what the candy-ass crowd calls it. Street art.”
The service-station owner said, “These are professors. Educated men
and women.
Doctors of art and literature. They have the benefit of an education
my parents couldn’t afford to give me, but they’re stupid. There’s no
other word for it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” His expressive face
revealed the frustration and anger that Jack encountered with
increasing frequency in the City of Angels. “What fools do
universities produce these days?”
Arkadian had labored to make his operation special. Bracketing the
property were wedge-shaped brick planters in which grew queen palms,
azaleas laden with clusters of red flowers, and impatients in pinks and
purples. There was no gnme, no litter. The portico covering the pumps
was supported by brick columns, and the whole station had a quaint
colonial appearance.
In any age, the station would have seemed misplaced in Los Angeles.
Freshly painted and clean, it was doubly out of place in the grunge
that had been spreading like a malignancy through the city during the
nineties.
“Come on, come look, look,” Arkadian said, and headed toward the south
end of the building.
“Poor guy’s gonna blow out an artery in the brain over this,” Luther
said.
“Somebody should tell him it’s not fashionable to give a damn these
days,” Jack said.
A low and menacing rumble of thunder rolled through the distended
sky.
Looking at the dark clouds, Luther said, “Weatherman predicted it
wouldn’t rain today.”
“Maybe it wasn’t thunder. Maybe somebody finally blew up city hall.”
“You think? Well, if the place was full of politicians,” Luther said,
“we should take the rest of the day off, find a bar, do some
celebrating.”
“Come on, officers,” Arkadian called to them. He had reached the south
corner of the building, near where they had parked their patrol car.
“Look at this, I want you to see this, I want you to see my
bathrooms.”
“His bathrooms?” Luther said.
Jack laughed. “Hell, you got anything better to do?”
“A lot safer than chasing bad guys,” Luther said, following Arkadian.
Jack glanced at the Lexus again. Nice machine. Zero to sixty in how
many seconds? Eight? Seven? Must handle like a dream.
The driver had gotten out of the car and was standing beside it. Jack
noticed little about the guy, only that he was wearing a loose-fitting,
double-breasted Armani suit.
The Lexus, on the other hand, had wire wheels and chrome guards around
the wheel wells. Reflections of storm clouds moved slowly across its
windshield and made mysterious smoky patterns in the depths of its
jewel-green finish.
Sighing, Jack followed Luther past the two open bays of the repair
garage. The first stall was empty, but a gray BMW was on the hydraulic
lift in the second space. A young Asian man in mechanic’s coveralls
was at work on the car. Tools and supplies were neatly racked along
the walls, floor to ceiling, and the two bays looked cleaner than the
average kitchen in a fourstar restaurant.
At the corner of the building stood a pair of softdrink vending
machines. They purred and clinked as if formulating and bottling the
beverages within their own guts.
Around the corner were the men’s and women’s rest rooms, where Arkadian
had opened both doors. “Take a look, go ahead–I want you to see my
bathrooms.”
Both small rooms had white ceramic-tile floors and walls, white
commodes, white swing-top waste cans, white sinks, gleaming chrome
fixtures, and large mirrors above the sinks.
“Spotless,” Arkadian said, talking fast, running his sentences together
in his quiet anger. “No streaks on the mirrors, no stains in the
sinks, we check them after every customer uses them, disinfect them
every day, you could eat off those floors and it would be as safe as
eating off the plates from your own mother’s kitchen.”
Looking at Jack over Arkadian’s head, Luther smiled and said, “I think
I’ll have a steak and baked potato. What about you?”
“Just a salad,” Jack said. “I’m trying to lose a few pounds.”
Even if he had been listening to them, Mr. Arkadian couldn’t have been
joked out of his bleak mood. He jangled a ring of keys.
“I keep them locked, give the keys only to customers. City inspector