The Night Crew

apartment.’’
    ‘‘He didn’t work for me; he was a part-time guy, like once a month. And the cops gave me the key.’’
    ‘‘The cops.’’ After a moment’s silence, he asked, ‘‘Why would they do that?’’
    ‘‘Because nobody wants his body. I’m supposed to take care of funeral arrangements and there’s nothing more here that the cops want.’’
    ‘‘Huh.’’ He stood up, looked around in the gloom and said, ‘‘Damn it.’’
    ‘‘You hurt me,’’ Anna said. She was getting a feel for him. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. ‘‘You could have broken my arm.’’
    ‘‘Ah, shut up,’’ he said. ‘‘You’re not hurt and we both know it.’’ Then: ‘‘Your boyfriend’s a doper.’’
    ‘‘What?’’
    ‘‘This guy Creek.’’
    ‘‘He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my partner. He hasn’t done any dope for ten years.’’
    ‘‘Bullshit. He’s got no job, he lives in a nice apartment at the Marina and he’s got a yacht.’’
    ‘‘No job? I’ll tell you what, pal, we’re out there two hundred and fifty nights a year . . .’’
    ‘‘Yeah, some Tinkertoy fuckin’ movie wannabees with cameras, for Christ’s sake.’’
    Now she was getting hot: ‘‘Yeah? We grossed better than three hundred and fifty thousand last year. Me’n Creek and Louis took home better than ninety apiece, after expenses. How much’d you make?’’
    ‘‘That much? Ninety?’’ Surprise.
    ‘‘Yeah.’’ She would have sulked, if she thought she could have afforded to. But she had to stay on top of him.
    Another moment of silence, then he was moving away from her. Over his shoulder he said, ‘‘Fuckin’ L.A., you goddamn people are a bunch of ghouls, you know that?
    Making a buck off of snuff films.’’
    She kept her mouth shut: she was about to get out of this, and didn’t want to argue. A step or two later, he added, ‘‘Don’t scream after me. It’d just piss me off and I’d have to run and I’m probably gonna come back and see you again.’’
    Anna was on her feet: ‘‘About what?’’
    ‘‘I need to know about O’Brien. I’m not done with him yet, and you’re the only connection I’ve got.’’
    ‘‘Listen, if you think Jason had anything to do with the jumper, you’re wrong.’’
    ‘‘No. You’re wrong,’’ he said. He hesitated, then said, ‘‘I came down on you a little hard, when we went to the floor. You oughta take a couple ibuprofen. Hot bath, or something. You could have pulled something.’’
    ‘‘You’re so thoughtful.’’
    ‘‘I bit my lip when we hit.’’
    ‘‘Well, that’s just too bad.’’ She couldn’t believe the gall: he seemed to be looking for sympathy. She crossed her arms over her chest.
    ‘‘Well, it stings like hell,’’ he said. Then he was out the door, slamming it behind him. As he went through, she got a better look at him in the late afternoon: an impression of sandy-brown hair, very white teeth. Probably blue eyes, she thought. Athletic, but not stripped down to muscle and bone: maybe a few extra pounds, in fact. Big shoulders. And gone.
    She went to the door after him, thought about screaming, jerked the door open and stepped outside . . . and saw the top of his head disappearing down the stairwell. Opened her mouth, shut it again. She was safe enough, unhurt and still alone—maybe she didn’t want to piss him off. The circuit-breaker box was in the kitchen, the door open. She threw the switch and two lights came up. She went back through the living room, shut the door, and then took out the cell phone, found Wyatt’s card in the pile of purse litter and dialed him. A clerk answered the phone, and she asked that Wyatt be called at home and that he call her back; he called back two minutes later.
    ‘‘What?’’ he asked without preamble, when Anna picked up the phone.
    ‘‘I just got to Jason’s apartment and there was somebody here. He jumped me.’’
    ‘‘You hurt?’’ He sounded cautious, nervous. Why?
    ‘‘No, he just tripped me and held me down and then he pushed me on the couch and then he left. I thought he might be a cop, but he said he wasn’t.’’
    ‘‘White guy?’’ The odd tone still in his voice.
    ‘‘Yeah . . . Hey, you know him?’’
    ‘‘Probably another doper.’’ But he was lying; and he wasn’t good at it. ‘‘As long as you’re not hurt . . .’’
    ‘‘The door was locked and he was inside. How’d he do that?’’
    ‘‘He’s