29
Kovac swings onto I-80 southbound, heading back to Oakland, and slams to a halt at the parking lot of bumpers of the early-flex after-work crowd. We roll up our windows and grit our teeth in the slow-and-go.
“Can we strike Barb and her knitting needles off the list of suspects?”
“I’ll reserve final judgment till Doc Eve establishes the time of death but, now that I’ve seen her setup, yeah, I think so.” Kovac glances at me. “You going to be all right, Abby? Want to speak with a counselor?”
“I thought I’d have nightmares after Brand and the girls, but so far, I’m good. I’ll let you know if I can’t sleep.”
“You do that, doll.”
Whoa! I glance at him, searching for more meaning behind that, but he’s busy studying the road. I can’t help but smile, anyway. I’m such a soft touch. “I’m troubled by Brand’s little black book. Where is it?”
“I told Valdez to be on the lookout. The place was a disaster zone. Don’t worry, they’ll probably find it.”
I try to feel good about that. “If Barb’s killer is this scumbag connected with Brand’s drug-smuggling scheme, he’s got no business with me, right?”
Kovac nods, but in his cagey way. “If that’s who did her, he’s got no reason to get curious about you.”
“Even if he got his hands on the little black book?”
“He knows all about Brand and his ladies. You’re just a name and a number.” The gridlock surges forward, and Kovac surges with it. He rubs his thumb along his jaw where the scar meets bone, an unconscious gesture I’m beginning to recognize as a sign the man is cogitating. “However.”
“However?”
“It’s possible he could have hacked our database, located the crime scene log. Intercepted phone calls, I don’t know. Felons learn a lot of useful skills in prison.”
My heart falls. “He could wonder whether Brand told me some juicy tidbit while we were riding in my car?”
“Did he?”
“It was just small talk about magic.”
“Small talk about magic,” Kovac says. Wistfully, I think. “Listen, Abby. Brand’s buddy, Mike the Pike Peters, is a hard-core badass who may or may not know about you and your ride with Brand. And he’s out there somewhere. So is whoever did Brand and the girls. Till the Berkeley P.D. lassos Mike the Pike and we solve Tilden Park, you can’t afford to roam the range unarmed.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say with more bravado than I feel. “I’m learning Real Magic.”
“Uh-huh. Real Magic is excellent, but you also need the hardware to back it up. Have you got a dollar?” He stretches out his hand.
“Have I got a what?”
“A dollar. I just need a dollar.”
I root around in the bottom of my handbag and pull out a crumpled bill. “What, are you panhandling me?
“Could be. Give it to me.”
I slap the bill in the palm of his hand.
We grind to another standstill, and he reaches across my knees, punches open the glove box, and pulls out the devilish thing. He’s even got the nerve to drop it in my lap.
“What is that?”
“That, my lady magician, is a Beretta. Nice gun. I hate to part with it, but I’ve got others.”
“No, no, no, I don’t want a Beretta.”
“Too bad. You just bought yourself a prime gun in a private transaction and you don’t even have to fill out the forms. If you stick up a Seven-Eleven, I’m prepared to take full responsibility. If you cap Mike the Pike, you’ll walk on self-defense. Same for the Horde. And Scorpio Rising.”
That gets my attention. “You can kill a vampire with an ordinary gun? I thought you needed a silver bullet.”
“If you’re a good shot and a quick shot and you blow his freaking brains into dog chow, of course you can. However.”
“Another however?”
“Some vampires can catch ordinary bullets in midair. And an ordinary bullet striking any other part of an undead body besides the head won’t do much damage.”
Still I recoil from the devilish thing, a dead weight lying in my lap. “No, no, no. Thanks, Jack, but no thanks. The Horde’s not on to me, not yet anyway. Same for Mike the Pike. And I can handle Scorpio Rising.”
“Don’t be too sure about any of those assumptions. I’m officially advising you against wishful thinking. Put the gun in your handbag. Do it, Abby. I won’t take no for an answer.”
I shove the devilish thing in my handbag, far from happy.
“When we get to your Pony car, put your handbag in the trunk and lock it.”
“Great idea. Then I can’t cap Mike the Pike.”
“Not while you’re driving. You also won’t get arrested for carrying concealed if you should get pulled over for speeding or running a red light.”
“As if I would ever.”
“It’s a legal technicality you should be aware of, now that you’re the proud new owner of a Beretta.”
“Jack, I don’t know the first thing about shooting a gun.”
“That’s why you’re meeting me tomorrow at the Marin shooting range for a lesson.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Call it a tryst, schoolgirl. What’s your schedule?”
“My schedule.” Never in my life have I lived one day at a time so mindfully the way I’m living each day since I arrived in Berkeley. “As the super, I’m always on call. And I’ve got a class at three with Professor Bonwitch. We’re working our way through the First Fundamental of Real Magic.” I roll my eyes. “Know Thyself.”
“And do you know yourself?”
“Ever since I got to Berkeley, I’m not so sure.”
“Outstanding.”
“What’s outstanding about that?”
“Self knowledge is a lifelong quest. Pythagoras would be proud of you.”
I raise my eyebrows. Jack Kovac knows about Pythagoras? I too know about Pythagoras. Researching my essay on “Know Thyself,” I discovered the Greek philosopher and wizard who coined the adage “Know Thyself” and plumbed the Real Magic of numbers. Numbers that rule our society to this day, two thousand five hundred years after Pythagoras lived and died. Numbers that people lie about and manipulate and cover up but always, in the end, tell their own truth.
“Gosh, you’re pretty profound for an FBI agent.”
“Thanks, I try. Is ten-thirty good for you?”
“Ten-thirty or so, depending on the gridlock.”
“I’ll wait. Take I-80 over the San Rafael Bridge. The range is to your right just after you exit the bridge.”
“I’ll find it.” I study Kovac while he studies the road–braking, accelerating, darting from lane to lane, gaining momentum in spite of the gridlock. Driving expertly. Driving superbly.
And you know what? I feel at peace riding in the passenger seat when Jack Kovac is at the wheel.
********
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