If I went downstairs, I’d have to be polite and interact with Dietz, making small talk of some as yet undetermined sort. New relationships are daunting, even when they’re short-term. People have to trade all those tedious details about their previous lives. It made me tired to consider the sheer weight of the exchange. We’d touched on the preliminaries in the car coming home, but we had reams of data to cover yet. Chitchat aside, Dietz might turn on the radio again . . . more Roy Orbison. I couldn’t face that at 6:05 a.m.
On the other hand, it was my house and I was hungry, so why shouldn’t I go downstairs and eat? I didn’t have to talk to him. I pushed the covers back and got up, limped into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. My face was still a Technicolor wonder, a rainbow of bruises after a shower of blows. I wiggled my eyebrows and studied myself. The contusion on my forehead was shifting subtly from dark blue to gray, my blackened eyes lightening from lavender to an eerie green. I’ve seen eye shadow in the same shade and it always puzzles me why women want to look like that. “I got belted in the chops last night,” is what it says. My hair was, as usual, mashed from the night’s sleep. I’d showered the night before but I hopped in again, not for the sake of cleanliness, but hoping to improve my mood. Having Dietz under the same roof was making my skin itch.
Once I pulled on jeans and an old sweatshirt, I dumped my dirty clothes in the hamper, tucked the empty duffel in the closet, and made the bed. I went downstairs. Dietz murmured a good morning without lifting his eyes from the sports page. I helped myself to some coffee, poured a bowl of cereal with milk, grabbed the funnies, and toted it all into the living room, where I sat, bowl in hand, spooning cereal into my mouth absentmindedly while I read the comic page. The funnies never make me laugh, but I read them anyway in hopes. I caught up with Rex Morgan, M.D., the girls in Apartment 3G, and Mary Worth. It’s comforting how slowly life moves in a comic strip. I hadn’t read the paper in maybe four days and the professor was just now looking startled at something Mary’d said to him. What a wag she was. I could tell he was disconcerted by the wavy lines around his head.
Dimly, I was aware that Dietz had opened the front door and stepped out into the backyard. When I finished my cereal, I washed my bowl and spoon and left them in the dish rack. Hesitantly, I moved to the front door and peered out, feeling like a housebound cat discovering that a door has inadvertently been left ajar. Was I allowed outside?
The marine layer was already beginning to dissipate, but the yard had that bleached look that a mist imparts. The foghorn was bleating intermittently-a calf separated from its mother-in the still morning air. The strong scent of seawater saturated the yard. Sometimes I half expect the surf to be lapping at the curb out front.
Dietz was hunkering near the flower beds. Henry had put in some bare root roses the year before and they were in full bloom: Sonia, Park Place, Lady X, names giving no clue about the final effect. “Aphids,” he said. “He should buy some ladybugs.”
I leaned against the doorframe, too paranoid to venture all the way out into the yard. “Are we going to talk about security again or did we cover it last night?”
He got to his feet, turning his attention to me. “We should probably discuss your schedule. Any standing appointments? Massage, beauty salon?”
“Do I look like someone with a standing appointment at a beauty salon?”
He studied my face with curiosity, but refrained from comment. “The point is, we don’t want your movements predictable.”
I rubbed my forehead, which was still smarting to the touch. “I gathered as much. Okay, so I cancel my masseuse, bikini wax, and the weekly pedicure. Now what?”
He smiled. “I appreciate your cooperation. Makes my job easier.”
“Believe me, I’m not interested in being killed,” I said. “I do need to go in to the office.”
“What time?”
“Doesn’t matter. I want to pick up my mail and get some bills paid. Minor stuff really, but I don’t want to put it off.”
“No problem. I’d like to see the place.”
“Good,” I said, turning to go back inside.
“Kinsey? Don’t forget the body armor.”
“Right. Make sure you wear yours, too.”
Upstairs, I dutifully stripped off my sweatshirt and slipped on the bulletproof vest, pressing the Velcro straps into place. Dietz had told me this particular vest offered threat-level-one protection, which was good against a .38 Special or less. Apparently, he was assuming a hit man wouldn’t use a 9-millimeter automatic. I tried not to think about garrotes, head wounds, blasted kneecaps, the penetrating power of ice picks-any one of a number of assaults not covered by the oversize bib I wore.
“Make sure it’s tight enough,” Dietz had called up from below.
“Got it,” I said. I had pulled the sweatshirt on over the vest and checked myself in the mirror. I looked like I was eleven years old again.
At 8:45, we moved through the front gate. Dietz had gone out first to check the car and scan the street. He returned, motioning me forward. He walked slightly in front of me, his stride brisk, his eyes alert as we traversed the fifty paces to his Porsche. The whole maneuver had an urgency about it that made me feel like a rock star. “I thought a bodyguard was supposed to be inconspicuous,” I said.
“That’s one theory.”
“Won’t everybody guess?”
He looked over at me. “Let’s put it this way. I’m not interested in advertising what I do, but if this guy’s watching us, I want him to understand just how hard his job is going to be. Most attacks occur suddenly and at very close range. I’ll try not to be obnoxious, but I’m sticking to you like glue.”
Well, that answered that.
Dietz drove with his usual determination. He was a real A-type personality, one of those guys who lives like he’s always late for some appointment, irritated at anybody who slows him down. Bad drivers caught him by surprise, as though they were the exception instead of the rule. I directed him to the downtown area, which, fortunately, was only ten minutes away. If he noticed I was bracing myself between the dashboard and the door frame, he didn’t mention it.
At the entrance to the parking lot, he slowed the car, surveying the layout. “Is this where you usually park?”
“Sure, the office is right up there.”
I watched him calculate. He was clearly hoping for a way to change my routine, but parking farther away was only going to make the walk longer, thus exposing us for an extended period. He pulled in, handed me the ticket, and found a parking space. “Anything looks weird,” he said, “speak up right away. Any sign of trouble, we’ll get the fuck out.”
“Right,” I said. It was amazing what this “we” business was doing to my head. I wasn’t famous for letting guys tell me what to do and I was hoping I wouldn’t get used to it.
Again, he came around to the passenger side and opened the door, his gaze sweeping the lot as I emerged into the open air. He took my elbow, walking me rapidly across the lot to the back stairs. I wanted to laugh. It felt like having a parent march you up to your room. He entered the building first. The second-floor corridor was deserted. California Fidelity offices weren’t open yet. I unlocked my office door. Dietz stepped in ahead of me and took a quick look around, making sure there weren’t any goons lurking behind the furniture.
He scooped up the mail that had piled up on the floor just under the slot. He sorted through it quickly. “Let me tell you what we’re looking for, in case I’m not here to do this. An unfamiliar return address, or one done by hand. Anything marked personal, extra postage due to weight, oil stains …”
“A bulky package with a fuse hanging out the side,” I said.
He handed me the stack, his expression bland. It’s hard to warm to somebody who looks at you that way. Apparently, he didn’t think I was as funny as I thought I was. I took the stack of mail and sorted through it as he had. Much of it was third-class, but I did have a few checks coming in-all with return addresses I could identify on sight. Together we listened to the few messages on my machine. None were threatening. Dietz wanted time to acquaint himself with the building and its environs, so he went off to inspect the premises while I put on a pot of coffee.