Page 24 of Nocturne

The man then looks at me. “Who might you be, pal? Because you don’t look like Marco to me.”

The name catches my attention. Marco. Likely Marco Russo, one of Cohen’s enforcers, known for his quick temper and quicker fists. I’ve seen his name in police reports too often for coincidence.

“Just a family friend from Oregon,” I tell him. “Sent on behalf of her father, making sure she’s okay with all the murders going on.”

“I see,” the man says. Then he smiles at Lena, a gold tooth shining in the corner. “Then I suppose Marco will have to understand that.”

The maître d whistles from the stand, holding out a phone, and the man nods before heading back. “I’ll let him know. That’s probably him now.”

He leaves and I look at Lena for an explanation. Her expression is carefully neutral, though she swallows hard. “I need to go.”

She gathers her purse and I reach across the table, putting my hand on her arm. A current runs from her body to mine and I have to blink it away.

“Marco Russo?” I ask, unable to keep the question to myself.

“You know him?”

“It’s my job to know who’s who in this city.”

“Then you’ll know it’s unwise to interfere with his interests.” There’s something cold in her tone now, a warning. She rips her arm out of my grasp.

An unexpected flare of irritation rises in my chest. “And are you one of those interests, Ms. Reid?”

“That’s really none of your business,Mr.Callahan.” She slides out of the booth, adjusting her scarf.

“It becomes my business if it connects to Elizabeth Short,” I say sharply.

Lena pauses, studying me with renewed intensity. “Be careful, detective. Curiosity did worse than kill the cat in this town.”

“I’ve never been particularly fond of cats.”

A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “No, you strike me as more of a lone wolf.”

“Wolves aren’t known for backing down.”

“But they are known for getting shot by hunters.” She gets to her feet. “If we’re done with the animal metaphors, I really do need to go.”

I stand as well, leaving enough cash on the table to cover our coffees and a generous tip. “I’ll walk you out.”

Outside, the morning fog has finally surrendered to the California rays, making me wince at the light. Sunset Boulevard gleams with promise and pretense in equal measure. Convertibles with their tops down cruise past, driven by men in expensive suits and women in even more expensive dresses, all with purpose, all with dreams, all with secrets.

“How can I reach you if I have more questions?” I ask as we stand on the sidewalk. “You have my card but I don’t have a number for you.”

Lena considers me for a moment. “You’re a PI. I’m sure you know my number by now. You at least knew my address.”

“You’re not listed. But I’m sure I can do some digging. Might just be easier if you gave it to me yourself.”

She looks up and down the street, seemingly nervous. Then she makes a motion with her hand. “Give me your card.”

I provide one from my jacket pocket. She takes it, turns it over, and takes out a red lipstick from her bag, writes a number on the back before returning it to me.

“Don’t smudge it.”

I take it from her. “I’m honored.”

“Don’t be. I’m doing it for Elizabeth.”

A black Cadillac rolls to a stop at the curb beside us, its engine purring with expensive menace. Lena automatically flinches, her lips forming a tight line. The driver’s window lowers to reveal a square-jawed man with brilliantined hair and cold eyes.

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