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CHAPTER 42

“IF YOU’RE REALLY asking my advice,” Lorraine said to the table, “I suggest you guys work on the drinks and chips and trust me with the dinner menu. Okay?”

I was starving. “We do trust you, Lorraine. Food. Hurry.”

I poured each of us a beer, and we raised our frosted mugs of brew.

Claire said, “To Jacobi, with love. May he rest in peace.”

I added, “May we find his goddamn killer, forthwith.”

Claire reached across the table and squeezed my hand. Soon enough, Lorraine and Maria, her new waitressing understudy, were back with trays of lechon asado and arroz con pollo, a big basket of warm rolls, and sides of salad for all.

Yuki had her phone in her hand, crying as she looked at a photo of herself with Jacobi, when Fireman appeared beside our table and placed a watermelon margarita in front of her. Yuki patted her eyes with a paper napkin, noticed the margarita, lifted it to her mouth, and downed it. She held out the glass and said to Fireman, “Hit me again.”

Minutes later, Fireman brought Yuki her second margarita.

She didn’t acknowledge the bartender but made the drink disappear with only slightly less lightning speed. Then she slumped against the seat back and wiped away new tears with her hand. I put my left arm around her shoulders.

For a while, the four of us ate and drank in silence, giving all our attention to the food. But memories of Jacobi started creeping back in.

Cindy signaled to Lorraine and pointed at the pitcher, meaning, More beer .

Claire asked, “What are you thinking about, Lindsay?”

“Larkin Street,” I said.

Claire nodded. Everyone at the table knew about what had happened on Larkin Street, a traffic stop that had almost killed me and Jacobi. Two teens had crashed; the driver was a fifteen-year-old girl without a license. I’d asked her for her learner’s permit. She’d put her hand inside her jacket, and instead of a permit, she’d pulled out a gun.

And shot me repeatedly.

My mind went back to that night. The other passenger shot Jacobi, then got out and kicked him in the head.

The bullet in my shoulder had nicked my carotid artery, and my blood was pumping out onto the alley. Jacobi was lying nearby with a couple of rounds in his hip, bleeding heavily from an injury that never completely left him.

I’d managed to return fire. And Jacobi and I had both lived to be with the loves of our lives. It was before Jacobi had handed me off to Joe in marriage. Before he’d met Muriel and left a legacy as a hero cop whose career and life ended too soon.

Yuki, Cindy, and Claire had stories about Jacobi, too. Though theirs didn’t involve near-death experiences, all were indelible. Cindy spoke of Jacobi vouching for her at a no-press-allowed crime scene, saving her reputation and maybe her job. Claire remembered losing her medical kit and camera at a murder scene and Jacobi rescuing her from this unfortunate circumstance by finding it under a patrol car.

Yuki said, “I don’t think I even told you guys this one. A few years ago, Jacobi and I got stuck in an elevator. For hours. Yeah. And there was no reason that this had to happen. We both could have taken the stairs.”

I cracked a grin. “I remember.”

“He told you?”

“No. You were missing. Your phone was off. Luckily Jacobi got a call through to maintenance.”

“I was late for court. I punished myself for weeks after that. Jacobi and I never mentioned it to each other. It was our secret.”

We four spontaneously clasped hands, making a circle around the tabletop. It felt to me as if we were enclosing Warren Jacobi in our arms. Yuki bowed her head and said, “Chief Jacobi, Warren, if you can see and hear us, know that you are loved. If you see my mom—her name is Keiko Castellano—please tell her that I miss her very much, and that I’m doing fine.”

I said to the spirit of my old friend, “Wish you were here.”

We all said, “Amen.”