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The instant she pulled up a chair, a waiter was there asking if she needed a menu.

“No. I’d just like a baguette and butter.”

Leaf and I had said all there was to say. I was absolved for a life of wrongdoing, many a faux pas and misstep. And she had discovered that she could feel love and loss in the same frame without letting one devour the other.

And Olo could talk about racing cars.

“I love speed,” the compact killer said in a fit of near ecstasy. “Any kind. Boats, cars, planes, or just with my body. Racing, if only against myself, is what makes my heart happy.”

We’d finished the meal and had nowhere to go. The waiter brought complimentary coffee along with small shortbread cookies. Leaf and I were pretty much silent while Oliya regaled us with stories about races won or lost, accidents that she’d survived, and how the greatest competitions were always where the only laurels were survival.

“They have any kind of racing up in Alaska?” Leaf asked.

“The best ones are when you’re alone in the wilderness,” Olo replied, a hint of wonder in her voice.

“What’s that mean?” I wanted to know.

“I used to know these Inuit guys that me and the women in my hunters’ collective would bump into now and then on the back paths. One time we were up there and one of the sisters started talking about women in the Olympics. This old man named Ujurak told us that the fastest race that any man ever did was a young hunter called Inuk. He said that a thousand years ago this Inuk had been hunting for three days and had trapped twenty-two hares. He was bringing the catch back home when he heard a growl. He looked behind him and saw a great grizzly bear come out from the trees. Inuk threw down the rabbits and ran. He hoped the grizzly would take the catch for his toll, but the bear didn’t slow down. Inuk ran with all his might, and, on that day, alone in the middle of nowhere, Inuk of the Western North ran faster than any human being before then or since.”

“So, he got away?” Leaf asked.

“No,” Olo said, calling up the mien of Ujurak the storyteller. “The bear is faster than any human could ever be. The grizzly killed the man and shared his flesh with her hungry cubs.”

It felt good to laugh.

We walked Olo to a car that she had rented from some guy named Hector in East LA. The chassis of the auto was sleek, painted a dull black. I couldn’t tell the make.

“What kind of car is it?” I asked.

“Some of this and a little of that,” Oliya said proudly. “You know the vatos know their cars. Hector used this one for street racing. But he doesn’t do that anymore and Rafaelita, the landlady at the hotel, sent me to him when I said that I needed a car.”

“You gonna do some street racing?”

“Never know,” she said. “So, are you coming with me, Leaf?”

“I guess so. Mr. Detective has to go put his life on the line tonight.”

“Just an average Tuesday,” Olo commented. “We girls will have a good time without him.”

I went back to my Venice Airbnb and sat at the kitchen table. There was no music, and I had no desire to read. I was in wait mode.

Caledonia had called her uncle and told him that I had important information that he needed if he wanted to stay out of jail. Malto told her that he’d meet me at the club that night, no specific time given.

At seven thirty I made my way down to the Carnelian Oyster. The same bouncer from my previous visit was there, blocking the entrance to anyone who didn’t belong. This night he was decked out in a lemon-yellow suit with a dark blue turtleneck shirt. He recognized me, probably remembering the fifty-dollar tip.

“Mr. Oliver,” he said in greeting.

I was sure that I hadn’t given the gatekeeper my name. For some reason this brought a smile to my lips.

“What’s your name?”

“Klaus.”

“Hey, Klaus.”

We shook hands. On his part, he seemed to be thanking me, while I was wanting some kind of human connection.

I sat at the far end of the bar nursing an iceless glass of sparkling water.