Pike aimed the Smith at Rahmi’s forehead and thumbed back the hammer.

“Call.”

“I’ll call. I’ll call all you want, but we ain’t gonna get no answer. I been leavin’ messages. His message box full.”

Rahmi fumbled with the phone, then held it out for Pike to see.

“Here. Listen here. You’ll see. I called him right now.”

Pike held out his free hand, and Rahmi tossed the phone over. Pike caught it to hear a computer voice say the recipient’s message box was full.

Pike ended the connection, then brought up the call log. The last call out showed as Jamal. Pike closed the phone, then put it into his pocket. He would go through the other numbers later.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know where he is. Layin’ up with some ho, I imagine. Maybe in Vegas.”

“He told me he was crashing here. How else would I have your address?”

Now Rahmi appeared confused, as if he thought all this might be possible, but wasn’t sure how.

“Man, that was weeks ago. I don’t know where he cribs now. He don’t tell me, and I don’t wanna know.”

“Why not?”

“Aw, man, you know. The police came around looking, so he’s gotta stay low. He didn’t say where he went and I didn’t ask. If I don’t know, I can’t say.”

Pike decided Rahmi was telling the truth, but Jamal was only one of the people he wanted to find.

“When’s the last time you spoke?”

“Few days, I guess. Maybe a week.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Just talkin’ shit. This cop show I’m watching on DVD, The Shield. That shit is righteous, here on the sixty-inch. We talkin’ about The Shield. Jamal say up there in Soledad, they all into The Shield.”

“I think you’re lying. I think he left my money with you, and you spent it.”

Pike aimed the Smith at Rahmi’s left eye. Rahmi held up a hand as if he could ward off the bullet.

“That’s crazy. I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout no money.”

“He tell you I was coming?”

“He ain’t said nuthin’ ’bout no money, you, or anything else. How much he owe you?”

“Thirty-two thousand dollars. I’m getting it from him, or you.”

“I ain’t got no thirty-two kay.”

“You were driving it. Now I’m driving it.”

Rahmi blinked at what was left of his big-screen television, then slumped in defeat.

“Nigga, please, whatever passed between you and Jamal, I got no part in that. Jamal, he gave me these things ’cause he doin’ so well. We family, dog.”

“How’d he get to be doing so well?”

“He got in with a good crew.”

“Who? Maybe I can find him through them.”

“Jamal never told me no names.”

“He never told you I’d come for my money, either. I think he stole it from me. I think this stuff is mine.”

Pike raised the gun again, and this time Rahmi pleaded.

“It’s true, bro. They hooked up with this Serbian cat, lays off one fat score after another. They makin’ the bank!”

Pike lowered the gun.

“Serbian.”

“They in with this dude set’m up with the scores. Tell’m who to hit, they split the cash. He say it the easiest money he ever made.”

“He said Serbian? Not Russian or Armenian?”

“What difference it make? How’s a brother know the difference?”

“What was the name?”

“Just some Serbian muthuhfucka, that’s all.”

Ana Markovic was from Serbia. Dying in the hospital with her sister standing guard.

Pike studied Rahmi, but wasn’t really looking at Rahmi. He thought for a moment, then went to the bag of tacos. He stepped on it. Crunch.

Rahmi looked pained.

“Muthuhfuckin’ dinner, muthuhfucka. Why you do a mean-hearted thing like that?”

Pike picked up Rahmi’s keys, then tossed them to him.

“Get some more tacos.”

“What?”

Pike held up the fold of bills.

“Take your car. Go get more tacos.”

Rahmi wet his lips as if he was expecting a trick, then snatched the bills and went to the door.

“How you know Jamal?”

“He murdered me.”

Rahmi froze with his hand on the knob.

Pike said, “You see Jamal before I find him, tell him Frank Meyer is coming.”

Rahmi let himself out.

Pike stood by the door, listening. He heard the gate. He heard the Malibu rumble, and the tires screech. Just as before, the SIS detail would scramble to follow.

Pike slipped out the bathroom window, and returned to the night.

PIKE RETURNED TO UCLA the next morning. When he stepped off the elevator onto the ICU floor, he saw Rina outside her sister’s door with a doctor and two nurses. Pike stepped back onto the elevator and rode down to the lobby. He wanted to speak with her alone.

Pike repositioned his Jeep so he could watch the lobby entrance, then turned on the phone he had taken from Rahmi Johnson. He had bought a power cord for the phone on the way to the hospital. Pike wanted to keep the phone charged in case Jamal called his cousin.

Pike scrolled through the list until he reached Jamal’s number, then pressed the button to dial. Pike had called the number twice last night, and now again, but the response was the same. A female computer voice came on, informing Pike that Jamal’s message box was full.

Pike put away the phone, then stared at the lobby. He was prepared to wait as long as necessary, but Rina emerged a few minutes later. Same jeans and jacket as yesterday. Same shoulder bag clutched to her chest.

Pike moved through a row of cars as she crossed into the parking lot. She walked fast, with hard, clipped steps, as if she wanted to cover as much ground as possible.

She didn’t see Pike until he stepped from between the cars, then she gasped.

Pike said, “Do you know who did this?”

“Of course not. How could I know?”

“Is that why you’re afraid? You know who did this?”

She edged away, keeping the purse close.

“I don’t know what you are saying. Of course I don’t know. The police are looking.”

Pike stepped in front of her.

“The people who shot her were sent by a Serbian.”

“And this means what? Please-”

She tried to get around him, but Pike caught her arm.

“The crew who shot your sister bought the score from a Serbian gangster. They bought information about a house where your sister worked. And now here you are, afraid, with the gun.”

She glared at his hand, then drew herself up.

“Leave go of me.”

Pike let go because he saw her look past him. Pike drifted to the side, and saw a large, burly man approaching. He was jumbo large, with sloping shoulders, a big gut, and a dark, unshaven face. His beard was thick enough to grind marble.

He stopped when Pike turned, still two rows away, and said something Pike did not understand. Rina answered in the same language.

“My friend, Yanni. He see you grab me. I tell him we’re fine.”

Yanni was probably six five and weighed three hundred pounds. He was scowling at Pike like a Balkan grizzly, but Pike wasn’t impressed. Size meant little.

Pike turned back to the woman.

“If you know who did this, tell me. I can protect you better than him.” Rina stepped back.

“I don’t know what you mean, Serbian gangster.”

“How did Frank and Cindy meet your sister? How did she get the job with them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did someone you know recommend her to them?”

She moved farther away.

“If you think you know something, you should tell the police.”

“Who are you afraid of?”

She studied him a long time, then shook her head.

“Ana is dead now. I have much to do.”

She turned and walked past Yanni, the two of them exchanging words Pike could not understand. She walked quickly, as if she still had all the ground to cover but was falling behind. Yanni continued scowling, but now his scowl seemed sad.

Pike returned to his Jeep. He watched them cross the parking lot to a small white Toyota. The woman got in behind the wheel.