pushed the button for the fifth floor. When they arrived, he turned left. Mandor went right. There was a security camera inside the elevator as well. There were no security cameras in the fifth-floor hallway. When the door shut, Mandor turned and followed Richmond.
'How was the drive?' the bald-headed Richmond asked over his shoulder.
'Sweet,' Mandor replied as he caught up to his partner.
He gave him a pat on the shoulder. Mandor liked his old friend, and he respected him. 'There was no traffic at this hour.'
'Yeah,' Richmond said. 'I made it from Oceanside in four hours flat.'
Richmond lived in a small cabin high in the Coastal Range of Southern California. He built the place himself four years ago. After years of freezing his ass in Chicago where he was one of five kids raised by a single mother in a one-bedroom walk-up on the South Side then as a driver in Alaska, Richmond wanted to live in consistently warm sunshine. That had been Mandor's desire, too, though he had always wanted to be on the water.
Richmond did not know Eric Stone, the gentleman who had contacted them.
All Stone said was that they had been recommended by Pete at the oil company. Peter Farmer was the foreman on the last rig where Mandor had worked. Richmond had recorded the conversation, and let Stone know it.
Richmond made Stone state that he was not a government agent and this was not a sting.
The men knew what this was not. They did not know what it was.
Richmond had called Pete to make sure Stone was legitimate. Pete said he was, though he did not know what the man needed.
They stopped in front of room 515, and Richmond knocked. Mandor pushed his shoulder-length salt-and- pepper hair behind his neck. He did not like to wear it in a ponytail. He did not like restraints of any kind.
That was how he ended up in the oil business. Back home in Toledo, Ohio, when he was twenty, he had beaten up Noel Lynch's former boyfriend when he found them together. Rather than face charges and possible jail time, he fled to Mexico and then to Venezuela, where he was hired to work on an offshore rig. He loved the challenge. He actually enjoyed facing the battering winds, the savage cold, the endless hard labor. When that got routine, he traveled to Alaska.
When that ceased to challenge him, he and Richmond came up with their new gig. One that had no overhead, was advertised by word of mouth, and was not taxed. They provided muscle for anyone who needed it.
The men had started doing that in Alaska. When environmentalists tried to block the tanker trucks or impede access to the rigs, the two men would cart the organizer away or his wife, if she had come with him and persuade them to take their grievances somewhere else. Roughing them up cost less than attorneys and was quicker and more effective. It also circumvented the police, whose arrests merely delayed the protests but did not eliminate them.
The work proved to be lucrative and something more. While Mandor was working in Punta Cardon, he learned that Noel had married the stupid jock he'd taken apart. Probably because she felt sorry for a guy who now had only one functioning eye. Each time Mandor hit someone, he was smacking that swaggering linebacker. Some people would call that sociopathic. To Mandor, it was cathartic. He felt that if everyone enjoyed their work as much as he did, the world would be a better place.
The door opened, and a short, well-dressed man stood inside. He was in his late twenties or early thirties, with straw-colored hair and a baby face.
'Mr. Stone?' Richmond said.
'Yes. You are Mr. Richmond?'
Richmond nodded. Stone looked at Mandor.
'Mr. Mandor?'
'Yeah,' Mandor said. He could not say 'Yes sir' to this kid.
'Come in,' Stone said as he stepped aside.
Richmond entered first. 'So how do you know Pete?' he asked as he stepped into the small foyer.
Mandor walked in, and Stone shut the door behind him. The room was medium-sized, with a king-size bed, a kitchenette, and a small dining area. The drapes were drawn, and all the lights were on.
