Simon started to speak and Hondo interrupted him, “I told you once, get that off me.”
Something in Hondo’s voice got Simon’s attention. Carl then said something in Russian and Simon glanced at the three pistol-toters. He barked an order and one of them, the red-eyed one, pointed his Beretta at the bar and pulled the trigger. It clicked.
That changed the atmosphere. Simon nodded, sheathed his sword cane and held it across his thighs. “You should go.”
Hondo had his Glock in his hand. I hadn’t seen him draw.
“Ask us to stay and we’ll leave,” he said.
I moved to Hondo’s side and whispered, “What are you doing? Let’s get out of here.”
“If he asks us to stay, then we’ll leave.”
“Look, there’s a lot of them, maybe more in the back.”
“I’m not going until he asks.”
“Are you willing to get us killed just because you were insulted?” Hondo looked at me and then back at Simon. I’d read the answer.
I said, “Simon, ask us to stay and we’ll leave.”
“I tell you to go. Now.”
Hondo raised the Glock and pointed it between Simon’s eyes. People beside him stepped away. The black hole on the .45 must have looked like a cave to Simon, and I watched him swallow. My heart banged against my ribs. I said, “Simon, just ask us to stay.”
Carl said something to Simon in Russian and Simon’s lips thinned, then he said, “Perhaps you would like to stay.”
Hondo lowered his Glock but didn’t holster it and said, “No thanks, we’ve got to be going.”
**
As we drove away Hondo said, “You want something to eat?”
“Maybe you could take me by the ER, get them to jumpstart my heart.”
“It’s over now, just relax and enjoy the day.”
“He’s not going to forget that.”
Hondo said, “I bet not.”
We stopped and ate Chinese and took an extra helping of Kung Pao Chicken with us for Hunter. Hondo dropped me off at the repair shop and I told him I’d be right along.
I got the keys for Shamu and looked the pickup over before I got in. They had done a good job. Not a single bullet hole showed. I started her up and hit the road. Five minutes later, I saw a Volkswagen painted up with southwestern scenes zip by in the opposite direction. Mickey was in a hurry and didn’t see me as I waved. I parked in the gym’s lot and heard Archie yell at me from the door, “I thought I smelled fish.” He was wearing a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut out and his arms looked as brown and hard as carved oak.
I said, “You’ll think fish, you keep insulting my wheels.” He cackled and waved and closed the door.
Hunter wasn’t back so Hondo called her cell phone and left a message that we were going home and we’d see her in the morning. We left and as I drove Shamu, I felt the fatigue really hit me. Dealing with swords and guns will tire you out, I guarantee.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I was up before sunrise and jogging my five-mile loop as the eastern sky backlit the mountains in shades of orange. I thought about who Carl Rakes said were the others in the picture: Bond and Valdar. I wasn’t ready to talk to Bond, and Valdar wasn’t anywhere I could reach him without a good psychic, so where to go with the info I had? After another half mile, the name Deco Martinez popped into my head. The gang member turned artist, friend of Valdar and Bob Landman. Deco Martinez had also been written on the note we found in Landman’s’ fanny pack, but in the jumble of words, I had assumed they were two different items, not a name. Now, as I pictured the note I could see that Landman had written Deco Martinez as a name, then the other words were half on top of it, which resulted in the confusion.
It was a good place to start the day. I kicked up the pace and started back to the house. After a shower and slice of toast and orange juice, I was in Shamu and driving down Mulholland. I called the office and Hondo didn’t answer so I left a message that I was going to check out Deco. I drove into Beverly Hills and stopped again at Pelson’s Galleries to talk to Harold about how best to contact Martinez. Harold was finishing with a customer when I arrived and I studied several of the paintings while I waited. When Harold finished he came over.
I pointed at a colorful canvas about the size of a sheet of typing paper and asked, “How much is this one?”
“Two-ten.”