“‘Dark leaves glisten, slivered mirrors hoarding shards of the veiled moon. In the shadows of Selene’s silvery breath, water finds water finds water, swelling glassy pockets of liquid night.’”
“She’s read my poetry!” Darnell said to Griffin.
“You write poetry? Also, can you drive, please?”
“Back in the day,” Darnell said, reversing out.
“How do you two know each other?” Lana said.
“Griffin and I were supposed to be in a movie, years ago. It didn’t happen, but we … bonded.”
“You’re an actor as well as a poet?” she said to Darnell.
“Damn, Griffin, is she for real?”
“Lana doesn’t watch TV,” Griffin explained. “Darnell here was on a relatively famous private detective TV show in the early nineties.”
“Relatively famous,” Darnell echoed wryly.
“He’s quite well known.”
“Quite well known.”
“Task at hand, please?” Griffin said, as Darnell veered wildly onto a cross street. “Did you find out anything about the phone numbers?”
“Gimme a chance. Had to come save your ass first.”
Lana turned to Griffin. “Wait,thisis the P.I. you were telling me about?”
“You told her I was a private investigator?” Darnell said.
“No, I did not. She asked if you were a P.I. and I said ‘something like that.’ Darnell is what they call a method actor,” Griffin said to Lana. “He didn’t just play a P.I., hebecameone. He knows more about being a P.I. than most P.I.s.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Darnell’s tone suggested he would absolutely say it. “But Iwastaught by the best—I tailed L.A.’s finest P.I. as research, and we employed a consultant who’s still one of my best buddies.”
“Private investigators sometimes hire Darnell for stakeouts. He loves stakeouts—wears disguises and everything.”
“Thought about going into the business myself after the show folded, but figured I’d only get hired by fans and kooks. So, Lana, which poem is your favorite?”
“Oh, wow, that’s putting me on the spot.” Lana fanned herself. “Maybe ‘I Awake To You.’ Or ‘Jupiter in Transit.’” She sat straighter. “Oh, no, definitely ‘Monterey Prey.’”
“The girl knows quality!”
As Darnell took another turn like he meant it, Lana’s phone rang.
“The detective,” she said, checking the screen. “Should I tell her about the goons? Maybe she can send help?”
“You’re talking to a cop?” Darnell said. “Tell her nothing, unless you want it in theNational Enquirer.”
“Stand down, Darnell. She could have intel that could crack the case. Ah, man, now I’m sounding like you.”
Lana answered, apologizing for interrupting the woman’s weekend.
“Nah, that’s all good,” the detective said. “I’m on my way in to work anyway—gotta get ahead on some paperwork. Listen, there’s a deli at the corner of South Fairview and Pioneer Street, off Santa Monica Boulevard. They do a great rugelach. Meet me there in an hour, and I can spare a few minutes.”
“We’ll be there, thanks.”
“We?”
