NO RENT, NO ROOM. L. Onescu.” Reed had broken too many promises to Lila. His key didn’t work. She had changed the lock. He set down the paper bag containing his supper. Two bottles of Jack Daniels and potato chips. He searched his wallet. Thirty-five bucks. His checkbook was in the room. Damn. He walked the two blocks uphill to Lila’s building, entered the lobby, and leaned on the buzzer to her condo. No answer. “She’s not home, Reed,” a man’s voice echoed through the intercom. “Hey, I’m surprised you’re not at work tonight.” Reed looked into the security camera. “Long story. I’d rather not talk about it now, Mickey.” “Sure.” “Where’s Lila? She leave a key for me? I have money for her.” “Gone to visit a nephew in Tahoe. No key. Sorry, pal.” Reed walked back, got his supper, sat in his car in front of Lila’s Edwardian rooming house, overlooking the Marina District, the Golden Gate, and the Pacific. It was night. He thought of bunking with the other tenants, or driving to a motel.
