She stares into her whiskey.
“Change of plans, Howard. We’ll do it tomorrow evening.”
“That’s fine,” he says. “I’m all set up and ready to go.”
I say, “Keep it that way. I don’t want any waiting around tomorrow.”
“I understand entirely.”
“No you don’t. Playing with dead things and being one are different.”
“Of course,” he says. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
Sandoval waves him off.
“Thank you, Howard. You can go now. We’re just about done with Mr. Stark.”
“Thank you. Good evening, everyone.”
Sandoval and Sinclair wish him a good night. I’m a bit more conflicted. Tomorrow, I’m going to either buy him all the drinks in L.A. or squeeze his head until it pops. I hope it’s the first thing. Sandoval was right. I’d rather be a rich live man than a broke pile of bones.
I say, “Now the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Do either of you know where to start looking for the heads of the faction?”
“Not a one,” says Sandoval.
I look at Sinclair.
“I can give you names,” he says. “But I don’t know where they are.”
I sit on the edge of Sandoval’s desk.
“Great. I guess we can rule out the courier trick. Odds are they’ve figured that one out.”
“I would say so,” she says.
“You want this done by tomorrow night, but you have zero information that can help me?”
“Well, there’s Barron’s list.”
“Yes,” he says. “There’s Jonas Cornetto …”
I toss him a pad and pen from the desk.
“Write it down. I can barely remember my own name right now.”
“Poor dear,” says Sandoval.
“Don’t be smug. This is your ass on the line, too.”
“What I mean is that you already have what you need to find the faction.”
“You mean Marcella.”
“Whatever her name is. Ask her. You’re very convincing with a gun in your hand.”
Sinclair hands me a list with six names. “You’re sure of all of these?”
“Absolutely,” he says.