unexpected set of skills, at a speed that suggests well-worn neural pathways. Which, as we both know, are developed through repeated use. Trenton?â
âFine, sure, Trenton.â She swerved the car violently into the oncoming lane and then brought it back. âCat,â she said.
I hadnât seen a cat.
âSo weâre not going to Stinkyâs, so youâre in this foul mood, because you didnât get it? The big hotshot burglar didnâtââ
âI got it. I always get it. Iâm a professional. And I flatter myself that I can recognize a professional.â
The word made her pause just a bit longer than she should have. Perhaps she hadnât expected me to be so blunt. âWhatever that means. Look. You got your stamp, you got out in a single, not badly shaped piece, with your fairly attractive face intact. Youâve got that stamp in your pocket, and you should be ready to hop on over to your fenceâs houseââ She bit her lower lip. âThatâs what youâd call someone like Stinky, right? A fence?â
I just looked at her.
âYou throw that term around a lot,â she said. âFence this, fence that. âIâll just run this over to my fence.â Like that. You know?â
âSo if I were to send someone to comb through the criminal files of Trenton or Albany under the name Veronicaâwait, whatâs your maiden name?â
âThis is territory we havenât covered,â she said. âAnd I appreciate that we havenât covered it. I know itâs taken willpower on your part.â
âIt has. What was it?â
She did a little warning drumroll on the steering wheel with her nails. âLeBlanc.â
We shared a moment of silence.
âYou do realize,â I said, âthat LeBlanc is not a name that really rings with credibility.â
She pulled the car to the curb, hard enough to put the front tire halfway up it. We were most of the way to Mulholland, in an area where the houses were sealed behind gates that made the one sheâd driven through look like a saloon door. There were no streetlamps, and we were on a tight curve to the right, practically begging to be hit from behind. The top of the ridge, a few hundred yards ahead, was a curving, pillowy line of solid black against the diffuse glow of the Valleyâs zillion lights. âI come from a long line of LeBlancs,â she said between her teeth. âLeBlancs all the way down.â
âDown to where?â
She sighed heavily, a sign that she needed time to work on the answer and its tone. âDown to 1209 a.d. ? The Albigensian Crusade? When Pope Innocent III, of all the ironically named people, decided to kill every single Cathar in France because they didnât like the cookies the pope served at the altar. That was when we changed our name, because weâd been Cathars, and burning at the stake didnât seem like an option. Okay?â
âChanged it from what?â
âLeNoir,â she said. âLater anglicized to Leonard.â
âAnglicized when? That makes no sense at all. I mean, if your name is still LeBlancââ
âLeNoir was an embellishment,â she said with fraudulent candor. She shook her head fondly at her own foolishness. âI canât resist embellishments.â
âYouâre telling me. So your family was Cathar?â
âStill is.â
âI thought all the Cathars were dead.â
âYeah, well, donât tell the pope. Can we get going now?â
âAnd you? Youâre a Cathar?â
âTo the center of my clean little bones.â
âSo you believe that the world is the result of a war between God and Satan and that everything thatâs visible was created by Satan and is therefore evil?â
âExplains a lot,â she said, âwhen you think about it.â
âAnd that human beings are the genderless spirits of