bank robbery in Cicero.
The cars inched forward, plumes of black exhaust hovering in the night air. When the Mustang reached the front of the line, a male agent in his fifties sidled up to the driver's door. His name tag read 'Lopez,' and he looked both tired and bored.
'Evening, Agent Lopez,' Payne boomed, with gusto. 'Long day, huh?'
'Pulled a double shift 'cause we're short tonight.'
Good sign, Payne thought. The guy wouldn't want any hassles.
A helicopter droned overhead, its searchlight raking the ten-foot-high border fence.
'We'll be out of your hair and on our way in no time,' Payne promised, putting on what he thought was an open, Midwestern smile. 'Just a midnight crossing to the Promised Land.'
'Nice wheels.'
'Indeed,' Payne said, employing a word he never used. But then, this wasn't him. This was some educator from Northwestern University, a guy who restored old cars in his spare time. Payne had prepared an entire persona in the last few minutes.
'V-8 under the hood?'
'Four-twenty-eight,' Payne bragged.
'Love that pony on the grille. Never understood why they put it off center, though.'
Agent Lopez scrutinized Payne's Illinois driver's license and passport and didn't start screaming for reinforcements. He spent more time with Tino's visa, squinting a bit, then holding a flashlight to it.
Shit.
The agent slipped the visa into his shirt pocket and studied Tino. 'You're a student at Temple Emanuel Academy Day School in Beverly Hills?' His tone would have worked for 'You just landed here from Mars?'
'Si, senor.'
'Exchange program,' Payne added.
'I'm talking to the boy now, Mr. Hamilton.'
Payne clammed up and Agent Lopez said, 'How long you going to school there?'
'I start next month, but they asked me to come early and get myself all orientated.'
'Uh-huh.'
'Then I'm gonna go to Beverly Hills High. Lil' Romeo went there.'
'So did Erik Menendez,' the agent said, referring to one of the brothers who shotgunned his parents twenty years earlier. 'Let's take a look at your luggage.'
'Except for a gym bag and baseball bat, we shipped everything,' Payne contributed.
Agent Lopez sighed, as if this was going to be too much trouble for this time of night. He leaned over the side of the convertible, a puzzled look on his face. 'Are those bowling shoes you're wearing, Mr. Hamilton?'
'There's a story behind that,' Payne said.
'Don't wanna hear it. But tell me, just what's your connection with the boy?'
'I'm associate director of Worldwide Student Exchange.'
'Never heard of it.'
'We're an ecumenical rainbow coalition headquartered at Northwestern University. We encourage diversity in private schools, and this lucky little fellow was chosen, after vigorous competition, to go to Temple Emanuel for intensive study.'
'I love Americanos, ' Tino said. 'Especially Jews.'
'Let me get this straight,' the agent said. 'You're a religious do-gooder from Illinois. You drive all the way to Mexico and come back with this boy who you claim to be taking to some Jewish school in Beverly Hills.'
'In time for Rosh Hashanah,' Payne added, helpfully.
The agent took a moment to think things over. In an adjacent lane, under a sign reading Secondary Inspections, agents pulled a Lincoln apart, fender by fender, the border equivalent of a body cavity search.
Agent Lopez snatched a radio from his belt. 'I need a P-2 check on a Mr. Alexander Hamilton of Evanston, Illinois.'
'P-2 check?' Payne said, puzzled.
'Predators and pedophiles.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Registered sex offenders. Ex-cons with records of assaulting children.'
Not again, Payne thought. Another guy in uniform who suspected him of being a freak. Through a window of the office kiosk, he saw Rodriguez, the cute female officer, now working at a computer. 'I assure you that I'm not-'
'You buy this boy in Mexicali?'
'No! Of course not.'
'Tijuana, then.'
'Never been to Tijuana.'
Rodriguez sashayed out of the office, a feminine swing to her hips. She held a computer printout.
Jesus, what did she find? What if a guy from Illinois named Alex Hamilton was a total perv?
Despite his best efforts to appear relaxed, Payne was holding his breath. Looking guilty. Feeling guilty. He shot a look at Tino. The boy had one hand on the door handle. The kid was ready to run, Payne wondering if he'd go north or south.
Rodriguez gave Payne a long look, then turned to Lopez. 'Car's clean. Mr. Hamilton has no record in Illinois or in the federal database. Nothing in the P-2 file.'
Payne let out a long whistling breath, like a punctured bicycle tire.
'And I know for a fact that Mr. Hamilton is heterosexual.'
'How?' the male agent said.
'When I read his plate, he checked out my ass like he wanted to pet it.'
'Busted,' Payne conceded.
'I'm too tired and too old for this shit,' Lopez grumbled. 'Mr. Hamilton, take this kid to Beverly Hills. Or Tel Aviv, for all I care.'
Payne pushed the clutch to the floor, turned the ignition, and put the Mustang in gear. He tried not to burn rubber as they passed the sign welcoming them to the United States of America.
FORTY-THREE
Shortly after midnight, Sharon sat on a sofa in the Green Room of a Burbank television studio. On a TV monitor, Cullen's face took on the color of the setting sun from an overdose of bronze makeup. Her fiance was happily hosting his 'Close the Border Marathon,' but Sharon wasn't paying attention.
Her thoughts were of Jimmy. So many emotions. Worry. Fear. Guilt. Blaming herself for the ton of crap that was about to fall on his head. He was like a dog that dug its way out of the yard. The longer he was gone, the more mischief he would get into.
What was I thinking? Why did I send him where he could do so much harm?
The boy. Tino.
She'd done it because of the boy. She didn't need a shrink to tell her about the subconscious connection between a boy looking for his mother and a mother missing her dead son.
But look what's happened in a mere twenty-four hours.
Gossip had raced through the Parker Center like an August brushfire. A dead judge, stolen sting money, a fleeing bag man. To the delight of the donut-munchers, Detective Rigney was rumored to be chasing J. Atticus Payne from Rancho Cucamonga to Mexicali.
'Hey, didja hear? Royal Payne and some Mexican kid shot up a sheriff's car down in Calexico.'
'No shit.'
'Then they took off for Mexico.'
'And Rigney's in deep shit. Internal Affairs's really busting his chops.'
