“Still haven’t crossed Doheny.” Mournful.
“We’re going, Sean. I’ll use you to drive one of them.”
“Sure, Loot.” Not consoled.
Milo shut down his cell, the rest of us did the same. “Let’s do this.”
CHAPTER
51
Milo, Alicia, and I walked back to Little Santa Monica, taking the brief detour in order to remain out of view. Crossing Canon, we made our way back toward La Pasta. Reed had headed in the opposite direction, crossing at Brighton Way and continuing toward the restaurant’s entrance.
As we reached the edge of the iron railing, Milo unsnapped his holster but kept his gun in place. Stepping in front of Alicia, he led the way. I stayed back. But close enough to see.
I watched as Milo stepped up to Sig Kierstead, who paid no notice. Busy cutting a petite steak topped with some sort of green sauce.
Candace paid plenty of notice. She squinted, tensed. Said, “Lieutenant?” and put down the fork she’d been using to halfheartedly spool fettuccine.
Her husband looked up. Confused. Then amused. “Lyu-tenant? This is your police friend, Candy?” Smooth Middle European voice.
“It is. And you are?”
Alicia said, “Alicia.”
“Your girlfriend, Mr. Lyu-tenant?” said Sig. “You’re eating here? Excellent choice.”
Milo said, “Actually we came to see you.”
Candace gripped her fork. Fixed on us and not noticing Reed appearing behind her. He sidled between the neighboring table and the nape of her neck. That she noticed. She whipped her head back toward him.
Reed kept walking and she relaxed.
“Us? Why in the world?” said Sig, putting his knife and fork down and daintily dabbing at clean lips. Unperturbed. Cold gray eyes. Why not? The world was his plaything. At that moment I knew he’d been more than a sidekick.
He smiled. The tan was spray-on, yellow borders visible where it met pink flesh.
Candace said, “Something new has come up?”
Milo said, “Best to talk somewhere else.”
Sig said, “Out of the question. We’re recreating.”
“Still, sir. Please come with us.”
Gray eyes turned to pond pebbles. “I don’t think so, Mr. Lyu-tenant. Call and make an appointment.”
Candace said, “What is this about? Just tell us.”
Milo produced handcuffs.
Sig smiled. “Really? Fine, suit yourself.” Producing a small navy-blue tin from his pant pocket. Navy enamel, printed with white Chinese characters. “I’m a polite man, conversation calls for fresh breath.” Picking out a white, pillow-shaped lozenge, he rested it on his tongue, closed his mouth, swallowed. “Delicious.”
Candace gaped. “Coward!”
“That’s not nice, Candy.” Swooping up his steak knife, he plunged it into the center of her throat, thrust then slashed viciously to the left.
One volcanic spasm before her head dropped to her chest.
