7.

I TOOK THE GUNS and the plastic bags of cash out of my trunk and climbed the stairs to my house. It was still raining hard, and the tree branches, sodden with water, were hanging incredibly low. I had to push my way through the wet leaves, like going through the brushes of a car wash, and I wondered if the hill behind my house might shear off in a big mudslide.

I unlocked the front door and stashed the money and the guns in the kitchen, where there’s a hidden panel that opens up. Behind the panel is an ironing board, like a Murphy bed—it’s an original feature of the house from the 1920s—and the whole thing makes for an excellent hiding spot, which I’ve used before. Now it held the cash for Felix’s widow and Venturi’s two guns.

I dragged George out into the rain, long enough for him to do his business, and back in the house, I checked Poole’s phone: Kunian had called several times but had left no voice mails, though he had sent a single text: That bastard showed up here tonight. He’s a cop from LA, named Shelton. Either you betrayed me or you’re dead. You better hope you’re dead.

That was his cheery message, and I didn’t text him back.

And on my phone, there was nothing from Rick Alvarez or the Writers Guild.

So, one day back in LA and both my cases, if you could call them that, were in terrible shape. No leads on Sebastian, and, even worse, Kunian was going to find out very soon that Lou Shelton was dead, but after doing a bit more digging he’d discover that Lou Shelton’s best friend was a man named Happy Doll.

Which meant I was going to have to go back to Riverside tomorrow and kill Kunian.

No more waffling. No more screwing up.

Then I’d find Sebastian and do the same, and I flashed in my mind to Frances, her mottled neck, and that was followed by a memory of the bodies lined up in the doctor’s lodge, dead because of Kunian, and I felt hatred for the two men, which I needed to fuel my violence.

I shed my rain-soaked clothes and got into bed, George and Walter beside me, and I didn’t bother reading any Buddhist texts.

I just lay there in the dark and as the rain played its watery music against the window, I thought of the future. After I killed Kunian and Sebastian, I would sell the cottage and disappear from the world, causing no more harm. I’d take George and Walter, find a new Dos Ballenas, and wait for death.

That was my grim plan. Then suddenly I thought of Monica, whom I had seen on the street that day. But I quickly pushed her out of my mind. I had given up on love. I wasn’t capable of it. And thinking such thoughts, listening to the rain outside, I fell asleep.