Page 43 of Hanging and Burning

“What soured you on the cops?” Fenster asked when the valet departed.

“Doin’ my job.”

“That’s what got me too. Feels like you got to live a whole life just to figure out what’s right. And by then it’s too late.”

After that we sipped our forty-year-old shots of Laphroaig scotch and talked about bad times that were, at least, over.

Instead of going to bed, I called Roger Ferris’s pilot and told him that I’d like to fly to New York.

“When?” asked Marcus Fry, one of four full-time pilots whom Roger employed.

“The sooner the better.”

“I’ll meet you at the Burbank Airport in forty-five.”

“Hello?” Leaf answered on the second ring. “Joe?”

“Hey.” I was in a taxi, headed for Burbank.

“You back?”

“Flying in today.”

“Okay. Can I do anything for you?”

“No, no. I just wanted to call. What you up to?”

“I put flowers on Andrew’s grave and dropped by to see your dad.”

“How’s he?”

“He wanted to go out on a date with me.”

“That’s my dad.”

“I told him I might not mind datin’ two men who knew each other, but I had to draw the line at father and son.”

10.

I SLEPT FOR the whole flight, and then in my own bed till late in the night. The only reason I woke up was the phone making the sound of robins’ song.

“Hey.”

“I thought you were comin’ in the afternoon.”

“Yeah. I fell asleep.”

“How’s Brenda?”

“Fine. Doctors say she’s gonna outlive me.”

“The way you live, that ain’t no news.”

I laughed and sat up.

“Where you at?” I asked.

“Standin’ at the door.”