"You got a gun?" Joe asked.

"Yes."

"If I were you, I'd carry it at all times. Oh, one thing that might help: the guy is being released at ten a.m. the day after tomorrow, and he's to look for a woman wearing a red bandanna in a pickup truck. She's going to give him a thousand, and he's going to give her a phone number, so she can meet him to pay him another nine thousand when you're dead."

"That's good, Joe. I'll have the police pick him up and question him."

"That's no good," Joe said. "These guys saw me when they walked around the building; they'll figure it out, and I don't want a shiv in my back. Find another way to deal with it."

Eagle nodded. "All right, don't worry."

"You do the worrying," Joe said.

Eagle drove back to his office and called in Betty. "And bring in your pad," he said. "I'm going to dictate a new will, and I want it executed by the end of the day."

VITTORIO AND CUPIE DALTON SAT IN THE BACK OF THE un-air-conditioned cab and sweated, while they looked for Barbara's taxi.

"Stay near the beach," Cupie said to the man.

"That's probably a good idea," Vittorio admitted.

"You and I have to get something straight," Cupie said.

Vittorio looked at him and waited.

"I had thirty years on the LAPD and retired as a detective sergeant. The last ten years I served in elite investigative units, everything from homicide task forces to fugitive hunts. You may think I'm just a fat guy in a cheap suit, but I know what I'm doing, and if you and I are going to work on this you'd better find a way to show me a little respect."

"If you're so good, how'd that lady happen to shoot you?"

"First time ever anybody put a bullet in me, and I had no reason to think she was armed. How'd she manage to get past you in that hotel room? She show you her tits?"

Vittorio managed a short laugh. "As a matter of fact, she did."

"Something else: that evil Indian act of yours doesn't wash with me. Try and act like a regular human being."

"I am an evil Indian," Vittorio said.

Cupie burst out laughing. "What were her tits like?"

"Magnificent." He pointed at his chest. "She has a tattoo of a sunflower right here, and no bush, should you ever have to identify her."

"As much as I would enjoy identifying her, I'll never have need; her face is burned into my memory. Uh-oh." Cupie pointed ahead. "Dark blue Ford cab."

Vittorio peered through the windshield. "Right. Driver, twenty bucks, if you can force that cab off the road without killing anybody."

"Senor…" Suddenly, the driver jerked his wheel to the right as a black Suburban with darkened windows cut him off while passing his taxi. He began slowing down.

"Keep up!" Cupie said. "Don't let him get away from you."

"No, senor," the man said. "You don't want to fuck with these people in the black car."

"Who the hell are they?"

The driver pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. "No, senor; it is not worth my life."

Cupie got out of the car, opened the driver's door, and, with his good arm, shoved him into the passenger seat. He slammed the door, put the car in gear and spun the tires.

Vittorio reached over the seat, grabbed the driver and pulled him into the backseat, then took his place. "It's one of two things," he said to Cupie. "Either police or kidnappers."

"Or both," Cupie replied.

"That would be unfortunate," Vittorio said.

"It would be right in line with our luck so far," Cupie said. He was gaining on the black car.

Vittorio produced a pistol.

"Wait a minute," Cupie said. "We're not shooting at these people if they're wearing uniforms or carrying automatic weapons."

"Or if there are too many of them," Vittorio said. "You can't drive and shoot at the same time."

"Don't worry about me."

BARBARA EAGLE LOOKED AHEAD of her taxi and saw a station wagon pull out into the road ahead of them and stop. "Watch it!" she shouted at her driver, who was already slamming on brakes. As they skidded to a stop, a black Suburban with dark windows stopped next to them.

"Is kidnappers!" her driver shouted. He slammed the car into park and dove for the floor.

Barbara dug into her handbag. It was the bank, she thought immediately. Somebody at the bank told them how much money she had.

As if in slow motion the rear door of the Suburban opened, and a man with a gun came out of it. He yanked open the door of her taxi, yelling something in Spanish.

Barbara shot him in the face, and for a moment, everything was quiet. Then another man came around the back of the Suburban and ran toward her open door. She waited for a heartbeat, then put two bullets into him. He fell down, then half got up and scrambled behind the Suburban. Her little.25 automatic didn't have much stopping power.

Then another car skidded to a halt behind her taxi, and two men got out, firing, but not in her direction. She got down on the floor and waited. She had only three rounds left.

The firing continued for a moment, then there was the sound of the Suburban's engine roaring, then receding.

"Mrs. Eagle?" a man shouted. "Barbara? Are you all right?"

CUPIE'S FIRST TWO SHOTS were fired straight through his own windshield, taking out the rear window of the Suburban, and he could see only a driver inside. Then a man clutching his gut struggled into the rear seat, screaming, and the Suburban took off. Vittorio was standing near another figure on the ground, kicking a gun away from him, yelling at Mrs. Eagle.

"It's all right, Mrs. Eagle," Cupie yelled. "They're gone; don't fire at us."

She stuck her head out of the cab and looked at them. "You!" she said.

"And you're damned lucky it's us," Vittorio said. "Give me that gun." He yanked the little gun out of her hand and put it in his pocket, then grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her out of the cab. "Get her bag, Cupie." He hustled her into the backseat of their taxi, while Cupie retrieved her bag, got back into the taxi and executed a U-turn.

"Where are we going?" Barbara demanded.

"Away from here and just as fast as we can," Cupie replied, stomping on the accelerator.

EAGLE WOKE UP WITH A JERK AND GRABBED THE CUSTOM built Terry Tussey.45 on the night table next to him. He had heard something outside.

The clock over the TV said 6:30 a.m. He got out of bed quickly, ran into his dressing room for some pants and shoes and grabbed his cell phone, in case he had to call the police. He went to one side of the drawn bedroom curtains and peeked outside. Nothing, nobody. He ran into the kitchen and looked out the kitchen windows. Still nobody. He went to the front door and looked out the little windows next to it. There was a man in the driveway, raking it: the groundsman, who came for two hours every day. He was early. The rake against the cobblestones was the sound Eagle had heard.

Eagle showered, with the gun close at hand, had breakfast, dressed and went to the office. Another twenty-four hours would pass before the hired killer would get out of jail, but he still watched his rearview mirror closely. He wished the Mercedes were armored.

Betty was already at her desk, munching a Danish and drinking coffee, when he arrived. She started to get up.

"Finish your breakfast," he said, waving her down. He went into his office and read a copy of the will he had executed the day before. It still seemed satisfactory, and the original was locked in his safe, to which only he and Betty had the combination.

He worked through the morning, and around eleven, Wolf Willett called.