"Cops asked me about the gun, so they didn't have it." Lucy said, the moment Clay opened his door. "Then one of Vaquero's skanks went trolling through my underwear drawer looking for it, so the bad guys probably didn't have it either. You have the gun, Clay."
There was a black guy standing behind her. He shifted uncomfortably in the brittle silence. "Nice place," he said.
"No, it's not," Lucy said. She was pissed.
"Come in," Clay said. Lucy stalked by. The black guy stuck out his hand. "William," he said. Something about him was weirdly familiar.
Clay wanted to offer them something to drink, but the tap water was having one of its rusty months again. "The gun's on the roof."
They followed him up to where the garden was. He dug through the humus with his hands, the rich potted earth smell an antidote to the LA chemical funk. He handed the plastic bag with the gun in it to Lucy. "It's your karma now."
"Catholics don't have karma," said Lucy. "Karma might be good. Catholics just have guilt."
They went back down to his apartment. William shaking his head. " My place doesn't have a rooftop garden, and I pay good money. I gotta talk to somebody."
Clay sat down on the bed to leave Lucy the chair. "I thought the gun was dangerous. That it would get you killed." He didn't mention the thing about his own fate being tied to the gun.
Lucy arched an elegant eyebrow. "Right. Thanks, Dad. Any other sins you want to commit for my safety?"
Clay preferred not to think too much about the sins he wanted to commit regarding Lucy. "Hubris is the traditional crime of priests. All the authority goes to our heads," he said. "So: what are you going to do now?"
"Going to see the dude that broke into her place," William said.
"The one that beat you up in the bar?" Clay asked.
"She didn't beat me up," Lucy said. "It was a tie."
"Not her, the guy," William said. "Maurice Pikar."
Pikar. Odd name. Something prickled in the back of Clay's head. He grabbed the paper. "I don't think you're going to see him," he said. He folded the paper and handed it to her.
"You were reading the obits?" she asked.
"Well, yeah. I used to have a congregation. A lot of times, I was the presiding minister at the funeral." He shrugged. "Like you said, 'old habits.'"
William, peering over Lucy's shoulder said, "Oh, man. The dude is dead."
"Son of a bitch," Lucy said quietly. "He's all in."
