Page 28 of Evil Bones
“Has anyone been exceptionally angry with you of late?”
Joye thought about that. At least appeared to.
“This past year I represented the wife of a man named Jerome Sunday.”
Joye stopped, perhaps considering the ethical implications of disclosing privileged information.
“Go on,” Balodis urged.
“What the hey. Sunday wasn’tmyclient. And the man was a real piece of work.”
“Explain that, please.”
“I’ll give you one example. At the close of proceedings, Sunday swaggered up and put his face this close to mine.” Joye held a thumb and index finger two inches apart. “Promised to sever my balls with a hacksaw and shove them down my throat. A poet he wasn’t.”
“Do you think Sunday is capable of violence?” I asked.
“Aren’t we all if pushed hard enough?”
“Do any other possibilities come to mind?”
“How about I send over a list.”
“That would be helpful.”
“Keep me looped in?” Joye asked as Balodis and I rose to leave.
“You have my word,” I said. “And, again, I’m sorry about Bear.”
We were at the front door when Joye made a request that seemed out of character.
“Do me a solid?” His eyes were neon lasers on mine.
“I’ll try,” I said.
“Find who did this to Bear.”
“As I said—”
“Kill the fucker.”
CHAPTER 7
Arriving home a little past six, I showered, then slipped into a sundress and sandals. After gathering my hair into a wet bun, I slapped on lipstick, then hurried downstairs. Surprised by the sound of voices, I diverted to the kitchen.
Loitering there were Katy and Ruthie, who’d swung by the Annex hoping to cajole me into joining them for dinner at Southern Pecan followed by a movie. I begged off, saying truthfully that I already had plans to meet with a friend.
A ten-minute drive brought me to a Japanese restaurant featuring open cooking on robata and yakitori grills. Not my first choice. No matter what I ordered, it seemed my bill always came to two hundred dollars.
But the food was good. And I’d told my dinner companion she should feel free to book anywhere.
Hot damn! I scored a parking place right by the door. Stepping from the early-evening brightness into the restaurant’s cool, dim interior was like crossing from a sun-drenched beach into an underground cavern.
A cavern with a vigilant gatekeeper. Before my eyes could adjust to the lack of ambient light, a voice welcomed me and asked if I had a reservation.
Blinking, I picked out a face in the darkness. Below the face, a white ceramic cat on a bamboo-fronted counter.
The face belonged to a blond woman with blue eyes and skin asmelanin challenged as the fur on the cat. No name tag, but I’d have pegged her as an Astrid, not a Mitsuki.
