I said, "How could I not understand, them having beachfront up my ass? Now that I'm scared, who are you and what do you want?"

"Golden's computer."

I glanced in the mirror again. Neither of the men in the Toyo appeared to be Golden, but I couldn't be sure.

"Do you think I have it with me here in the car? I don't have it."

"Where is it?"

"With a friend in Culver City. I gave it to him for safekeeping."

"Fine. We'll pick it up from your friend."

"Did Golden send you?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Is he in the Toyota?"

"Let's go see your friend."

He flicked the atom bomb to remind me it might go off, so I shrugged.

"Okay. If that's what you want."

We didn't bother with the freeway; we dropped south out of downtown, and used the surface streets. It was a lot faster. Only an hour and twenty minutes.

When we reached Culver City, I approached the back of the shop through a residential area and an alley with our escorts close behind. I didn't want them to see where we were going until it was too late.

"Where are we going?"

"He has a little business nearby. They're closed now, but he'll still be there with the computer."

"What's this asshole's name?"

"Joe."

"If he makes any trouble, we'll cook his ass."

"I understand. Hey, you're the man with the gun."

"Remember it."

I turned down the alley behind the row of stores where Joe Pike has his business and pulled into the delivery spot directly outside the back door. Joe's gleaming red Jeep was to my left and a highly polished Chevy truck was to the right. The white Toyota pulled up behind us, blocking me in. A small gray peephole stared out at us from the door.

"Okay," I said. "This is it."

He glanced at the door. A sign hung above it saying:

FIREARMS

ARMED RESPONSE UNNECESSARY

"What the fuck, a gun store?"

"Yeah, this is his. He has several businesses."

I tapped the horn twice, and the man with the bag lurched, jerking the bag up toward me.

"Fuckin' asshole! What the fuck?"

"Take it easy. He won't answer the door after business hours. I have to let him know to come to the back. C'mon, you want to get the computer or not?"

I waited with my hands in place until he waved with the bag for me to get out. I got out my side as he got out his, and then we went to the door. I stood at the door, but he stood to the side so if anyone looked out the peephole they couldn't see him. Pike had made the same positioning move when we went to see Golden.

I said, "Okay to knock?"

"Hurry up, fuckin' knock."

"You've done things like this before?"

"Knock, asshole."

He knocked for me. He pounded hard on the door three times with his free hand-BOOMBOOMBOOM-while he kept the bag trained on me with the other. On the third boom, Joe Pike raised up behind him as if he were rising from the earth. Pike pushed the bag straight up in the air while twisting the bag hand to the outside farther than it was ever meant to twist. Then Pike pushed him over and down face-first into the Chevy truck's fender. It sounded like a cantaloupe dropped from the roof. The two men who work at Pike's shop had the clowns from the Toyota proned out on the ground. Both men had black Sig.45s, and both men could clear the LAPD Combat Shooting Range in competition-level times. Both men had.

I picked up the bag, and showed Pike what I found. A nifty little.38 snub-nose.

I said, "Golden."

Pike said, "Uhn."

Pike peeled his boy off the truck, then turned him toward me. His face was a mess. He was trying to cradle his broken arm, but Pike still had it. I squatted so we could see eye to eye, and now his tough eyes looked scared.

"What's your name?"

"Rick."

"Okay, Rick. These men are professionals. You're just some asshole. You understand the word?"

He nodded. I think he was trying not to cry.

"What was supposed to happen after you had the computer? You supposed to call, just bring it over, what?"

"Call."

"He's waiting to hear from you?"

"Yeah."

"Let him call, Joe."

We found a silver Samsung in Rick's pocket and let him speed-dial Golden. He got a signal and a ring right away. Everyone gets a signal but me.

When Golden answered, I took the phone.

"You cover these guys' health insurance?"

"Who is this?"

"Two of these idiots are tied up on the ground, and Rick has a broken arm. I think his nose is broken, too. Do I need to come see you about this?"

He understood who I was. Silence filled the phone as he thought it through.

"You said you'd give back my computer."

"After the girls cooperate with the police and their stories check out. When I'm satisfied that everyone has been straight, you'll get it back."

"I'm out of business without the computer."

"Live with it. Stephen, you could be punished for this. Do you understand that?"

"I understand."

"What would Detective Pardy do if he knew you sent these turds to assault me?"

"They weren't supposed to assault you. They were supposed to get the computer."

"They didn't get it."

"I'm losing money without that computer. Look, you want a few bucks? I'll buy it back from you. How much you want?"

I shut the phone, and shook my head. Amazing.

Pike said, "What do you want to do?"

We took their guns, their photographs, and their driver's licenses, and then we let them go. When they were gone, Pike stood with me by my car. The sky was deepening, and I was anxious to go home.

Pike said, "Let me ask you something."

I waited.

"How'd a lightweight like Rick bring it this far?"

I filled him in on my meeting with Pardy and Diaz, and what I had learned about George Reinnike. Rick had brought it as far as he had because I hadn't been paying attention; I had been thinking about Reinnike.

Pike didn't say anything. He studied me, and some small part of me was left feeling ashamed.

Predator

The information operator gave Frederick the address and phone for the Elvis Cole Detective Agency on Santa Monica Boulevard. Frederick didn't call; he was worried that calling might somehow tip off Cole, so he just drove over. He found a spot on a side street two blocks away, then walked back with his shotgun. He carried the shotgun in its case, walking along with it tucked under his arm like a stubby package. No one seemed to notice. Frederick enjoyed believing that the people who noticed the case dismissed it as a musical instrument, a pool cue, or a fishing rod. People were so predictably stupid.

Cole's office was located in an older five-story building with Spanish styling. A narrow lobby opened off the street, having stairs and a rickety elevator as access to the upper floors. A directory hung across from the elevator. Cole's office was on the fourth floor. Frederick got into the elevator. When the door closed, he unzipped the end of his gun case. The door opened on the fourth floor. Frederick stepped off, then hesitated. His heart pounded, and his neck prickled. He took a fast step back onto the elevator, but held the door. He wondered whether or not Cole would recognize him. If Cole saw him first, Cole might be able to get the drop on him. Frederick thought it through; he would have to move fast and kill Cole before Cole realized what was happening, but there was a problem-

Frederick didn't know what Cole looked like.

Frederick stood frozen in place on the elevator, his heart hammering, seeing an entire room filled with men. How would he recognize Cole?

Frederick stepped off the elevator and moved down the hall. He didn't decide what to do so much as know it-he would kill everyone he found in Cole's office.