6

Back in his room, he opened the package and found exactly what he’d ordered. He checked the chamber—empty. He’d leave it that way for now. Checked the magazine—maxed at ten rounds. The Glock 27 was a pocket carry, smaller than his 19, with a smaller magazine. But he figured the extra stopping power of the .40-caliber hollowpoints would compensate should things come to that. He hoped not. He’d do whatever he could to keep this a safe, quiet, peaceful trip.

He slipped it into his right front pocket and stood before the mirror. Even with his loose-fitting jeans, the pistol left a bulge. He untucked his T-shirt. There. Hidden.

No Mae West wisecracks tonight.

He checked his watch: just after four. Not quite Miller time in L.A. but hours past it in New York.

But first, a couple of calls. After all, it was already seven back there and he didn’t know when he’d have another chance tonight.

He checked in with Gia and gave her a rundown of all the pulse-pounding excitement so far. Then he called Weezy, and sensed the dismay in her tone when he told her about the problem at the airport.

“You lost them?”

“We knew all along that was a good possibility. I’m going to start making the rounds of the revival theaters in a little while. Meantime, how are things going with the Compendium?”

“Jack, it’s just incredible.” He could hear her spirits lifting. “Literally incredible. There’s so much here, and it’s all so . . . so . . .”

“Incredible?”

“Yes! I’m having a hard time believing what I’m reading, and an even harder time wrapping my mind around it.”

“How are you managing with the changing pages?”

”It doesn’t seem to matter. I can somehow remember the pages I’ve read and my brain puts them in sequence no matter what order I see them.”

Remembering his months of frustration trying to make sense of the book, he said, “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Okay, I seethe with envy. Any helpful flashes of insight yet?”

“Not yet. Maybe never.”

His stomach dropped. “Don’t say that.”

“Jack, there’s so much.”

“Keep at it. Got to be something.”

He rang off and headed for the elevators. He figured the House of Blues ought to be as good a place as any to grab a couple of brews and a decent steak.