I went downstairs, put out food for the cat, then locked up and drove down into deepest, darkest Hollywood. Yep. Thinking about dinner with Jillian was working wonders.

At two minutes before eight, I parked behind Musso and Frank's Grill on Hollywood Boulevard and went in. Jillian Becker walked in behind me. She was wearing a conservative eggshell pants suit over a light brown shirt and beige pumps. Her nails and her lip gloss were one of those colors between pink and flesh, and went well with the eggshell. Her fingers were slim and manicured and there was a single strand of white pearls around her neck. She looked tired and harassed, but I couldn't tell that until she was closer. She said, "I'm sorry I'm late." It was one minute after eight.

"Would you like a drink?"

"At the table."

A bald man led us into Musso's huge back room to a very nice booth. There's a long bar back there and leather booths and it looks very much the way it looked in 1918, when Musso's opened. A busboy came with sourdough bread and water, then a waiter appeared, giving us menus and asking if we cared for something to drink. I ordered a Dos Equis. Jillian Becker ordered a double Stoly on the rocks. Must have been some kind of day.

"This room," I said, "is where Dashiell Hammett first laid eyes on Lillian Hellman. It was a romance that lasted ages."

Jillian Becker glanced at her watch. "What did you want to talk about?" So much for romance.

"Have the cops come up with anything?"

"No."

"Have there been any demands from the kidnappers?"

"No. The police and the FBI talk to us a dozen times a day. They have a tap on Bradley's home phone. They have a tap on the office phone. But there's been nothing."

The waiter came back with the drinks. Usually it takes about a year to get your drinks, but sometimes they're fast. "Are you ready to order?" he said, pencil poised.

Jillian said, "I'll have the crab salad."

The waiter looked at me.

"Grilled chicken. Home fries. Broccoli."

He nodded twice and wrote it down and left. Jillian lifted her glass and took a long drink.

"Rough day?"

"Mr. Cole, I'd rather not discuss my day if it's all the same to you. You could have asked me what the police had over the phone."

"But then I wouldn't have been able to admire your beauty."

She tapped her glass with a manicured fingernail. Guess we'd proceed directly to business.

I said, "Have you ever heard the name Yuki Torobuni?"

"No."

"Yuki Torobuni owns a dance club downtown called Mr. Moto's. It's very new wave, very hip, cocaine in the bathrooms, that kind of place. Yuki Torobuni also heads the yakuza here in L. A. Do you know what the yakuza is?"

"Like the mafia."

"Yeah. How about a guy named Eddie Tang? Ever heard his name?"

"No." Impatient. "Why are you asking if I've heard of these people? Do you think Bradley's involved with them?"

"It crossed my mind."

She lifted her glass and took a careful sip, thinking about that. She thought about it for a very long time. When she put the glass down, she said, "All right. It's reasonable for you to consider every possible solution to a problem." Business school. "But Bradley is not involved with organized crime. I see where the money comes from, and I see where it goes. If there were something shady going on, I'd know it, or at least suspect it, and I don't."

"Maybe it's very well hidden."

She shook her head. "I'm too good for that."

I nodded. "Okay. Let's try this. I talked to a guy at Mr. Moto's who told me that Mimi came there often, and that she came with friends."

"Mimi?" Everybody does it.

"Uh-huh. A girl named Carol and another girl named Kerri."

Jillian took another sip of her drink. "She's never mentioned them to me. Not that she necessarily would."

"How about other friends?"

Jillian shook her head again. "I'm sorry. Mimi always seemed very withdrawn. Sheila complains endlessly that she never leaves the house." Jillian put her glass down and eyed it coolly. "Sheila is something else."

The waiter came with a little stand and all of our plates on a large oval tray. He put the stand down by the table, then the tray on the stand. He set out Jillian's crab salad, then my chicken and broccoli and home fries, and then he took the tray and the stand and left. The chicken smelled wonderful. It always did.

Jillian said, "Bradley's not going to pay you a dime, you know. He intends to sue you, if he has to, to recover the money he's already paid."

"He won't have to do that." Bradley Warren's blank check was still in my wallet. I took it out, tore it in quarters, and put it on the table by Jillian Becker's plate.

Jillian Becker looked at the check and then at me. She shook her head. "And you're still going to look for Mimi?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I told Mimi I would take care of her."

"And that's enough."

I shrugged. "It's an ugly job, but somebody has to do it."

Jillian frowned and ate some of the crab salad. I had some of the chicken, then a couple of the home fries. Excellent.

I said, "I need to find out who Mimi hangs out with. Bradley and Sheila might be able to tell me. If they won't talk to me, maybe you could talk to them for me."

Jillian frowned more deeply and put her fork in the crab but only played with it. "Bradley had to fly to Kyoto."

The Dos Equis was cold and bitter. I sipped it. I had a little more of the chicken. I had a little of the broccoli. Two guys at the edge of the bar crowd were looking our way. One of the guys was overweight and balding. The other guy was very tall with dark hair and thick glasses and a heavy jaw. He looked like Stephen King. The shorter guy was drinking what looked like scotch rocks. The taller, Campari and soda. They were staring at Jillian and the taller guy was smiling. "His daughter is gone," I said, "but business continues."

Jillian Becker's lips tightened and she put down her fork and I thought she was going to stand. She didn't. She said, "Bradley has been very fair to me. He's treated me just as he's treated everyone else in his organization. He's recognized and rewarded my abilities. It's a good job."

"And you've got the BMW to prove it."

"It's so easy for you, isn't it? Tearing up checks. Standing on your head in your office."

"How about Sheila? You think I could talk with her?"

Silence.

"Sheila went with him."

Slow nod.

I finished off the Dos Equis. "Parents of the Year, all right."

Jillian started to say something, then stopped. She looked angry and embarrassed.

I said, "You could get me into their house. We could look in Mimi's room."

"Bradley would fire me."

"Maybe."

Her jaw worked and she sipped some water and didn't say anything for a long time. When she did, she said, "I don't like you."

I nodded.

Her jaw flexed again, and she stood up. "God damn you," she said. "Let's go. I have a key."