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“Goody. A picnic.”

“Not even close,” she says, studying the map.

When we get to the park entrance, Julie pays the entrance fee for everyone.

I say, “Don’t forget the receipt.”

“Thank you,” she says like a tired substitute teacher.

I park the car and Julie pulls out a map of the park, studies it for a minute. Parts of it are marked in yellow highlighter.

“This way,” she says.

We follow her as she looks around for landmarks. The park is green and boring, just like all parks. At least Griffith Park has an observatory and an abandoned zoo. Those are kind of fun.

In a few minutes, we come to a polo field and Julie walks us around it to the east side. She pockets the Will Rogers map, pulls out the USGS map and a GPS device about the size of a cell phone. There’s a trail leading from the side of the field. She starts down it and we follow. Candy has on her round welding-­glass dark shades. In the sun, her pink hair is as bright as a flare. Vincent looks around like one of th

ose immuno-­fucked-­up bubble kids who’s never been outside before. I trudge along at the rear.

The trail winds down into the canyon. When we come to a creek, we follow the trail up farther into the canyon.

It’s not long before the trail fades out into a one-­lane dirt rut. I look around.

“Are we still in the park?”

Julie doesn’t look up from the map.

Candy says, “We’re heading into Rustic Canyon. It might be where Vincent came from.”

“I’m guessing they don’t have polo fields there.”

“Just trees and snakes.”

Oh hell. I check my gun.

We follow the rut made by other hiking idiots, through trees and vines, crisscrossing the creek for half an hour. I was already annoyed when we got off the trail. Now I’m annoyed and sweaty.

Eventually, we come to a dam and a man-­made waterfall.

I look at Vincent. He’s squinting, swiveling his head around.

I say, “Does any of this look familiar?”

He looks around.

“I’m not sure. It was night and I was disoriented.”

We head up a steep dirt trail and I take off my coat, toss it over my shoulder. My Colt is exposed now, but it’s not like we’re going to run across a Boy Scout jamboree in this shit-­forsaken wilderness.

“How much farther?”

Julie looks back at me, frowning.

“Another mile or so.”

“Fuck me. Now I know why you didn’t want me to know where we were going.”

“The fresh air will do you good,” says Candy just to torment me.