The Night Crew

'Not Creek!'

'No. A guy named Jason, he was a college kid we used part-time, you don't know him.' Awkward segue: 'Listen, what do you hear from Clark?'

There was an empty heartbeat there, then an almost masculine chuckle: 'Uh-oh. Are you seeing him again?'

'Not seeing him, but I just saw him,' Anna said. 'At a gas station. He's here in L.A. I saw him on Santa Monica.'

'I know. He called and asked for your phone number, last month sometime. I didn't give it to him.'

'He called! Why didn't you tell me?'

'Because you messed each other up so bad the first two times. I didn't want the responsibility.'

'Cheryl,' Anna said, pushing her hair up her forehead in exasperation. 'I can take care of myself.'

'No, you can't.' In her mind's eye, Anna could see her shaking her head. 'Not with Clark.'

'Damn it, Cheryl.'

'. But I saved his L.A. address and phone number in case you called and wanted it,' Cheryl said, with a teasing tone. 'I had the feeling you might hook up. Cosmic vibrations, I guess.'

A little jolt, there. Pleasure? 'What's he doing here?'

'He's got an artist-in-residence gig with UCLA. Composition. Two years, he said, so. he'll be around.' Another dead space, then Cheryl again. 'Well? You want his number?'

'I don't know.'

'I better go get it. then you can tell me about the murder.'

Cheryl read Clark 's phone number; Anna noted it, doodled around it as they talked. At six-thirty, still chatting, Anna casually picked up the TV remote, aimed it at the set in the corner, hit the power and mute buttons and flicked through the channels.

At CNN, the Harper kid was flying off the ledge, followed by ten seconds of talking head, then a shot of the pig taking out the Rat. They'd picked the Keystone Kops version.

'Cheryl, have you seen the TV news thing about the guy who jumped off the ledge here in L.A.?'

'Well, sure, everybody's seen it. You can't get away from it.' Then, excitedly, 'Was that you guys?'

'Yeah. It's getting around. Have you see the animal rights thing, at the medical center?'

'Oh, the guy with the pig. Cracked me up. Was that you, too?'

'About two minutes apart, story to story. And you're getting them way up there in Oregon?'

'Hey, it's not like we're in Tibet.'

As they talked, the Blue Shirt kid came upAnna had forgotten his namebut he'd been interviewed again, probably the day after the animal rights fight. The interviewer was not familiar. The kid was wearing a lab coat, had a fat lip, and a couple of grinning professor-types hung in the background of the interview. Louis had made him into the hero of the piece, and that had influenced the stations who'd picked it up: and it was still building.

What was his name? Like the mountain, right? Not Everest. McKinley. Charles McKinley. He was playing the role just right, Anna thought, watching the muted TV as Cheryl chattered in her ear, a sort of charming, little-boy bashfulness.

Anna and Cheryl were still on the phone when Creek arrived, doing his shave-and-a-haircut knock. Anna walked out to the end of the phone cord to let him in, said, 'Cheryl,' to him, and he called out, 'Hi, Cheryl,' and stuck his head in the refrigerator.

'Cheryl says she wants your body,' Anna said, as he emerged with a bottle of Leinenkugel Light.

'She can have it, as long as she gives it a good cleaning once in a while,' Creek said. As Anna repeated his answer, Creek popped the top on the beer and wandered down the hall. A moment later, Anna heard him tinkling on the piano.

When she got off the phone, she ripped dark's number off the scratch pad where she'd written it, looked at it for a moment, then folded it in two and stuck it under a magnet on the refrigerator.

Clark. She got a Coke from the refrigerator and sat on the piano bench with Creek, facing away from the piano. Creek smelled pleasantly of sun-sweat and turpentine.

'You're early,' she said.

'Thought you might like to talk, running around after Jason like that.' He was chording his way through a fake-book rendition of 'Autumn Leaves'.

'Yeah.' She'd told him that morning about the prowler, now she told him about the man in the apartment.

'Maybe I ought to look him up,' Creek growled, when she finished.

'I don't think so,' she said, reaching over to pat his back. His back felt like a boulder. 'He's got connections with the cops and the cops are talking drugs. You better stay low.'

'I don't want him fuckin' with you,' Creek said.

'I don't think he will,' Anna said. 'I talked to Wyatt about himI was scared, and called Wyatt, and he knew who he was. Oh, and Wyatt told me that his partner was over to interview you.'

'Yeah, I. guess.'

She felt the sudden evasiveness in his voice: 'Look at me, Creek,' she said.

He shook his head. 'I ain't looking at you.'

'Oh my God, you jumped her,' Anna said, half-amused, half-horrified.

'Did not. Jump her,' Creek said. 'And that's a nasty phrase anyway. High school.' He segued to a couple of bars of 'Ain't Misbehavin'. 'But she is a tastylittle thing.'

'Pretty hard edges for a cheesecake,' Anna said. Creek's adventures with women sometimes grew complex.

'Hey, you know, nobody really appreciates what a woman cop goes through every day,' Creek said tartly. 'Especially one with some decent looks.'

'Just how much of her did you look at?'

'None of your business.'

'Ah. And would I be right to suspect that this somehow leads to your getting the cabin painted on the boat? You smell like paint.'

'She wants to learn to race and she's gonna help me with the maintenance,' Creek said defensively. 'So shut up.'

'Help like Teri did.'

Creek shuddered: 'I asked you never to mention that name.'

'Sorry.'

'Now I have to find a priest,' Creek said. 'To cleanse me.'

She smiled now. 'Sorry again.'

'Easy to be sorry,' Creek said. 'You don't have to live with the pain.'

Anna snickered and Creek laughed and went to the 'Jelly Roll Blues', running down the chords.

And after a little while, Anna said, 'Clark is in town.'

The music stopped. Creek turned to her, suddenly pale, as though the tan had run out of his face, like blood. 'Aw, shit,' he said.

They left Anna's at nine-thirty, the long, brutal day dragging on. Creek was brooding, silent. Anna was annoyed by the silence, the annoyance layered atop her already general grumpiness. She'd wanted to talk about Clark, but Creek didn't want to hear it. 'That's toopersonal,' he said. 'I can't tell you what to do and I don't want to think about it. Go find a girlfriend to talk to.'

Louis was sitting outside his apartment, standing on the curb in his white shirt and plaid jacket, carrying the laptop. He'd updated the address database with GPS numbers, and claimed that with his new GPS receiver he should be able to put them within a few feet of their actual position, anywhere in L.A. County, southern Ventura or Santa Barbara.

'What's happening with Jason?' he asked, as he ducked his head and climbed aboard.

'I'm trying to figure out a funeral,' Anna said, as he sat down. Creek pulled away from the curb and Louis brought up the electronics. Anna asked, 'What's going on?'

Louis started monitoring the cops from his apartment, an hour or so before they went out. He had a scanner on an old trunk at the foot of his bed, and Creek claimed to have seen him adjust the volume dial with his toes, without opening his eyes. 'Nothing really heavy, but something's going on with the hookers up on Sunset,' he said, twiddling a dial. 'Hard to tell what's going on, but I think it might make a movie.'

'Boys or girls?' Anna asked.

'Girls. There was a call about ten minutes ago. The cops hit a club up there, cocaine thing, and I guess dumped a bunch of girls out on the street, lined them up, and a fight started. Somebody said it looked like a riot.'