were all over the place, Mrs. Sullivan’s, too.”
“Of course, that wasn’t possible,” Norton said. “You’re dead.” He smiled. “You can relax. We’re not here to cause you any trouble. We just wanted to see the baby.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If you’d ignored the little girl you inherited and started throwing the money around like rice at a wedding, well, we’d have stepped in,” Norton said. “You’d be in jail now and Jasmine would be with her father. But you didn’t, you’ve become what every child needs, a parent who gives a shit.”
“So, I’ve been on probation?” Maggie was angry now.
“But not anymore,” Wolfe said. “It’s over. The prints and any other evidence taken from the Nighthyde house that might have pointed a finger at you or Mrs. Sullivan have been destroyed.”
“Why’d you do this?”
“We’ve both lost loved ones recently,” Norton said. “I guess it made us compassionate. Plus, you have a strong advocate in Gordon Takoda. He can be very persuasive.”
“So, you knew about this?” Maggie said to Gordon.
“Don’t be mad,” Gordon said.
“I’m not.”
“Now we’re your advocates, too,” Wolfe said. “Gordon has enlisted us as godparents for you, Jasmine and your baby?”
“How?” The short lived anger had melted away.
“It’s best you don’t know. Just know this, we’re in his debt and through him yours. If you’re ever in trouble, call us and we’ll come.”
“Gordon?” She met his eyes.
“I have to leave with them for a bit,” Gordon said. “But I’ll be back.”
In the hospital parking lot, Gordon said, “We’ll take my car.”
“You got the stuff?” Wolfe said.
“In the trunk.”
“That kind of dangerous, driving around with it like that?” Norton said.
“No more than what we’re about to do.”
“Guess you’re right about that.” Norton went to the shotgun door. Wolfe got in back.
As Gordon made the right onto Pacific Coast Highway, Norton said. “Sorry it had to be today, the baby and all.”
“Don’t be. I said I’d be ready. Besides, you didn’t have to let me come along. I appreciate it.”
“If you hadn’t told us, we never would’ve known,” Wolfe said.
They rode in silence, like paratroopers flying above a combat zone, waiting for the drop. Gordon glanced over at the albino, sneaked a look at Wolfe in the rearview. If he added both men’s ages, they probably couldn’t match him in years, but they were old in a way he’d never be.
Gordon had fought in Vietnam, spent twenty years with the FBI, lost loved ones to war, cancer, heart attacks, old age and AIDS. He’d killed when he’d had to and even when he didn’t have to. He’d experienced more life than most. Seen more than most. Lost more than most. But a child’s smile still delighted him and not a day went by when something didn’t surprise him. These two policemen riding with him, Gordon didn’t think anything surprised them. For them, life had lost its wonder and that was too bad.
It was 6:15 when they pulled up in front of the steel and glass building where Congressman Nishikawa had his district office. The setting sun, catching all the pollutants in the Southern California air, gave the sky a hue of oranges, pinks and purples.
“Nothing prettier than an L.A. sunset,” Gordon said when he shut off the engine.
“Yeah.” Norton got out of the car and went to the trunk.
Gordon and Wolfe met him there. Gordon opened it. He took out a Glock, handed it to Norton, gave another to Wolfe, kept a third for himself.
“These are new,” Wolfe said.
“Virgins,” Gordon said.
“We could have used throw downs,” Norton said. “Saved you a bunch.”
“For some things you just don’t count the cost.” Gordon closed the trunk.
“You’re right about that,” Wolfe said.
Gordon walked to the entrance of the glass office building, the bald detective on his left, the long haired albino on his right. He opened the door with a key.
“Where’d you get it?” Norton said.
“Followed the watchman to a bar and waited for him to get drunk. Then I picked his pocket, made an impression and put it back. He never missed it.”
“You learn that in the FBI?” Wolfe said.
“I picked it up somewhere, maybe there.” Gordon pushed the call button for the elevator. The congressman’s office was on the fifth floor, but Gordon didn’t feel like walking up the five flights. Now he just wanted to get it over with.
Gordon was first off the elevator.
“You got a key for his office, too?” Wolfe said. “Or are we gonna knock?”
“It’s a pass key, opens ’em all.” Gordon put it in the lock, turned it. Gun first, he entered the plush office. Light and dark furniture, teak and oak, from one of those places that sold furniture from Denmark or Sweden, not American looking at all.
Wolfe whistled. “Classy fuck.”
“Who’s there?” The shouted question came from a room behind the Danish modern reception desk.
“Company.” Gordon went through the door to the inner office, Glock still in front of himself. Norton and Wolfe were right there with him.
“Get out.” Congressman Nishikawa was wearing a white suit, with a cream colored tie. Three shots rang out as one, turning the suit crimson red.
“What the fuck?” Striker said as the three men trained their weapons on him.
“I wish I could say I’m sorry about this,” Gordon said. “But I’m not.”
“We had a deal.” Striker was also in a suit, dark and expensive. He looked like a million bucks, like he owned the world. He stared straight into Gordon’s eyes. “You gave your word.”
“I lied.”