A helicopter thundered, spotlight cutting through the crisp, clear night. McKuen 
stared through the windshield at a shimmering star.
He looked over. “We only need this?”
“The timer starts when someone picks up,” Dennis said.
McKuen took the phone and looked down the block. Stencils on a storefront advertised Albondigas and Menudo on Sunday. He sighed and pressed the keys.
“¿Qué pasa?”
“You killed my wife.”
Booom! Corner windows exploded into the street. A fireball burst from the back of the store consuming two trucks.
It blew out the roof and shot thirty feet in the air scorching the concrete block wall across the alley. The ceiling collapsed, barbecuing anything that survived the first five seconds.
Fire and burglar alarms sprang to life. Sirens started as a pink mist drifted.
The dark SUV pulled out of a parking space and rumbled away. It turned at the first left, traveled a couple blocks and pulled over. Dennis killed the headlights but let the engine run.
He jumped out, a short, muscular blond man carrying two license plates. No motion wasted with quick turns of a screwdriver, he swapped out the plates and climbed back behind the wheel.
The SUV edged up to Whittier Boulevard, a wide street in Montebello. McKuen and Dennis watched the burning building then Dennis turned right.
He glanced over. “There probably wasn’t anybody else nearby, Steve. Everything’s closed, it’s late, the hospital’s close.”
McKuen bowed his head. He said, “I had to do it, but it won’t bring back Mindy.” He closed his eyes.
Dennis drove down Garfield to the Santa Ana Freeway.
_____
Years Later…
McKuen was trapped. He held a gun with both hands and peered around a corner. Slowly. Carefully. He saw only blackness laced with fog.
Perspiration dripped down his side. He heard nothing but knew they were there. Ghosts.
Should he move? Or stay? Waiting always worked better but he felt like a target.
Not the first time. Cornered between warring factions of a cartel, he’d spent a night hiding out in the air conditioning ducts of a Beverly Hills building years ago.
But that was then. It shouldn’t be this way now.
Something shook I his foot…
“Steve.”
He opened his eyes.
Dennis was standing over him.
“Uh, musta drifted off,” McKuen said.
Dennis smirked. “Late night?”
McKuen shook his head and smiled. He pushed himself to a standing position and rubbed his eyes.
“You wanted me to see your new baby,” Dennis said.
McKuen gestured out the door. They exited through the back door to the alley. By the time they reached the side street he felt alert.
Dennis inhaled sharply. “It’s the latest, huh?”
“Brand new. I mighta got one of the first ones, don’t know.”
Steve McKuen and Dennis Reneaux stood next to Tony’s Cocktail Lounge, one of McKuen’s bars. Dappled shade reflected off the cherry-maroon finish of McKuen’s Tesla Model X, the new falcon wing SUV. McKuen thumbed the remote, the locks clicked and the engine exuded a faint purr.
“It’s really pretty,” Dennis said. He ran a couple of fingers through his blond beard, then slid on a pair of sunglasses.
McKuen pulled out shades as well, put them on and reached for the passenger door. He said, “Want to take it for a spin?”
Dennis thumbed his chest. “I get to drive? Well, yeah!”
He eased in, looked over the dashboard framing a touch screen and whistled. “Nice ride, Steve. Wow!”
As Dennis pulled away from the curb, McKuen said, “Don’t know if I can bring it to Tony’s much.” Dennis looked puzzled.
“Can’t park it in the alley,” said McKuen. “Not for more than a few minutes.”
“Oh yeah. How ya gonna get a space where you can see it?”
McKuen said, “Definitely can’t park it near Bart’s.”
His other bar was in Venice, parking chancy and petty crime routine. The two places supplied most of his income—retirement.
Dennis was his right-hand man, running the bars. These days, McKuen had a nice, quiet life.
A couple minutes driving up Lincoln Boulevard and Dennis was in love. He steered to the left lane and snapped through the turn to the frontage road. Charging down the onramp, he took them through the McClure Tunnel to Pacific Coast Highway.
If he was driving, they were going to the beach, by God!
McKuen guessed where they were headed. “The S-curves?”
“You bet!” Dennis boomed.
The two old friends shot the bull and talked business, admiring the scenery. Malibu’s colorful characters, fine women and gorgeous homes—what’s not to like?
Dennis had fun banking the curves, passing like a maniac and laughing at near misses. He turned around at Pt. Mugu and ripped an encore heading south.
McKuen lowered his sunglasses. “How’s business?”
“Fine,” Dennis said. “Liv wouldn’t mind it if I quit, though. I’ll sure be glad when we have the kid.”
McKuen smiled. “From what I hear that’s when the fun starts. You know, sleep deprivation.”
“Oh, man.” Dennis went silent, concentrating. He avoided a head-on collision. McKuen was stoic, Dennis an excellent driver.
“She’s just worried something might happen, Dennis said. “You know…”
McKuen’s jaw went hard. He looked straight ahead.
“Anyway,” Dennis said. “I think she’s more worried about her figure.” He chuckled. “You know her: The Bod.”
McKuen’s face relaxed. Grateful for his friend’s empathy he said, “Amy says she feels like a frog around Liv.”
“What? Amy’s prettier—”
“But shorter,” McKuen said. “All that time behind a desk, she’s got an app to remind her to sit up straight.”
He sighed. “I think she compares herself to Mindy. Don’t know if I can talk her out of it.”
“That’s silly. Mindy was a dancer. You love Amy for who she is.”
McKuen looked out at the ocean sixty feet below. He said, “Sure do,” and fell silent.
A few minutes later they passed Malibu Village. McKuen said, “Want to run something by you.”
Traffic had slowed. Dennis glanced over.
“You want to, or I guess Liv wants…look, I’ll just say it, then you tell me,” McKuen said.
“OK.”
McKuen looked down, considering his words, the dream an hour before weighing. “I’m ready to move on, man. Sooner rather than later, I want to sell the bars.”
“Oh.”
“Not a public sale.”
Dennis’s eyebrows went up part way.
“Look, here’s what I’m thinking. I can make this good for both of us.
“Sometime in the next few months we’ll get papers drawn up. I’ll sign the whole thing over—the bars, the Laundromat and the car wash. I’ll take a serious cut every month and when you sell, I get a big slice.”
Dennis was pale, eyes wide.
McKuen chuckled. “Find a spot and pull over. I’ll drive.”
“Jeez, Steve. That’s…that’s… No, I can drive. Damn!”
“There’s a lot to go over,” McKuen said. “It’s not going to make you rich. When you sell, I want a righteous cut for not taking a down payment. But you’re running everything anyway, might as well give you the headaches. So let’s keep talking, OK?”
“Hell yeah!” Dennis said.
Conversation ceased. McKuen looked over a few minutes later. A couple of creases poked above Dennis’s sunglasses. Eyes on the road it was obvious his thoughts were soaring.
An hour and a half after starting, they rolled through the Tunnel and took the Lincoln Boulevard exit.
“Let’s head to the house, switch cars. Seems like a waste to keep the Highlander,” McKuen rolled a finger, “just to drive it to work.” He grinned. “But I wanted this beauty.”
Dennis laughed. “Well Steve, you earned it. Kind of funny, you know, you can’t drive it much.” He looked over.
“The trials of the affluent.”
“The woes of the one percent.”
A mock protest. “I’m nowhere near the top one percent.”
“You’re a multimillionaire.”
McKuen smiled. “Spending it could be a problem.”
After collecting his SUV, McKuen drove them down Lincoln to Tony’s. As they pulled up he said, “Just remembered something else, got a few minutes?”
“Liv’s gonna want me back home in an hour.”
“Won’t take long.” They trooped into McKuen’s office.
Dennis settled himself on the sofa, McKuen shut the door and kicked back in his chair.
“The necklace of Mindy’s, the one she lost on Coast Highway?”
“Turned out John Christian had it,” said Dennis.
“Right.” McKuen pointed. “Thanks for getting it back.”
Dennis shrugged—it was nothing.
“Anyway,” McKuen said, “I gave it to Amy. At some point she opened the locket and was checking out an old photo of Mindy’s grandparents.
“She was kind of playing with it and the photo lifted up and popped out. Guess she was embarrassed to tell me about it, but eventually she did.
“Check this: behind the photo was a tiny folded piece of paper. Thin, like parchment? She showed it to me and we unfolded it, very carefully. There was a series of numbers and letters. Mysterious, huh?”
Dennis stared at McKuen, his eyes ticking left and right. He said, “Christian’s money?”
McKuen nodded, grim-faced but satisfied Dennis thought so, too.
A minute passed. Dennis said, “So what’re you gonna do, Steve?”
McKuen shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. I looked at the paper a few times, tried to figure out what the numbers and letters mean. Seems incomplete.”
“Huh, maybe there’s another piece of paper.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Anyway, I put it in a safe place and told Amy not to worry about it.” He clapped his palms on his thighs and stood up.
Dennis stood, raised his cap and smoothed his long, blond hair. “That guy just won’t stay dead,” he said. “Anyway, I better get going.” He shot McKuen a resigned smile and opened the door. “Anything else?”
“I was saying to Amy maybe we should take a drive out of town, like the four of us for a day.”
“That sounds cool, I’ll tell Liv. Take the Tesla?”
“Sure, it’ll hold the four of us.
“She’ll want to drive it.”
“Is that safe?”
Dennis cracked a mischievous smile. “For her or us?”
“Oh.”
“Remember, she was a semi-pro skateboarder—hard core. Out on the road in my Ram she makes me look like a grandma.”
“I’m insured.” They grinned at each other.
Dennis shook his head. He turned to the door and waved a departure.
“Adios.” The sound of cowboy boots clunked away.
McKuen sat down and flipped back his sandy hair. If he really wanted to quit operating he should figure out the piece of paper and close that book.
Eyes shut tight as if that could shield him from the past, he was thankful he got out. Going back would be like plunging into an inky pool. But he was drawn to it, any shred of Christian’s legacy like a spur chafing at his soul.
He stood up, face smooth. No more questions. He locked the office, walked out the back door, got in his SUV and turned the key.