good look at the woman earlier but two different women in similar dark hooded coats was too much of a long shot. But he didnât know what her presence now and earlier added up to. And he didnât feel comfortable approaching a woman with a question about what she was doing alone on the streets at night. It was the sort of situation that could go to hell fast.
Not wanting to get caught staring, he snuck a look at her out of the corner of his eye. Around thirty or a little more, he guessed, tall, slender. Her hooded coat was black. The coat looked expensive, probably cashmere. Some untamed chestnut hair stuck out from the hood. Her features were partially covered by the hood but he could see that her complexion was pale. He wasnât sure, but guessed her eyes were light, maybe green or gray.
He knew why he was out on the street in the wee hours, but wondered about her. Too early to be on her way to work at an insurance company or law office in a Bunker Hill tower. Had she been on her way home from a night on the town or with a lover?
Something about her didnât jibe with being a businesswoman. She didnât seem artsy, either. It was something else. She was self-absorbed. Introspective. More than just being cautious about making eye contact with a strange man. Her body language was guarded and tense.
He left the railcar when it stopped at the top. The ticket booth was just outside the exit gate. Beyond the ticket booth was California Plazaâs water court, a granite oasis with a dancing water fountain, open-air eating areas and greenery set in the shadows of two skyscrapers.
He dropped his ticket in the drop box and was walking away from the cable car, deliberately going slow in the hope that she might give him an opening to talk to her. A polite smile or a nod would do it.
He heard her say something and he swung around.
She was still in the cable car, standing at the railing in the carâs exit cage. The railing was closed because the car was about to descend.
âIâm sorry, were you speaking to me?â he asked.
âItâs just begun.â
âWhat do you mean?â
The car started its descent and she turned and went into the interior as he stood rooted for a long moment.
What the hell?
He slowly let go of the urge to take the next car down and chase after her on the street below. He wasnât sure heâd heard her right.
No, that wasnât true. Heâd heard what she said, he just didnât know what she meant. She might be a crazy and start screaming for the cops the moment he approached her. He shook his head. All he needed to wrap up a strange night was to tangle with a woman on the street who accused him of harassing her.
He turned in the direction of his apartment and got his feet to move, but the impulse to run after her stayed with him. So did her cryptic remark.
Itâs just begun.
What bothered him most was the dead accuracy of her remark. The sky sure seemed like it had started falling.
Â
12
A feeling of morbid anxiety, gloom and doom followed him from the water garden to his penthouse apartment. It wasnât one thing but everything, as if he had accidentally kicked the lid off Pandoraâs box and unleashed some of his own demons to taunt him.
Entering the apartment didnât bring a sense of relief. The place felt empty even though it was well furnishedâexpensively, at least. It had modern white sectional couches with straight lines set before a large-screen TV and entertainment center he rarely turned on except for music; large smoked-glass coffee and end table; a well-stocked Italian gray marble wet bar, and more marble on the hearth of a fireplace that rarely got turned on because it was in L.A.; those floor-to-ceiling windows that now were reminders of a tragedy; and a balcony beyond. There was no artwork on the walls, just some Mesoamerican art pieces scattered around on tabletops.
He had left the furnishings to an
Not wanting to get caught staring, he snuck a look at her out of the corner of his eye. Around thirty or a little more, he guessed, tall, slender. Her hooded coat was black. The coat looked expensive, probably cashmere. Some untamed chestnut hair stuck out from the hood. Her features were partially covered by the hood but he could see that her complexion was pale. He wasnât sure, but guessed her eyes were light, maybe green or gray.
He knew why he was out on the street in the wee hours, but wondered about her. Too early to be on her way to work at an insurance company or law office in a Bunker Hill tower. Had she been on her way home from a night on the town or with a lover?
Something about her didnât jibe with being a businesswoman. She didnât seem artsy, either. It was something else. She was self-absorbed. Introspective. More than just being cautious about making eye contact with a strange man. Her body language was guarded and tense.
He left the railcar when it stopped at the top. The ticket booth was just outside the exit gate. Beyond the ticket booth was California Plazaâs water court, a granite oasis with a dancing water fountain, open-air eating areas and greenery set in the shadows of two skyscrapers.
He dropped his ticket in the drop box and was walking away from the cable car, deliberately going slow in the hope that she might give him an opening to talk to her. A polite smile or a nod would do it.
He heard her say something and he swung around.
She was still in the cable car, standing at the railing in the carâs exit cage. The railing was closed because the car was about to descend.
âIâm sorry, were you speaking to me?â he asked.
âItâs just begun.â
âWhat do you mean?â
The car started its descent and she turned and went into the interior as he stood rooted for a long moment.
What the hell?
He slowly let go of the urge to take the next car down and chase after her on the street below. He wasnât sure heâd heard her right.
No, that wasnât true. Heâd heard what she said, he just didnât know what she meant. She might be a crazy and start screaming for the cops the moment he approached her. He shook his head. All he needed to wrap up a strange night was to tangle with a woman on the street who accused him of harassing her.
He turned in the direction of his apartment and got his feet to move, but the impulse to run after her stayed with him. So did her cryptic remark.
Itâs just begun.
What bothered him most was the dead accuracy of her remark. The sky sure seemed like it had started falling.
Â
12
A feeling of morbid anxiety, gloom and doom followed him from the water garden to his penthouse apartment. It wasnât one thing but everything, as if he had accidentally kicked the lid off Pandoraâs box and unleashed some of his own demons to taunt him.
Entering the apartment didnât bring a sense of relief. The place felt empty even though it was well furnishedâexpensively, at least. It had modern white sectional couches with straight lines set before a large-screen TV and entertainment center he rarely turned on except for music; large smoked-glass coffee and end table; a well-stocked Italian gray marble wet bar, and more marble on the hearth of a fireplace that rarely got turned on because it was in L.A.; those floor-to-ceiling windows that now were reminders of a tragedy; and a balcony beyond. There was no artwork on the walls, just some Mesoamerican art pieces scattered around on tabletops.
He had left the furnishings to an
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