Winter Moon

property were wedge-shaped brick planters in which grew queen palms,

azaleas laden with clusters of red flowers, and impatients in pinks and

purples. There was no gnme, no litter. The portico covering the pumps

was supported by brick columns, and the whole station had a quaint

colonial appearance.

In any age, the station would have seemed misplaced in Los Angeles.

Freshly painted and clean, it was doubly out of place in the grunge

that had been spreading like a malignancy through the city during the

nineties.

"Come on, come look, look," Arkadian said, and headed toward the south

end of the building.

"Poor guy's gonna blow out an artery in the brain over this," Luther

said.

"Somebody should tell him it's not fashionable to give a damn these

days," Jack said.

A low and menacing rumble of thunder rolled through the distended

sky.

Looking at the dark clouds, Luther said, "Weatherman predicted it

wouldn't rain today."

"Maybe it wasn't thunder. Maybe somebody finally blew up city hall."

"You think? Well, if the place was full of politicians," Luther said,

"we should take the rest of the day off, find a bar, do some

celebrating."

"Come on, officers," Arkadian called to them. He had reached the south

corner of the building, near where they had parked their patrol car.

"Look at this, I want you to see this, I want you to see my

bathrooms."

"His bathrooms?" Luther said.

Jack laughed. "Hell, you got anything better to do?"

"A lot safer than chasing bad guys," Luther said, following Arkadian.

Jack glanced at the Lexus again. Nice machine. Zero to sixty in how

many seconds? Eight? Seven? Must handle like a dream.

The driver had gotten out of the car and was standing beside it. Jack

noticed little about the guy, only that he was wearing a loose-fitting,

double-breasted Armani suit.

The Lexus, on the other hand, had wire wheels and chrome guards around

the wheel wells. Reflections of storm clouds moved slowly across its

windshield and made mysterious smoky patterns in the depths of its

jewel-green finish.

Sighing, Jack followed Luther past the two open bays of the repair

garage. The first stall was empty, but a gray BMW was on the hydraulic

lift in the second space. A young Asian man in mechanic's coveralls

was at work on the car. Tools and supplies were neatly racked along

the walls, floor to ceiling, and the two bays looked cleaner than the

average kitchen in a fourstar restaurant.

At the corner of the building stood a pair of softdrink vending

machines. They purred and clinked as if formulating and bottling the

beverages within their own guts.

Around the corner were the men's and women's rest rooms, where Arkadian

had opened both doors. "Take a look, go ahead--I want you to see my

bathrooms."

Both small rooms had white ceramic-tile floors and walls, white

commodes, white swing-top waste cans, white sinks, gleaming chrome

fixtures, and large mirrors above the sinks.

"Spotless," Arkadian said, talking fast, running his sentences together

in his quiet anger. "No streaks on the mirrors, no stains in the

sinks, we check them after every customer uses them, disinfect them

every day, you could eat off those floors and it would be as safe as

eating off the plates from your own mother's kitchen."

Looking at Jack over Arkadian's head, Luther smiled and said, "I think

I'll have a steak and baked potato. What about you?"

"Just a salad," Jack said. "I'm trying to lose a few pounds."

Even if he had been listening to them, Mr. Arkadian couldn't have been

joked out of his bleak mood. He jangled a ring of keys.

"I keep them locked, give the keys only to customers. City inspector

stops around, he tells me a new rule says these are public facilities,

so you've got to let them open for the public, whether they buy

anything at your place or not."

He jangled the keys again, harder, more angrily, then harder still.

Neither Jack nor Luther tried to comment above the strident ring and

raffle.

"Let them fine me. I'll pay the fine. When these are unlocked, the

drunks and junkie bums who live in alleys and parks, they use my

bathrooms, urinate on the floor, vomit in the sinks. You wouldn't

believe the mess they make, disgusting, things I'd be embarrassed to

talk about."

Arkadian was actually blushing at the thought of what he could have

told them.

He waved the jangling keys in the air in front of each open door, and

he reminded Jack of nothing so much as a voodoo priest casting a

spell--in this case, to ward off the riffraff who would despoil his

rest rooms. His face was as mottled and turbulent as the stormy sky.

"Let me tell you something. Hassam Arkadian works sixty and seventy

hours a week, Hassam Arkadian employs eight people full time, and

Hassam Arkadian pays half of what he earns in taxes, but Hassam

Arkadian is not going to spend his life cleaning up vomit because a

bunch of stupid bureaucrats have more compassion for some

lazy-drunken-psychojunkie bums than they have for people who are trying

their damnedest to lead decent lives."

He finished his speech in a rush, breathless. Stopped jangling the

keys.