After Cason left, we called Marvin and asked if he could set up a meeting with Jimson. The whole thing about telling Cason we didn’t want to see Jimson really meant we didn’t want Cason in on it. We had a history with Jimson. All bad. We didn’t want to put Cason on Jimson’s doo-doo list.
We sat around for about an hour, then Marvin called us back.
“What’d he say?” I said, pressing my cell phone to my ear while standing at the kitchen window, looking out at the yard, the house beyond. It had turned off clear and the sun was out, but there was ice in little spots where the water ran out of the grass and collected along the concrete walk at that side of the house. If I was married to Brett and had a child, the most I’d have to think about today was maybe going to work and coming in to read the papers and play with the kid. It was a pipe dream, but I liked it.
“He said he didn’t want to see you,” Marvin said.
“That’s not nice.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“I don’t know about you,” I said, “but my iddy-biddy feelers are crushed to the bone.”
“Mine too, but that’s what he said. He also said eat shit and die.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Yeah. Actually, I didn’t talk to him. But the message from his associate, one of his bodyguards, was pretty much in that ballpark.”
I turned to Leonard. “Jimson doesn’t want to see us.”
“Then we should respect his wishes,” Leonard said.