The Ticket Out Read Free

but Barry cut in. He said, “She’ll call you about the Scott piece.”
    He hustled Nevenson away, frowning at me behind Nevenson’s back. I shrugged and turned, and saw Mark and Vivian at the bar. They must have just arrived. Mark waved and pointed toward the back of the house. Vivian made the strangling sign at her throat. I laughed and nodded. They picked up their drinks and we snuck around the edge of the crowd. We passed Barry in the back hall. He didn’t see us. He was in the alcove again, dialing the telephone.
    Back in the library it was quiet and cool. I opened the French doors for a breeze and a view of the swimming pool. I took my shoes off and stretched out on the floor.
    Vivian said, “What a bunch of freaks.”
    I said, “The guest of honor called me a parasite, and I insulted the guest of honor’s future manager. I was beginning to think you guys wouldn’t show up.”
    Mark and Vivian were my closest friends at the paper. Vivian was a reporter and Mark was an encyclopedia of world cinema. He and I had a short affair when he was hired to run the film section. The attraction had been more about movies than sex; all his vitality, I discovered, was mental. But he’d taught me lots and we worked well together. I was a better critic because of him.
    Vivian picked a spot against the wall and sat down. “It’s the new DA. We’re hearing rumors he’s closing the Rampart investigation, but there’s other rumors that he’s impaneled a secret grand jury. I feel like I spend my life at city hall.”
    Mark sat down beside me. He said, “I forgot to tell you—your sister was at the paper today.”
    I said, “What for?”
    â€œYour father arrived this morning. You’re supposed to have dinner later in the week.”
    I shut my eyes a second.
Father, damn.
My sister had mentioned a business trip, but I hadn’t heard anything since and I was praying it wouldn’t happen.
    Vivian lifted her vodka. “To Barry’s freaks. May they stay forever on the Westside.”
    Mark lifted his beer and drank. I said, “I pitched him on the cop-groupies but he wasn’t interested.”
    Vivian said, “Then he’s an idiot because they’d be a fun story. I’ve been talking to a registered nurse who has the Rampart logo tattooed in four places. Two pairs—think about it.”
    Vivian lifted her eyebrows. I laughed. Mark said, “Tell Ann what else held you up.”
    Vivian sighed. “First, I’m late at city hall. Then I get a tip on Doug Lockwood and go chasing over to Parker Center to check it out. He’s back from suspension—excuse me,
leave
—and they’ve buried him somewhere until things cool off.”
    Detective Douglas Lockwood was the cop in the Burger King siege. A Latin gangbanger took some people hostage and Lockwood, who was inside the restaurant at the time, shot and killed the kid. It was one of many second-tier police scandals.
    Vivian said, “Lockwood’s a mystery. He hardly talked to the media and it’d be a coup to get him on record. But I couldn’t find out where they put him, and my usual sources are acting pissy. The LAPD’s in a state, my god. The rank and file hate Chief Parks, they’re drowning in internal audits and short on manpower, they’re hamstrung. They can’t go backwards, and they can’t go forward either. It almost makes you feel sorry for them—almost.”
    She poked at her ice cubes. Mark squeezed my shoulder. “Have you talked to Barry?”
    I nodded. “If you can call it a talk. I resisted and he pretended not to notice.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œI’m in a different kind of trouble than I thought. He says my reviews have gotten bitchy, and he’s not wrong.”
    â€œBut you don’t like the Scott Dolgin story.”
    I squinted at him. Mark said, “I know, it’s