When I got up the next morning, Jerry was in the bungalow’s kitchen, making coffee.
‘Where’d you get the coffee?’ I asked.
‘Paid a bellhop to bring it,’ he said. ‘Donuts, too.’ He pointed to a bag on the counter.
‘Coffee and donuts suits me fine.’
‘Well,’ Jerry said, ‘it’ll hold us until we can get to a diner.’
‘Sure,’ I said.
He poured me a cup of coffee, then carried his own and the donuts to the table. He pulled out a jelly and I grabbed a chocolate.
‘What’s first today?’ he asked. ‘We goin’ to see that Mark Herron fella?’
‘That’s where we’re goin’, all right.’
‘I wonder if he’s so all-fired great as Miss Garland says he is.’
‘Jerry,’ I said, ‘nobody’s that great.’
He bit into his donut, then asked, ‘But we’re gonna go have breakfast first, right?’
Jerry agreed that the diner we’d gone to before would be fine for breakfast. Turns out the food there was pretty damn good. Once again, we sat at the window, watching the foot traffic on Sunset Boulevard. Greg and the limo were parked down the street.
‘What are you lookin’ so nervous about?’ I asked Jerry after we’d given our orders.
‘I was just wonderin’ if somebody would have the balls to take a shot at you through this window,’ Jerry said.
Now I was nervous.
‘You might be right.’
We moved to another booth, this one away from a window. When the waitress came with our food, she looked around in confusion, then spotted us and came over.
‘Switched tables on me,’ she said.
‘Too many people gettin’ ready to watch us eat,’ Jerry said.
‘Well,’ she said to him, putting plates of pancakes and eggs in front of him, ‘if the last time you was here is any indication, watchin’ you eat is somethin’ else.’
‘Not when you’ve done it as often as I have,’ I told her.
She put my toast down in front of me and withdrew.
‘That really all you’re gonna have?’ he asked, drowning his pancakes in syrup.
‘I told you. The donuts were good enough for me.’
The bellhop had brought six donuts, and I managed to snag two of them. But the bacon on Jerry’s plate looked good, so I stole a slice.
‘Hey!’
‘Sorry, Jerry,’ I said. ‘I lost my head. It won’t happen again.’
‘It better not.’
While we ate, I asked, ‘What about Greg? He didn’t wanna come in and eat?’
‘He says you’re the boss, and he should stay in the car,’ Jerry said. ‘I guess I know how he feels.’
I knew, too. He preferred to keep his business and pleasure separate. Eating with Jerry was OK, because he perceived Jerry as an employee. But I was the boss, so he preferred to keep things professional.
I eyed another slice of bacon on Jerry’s plate, but he saw me and shook his head.
I ate my toast.