Page 11 of The Proving Ground

“To see Rikki Patel.”

“You sure you need me?”

“Yes, Cisco, let’s go.”

I went through the copper curtain and headed toward the warehouse door. I registered Cisco’s reluctance as concern about leavingLorna with McEvoy. I didn’t address it until we were outside and at my car. I looked at him across the roof.

“You vetted him yourself and he came up clean,” I said. “So what’s the problem?”

“With McEvoy?” Cisco said. “No problem.”

“You don’t have to worry about Lorna. She can handle herself.”

“I know she can. But I still have to worry about her. That’s my job.”

“Your other job. Right now, I need you on this job.”

“Fine. I’m here. What’s the rush with Patel if the judge okayed him as a witness?”

“He hasn’t returned my calls all weekend or today. We’re going to see him and get him on tape before the Mason boys file a motion to stay the judge’s ruling while they appeal.”

I unlocked the car and we got in.

“Did you leave him a message about the ruling this morning?” Cisco asked.

“Yes,” I said. “But he hasn’t called me back. I hope the twins didn’t get to him and pay him off.”

“Mason and Mason? No, no way. He hates those guys and the company, says Tidalwaiv ruined his life. Said they blackballed him. He definitely wants payback. Wants his day in court. After you win this case, he wants to hire you to sue Victor Wendt personally as well as the company.”

“If he likes me so much, then why isn’t he calling me back?”

“I don’t know, man. Last time we spoke, he was talking about moving back up north to try the job market up there again. But he promised to let me know if he made the move.”

“So what was his last known address down here?”

“Venice Beach.”

Cisco was too big for the car, and we were looking at a minimumthirty-minute drive out to the beach. He was an ex-biker and didn’t bother to disguise it—thick shoulders and biceps on a six-four frame. These days I was driving a Chevy Bolt. It was small and cozy, and the top of Cisco’s head brushed the ceiling. The car was a comedown in space and comfort from a chauffeured Lincoln Navigator, but on the other side of the ledger, I hadn’t been at a gas station in fifteen months. We took the 10 out west. Every time I glanced over at Cisco, he was looking at the camera feeds from the warehouse on his phone.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” I finally said. “What is your problem with the writer?”

“My problem is the guy has a track record of involvement with women he works with, okay?” Cisco replied.

“So what, man? You don’t trust Lorna?”

“I trust her. It’s him I don’t trust.”

“Lorna makes good choices. You don’t have to worry. Besides, you have six inches and about a hundred pounds on the guy—he’s not going to try something. You gotta let it go so your mind is focused on the case. I’m serious. We can’t fuck this up.”

“All right, all right. I’m focused. You don’t have to worry about me, Mick. I’m fucking focused.”

“Good. Where in Venice are we going?”

“He’s at twenty-five Breeze. It’s one of the walk streets off Pacific. Good luck finding a parking space.”

“At least we’re not in a Navigator. That boat was hard to park anywhere.”

“I wish we were in the Navigator. I’d at least be able to fit.”