leaning over. A dollar-bill feeder stuck out of the wall like the neck of a hungry goose.
Freddy bit his lip, studying the girl and bouncing his head as if to a beat, though the room was oddly silent. 'Now, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout.'
Bear, momentarily distracted by the breasts swaying mere feet from his head, took a moment to find his focus. 'Do you know Walker Jameson?' He nodded for Tim to produce the photo, which Freddy studied intently. 'Or Boss Hahn?'
'Okay. Okay.' Freddy seemed to be trying to sort his way through a drunken muddle of thoughts. 'Who are y'all?'
Bear shifted his weight against the glass, showing off the Marshals star on his belt.
Freddy bobbed his head a bit more, as if considering his options. 'Don't know that cat,' he finally said, tapping a dirty fingernail against the picture, 'but I know of Boss Hahn. Big mofo in the AB, ain't that right?'
'He was recently demoted.' Bear settled heavily into the seat beside Freddy. 'We had a little chat with Tommy LaRue yesterday evening. I guess you did, too. Right around, say, five-thirty P.M. We want to know what you told him.'
'I ain't gonna bitch up for y'all. Not on Tommy. We're road dawgs, man. Thick and thin.'
'We're not interested in LaRue,' Tim said. 'Not at all. We're after someone else, and we'll be as happy to ignore LaRue as we'll be to ignore you.'
The metal screen slammed down, leaving them alone in the darkness. Bear fumbled in his pocket, fed a crumpled bill into the machine, and then there was light. And breasts.
He shrugged at Tim. 'Ambience.'
'And say I don't want to talk to y'all?' Freddy asked amiably.
'Then we'd probably have to poke and pry around all that merch in your pad. Irregularities in your First Union account. How you afforded to fly yourself and Bernadette to Brazil. Who you saw there, what you brought back.'
Freddy's eyes registered surprise at some of the proper nouns. 'We don't want that,' he agreed. The woman stopped dancing in her glass box and folded her arms, annoyed at the sudden lack of attention. Freddy fussed with the edge of his sweater sadly. 'You talked to Bernadette, huh?'
'Tough lady,' Bear said.
Freddy shook his head. 'Word.'
'What'd you tell Tommy LaRue?' Tim said. 'Answer the question and we were never here. And we won't make trouble for LaRue. Or you.'
Freddy squinted at Tim in the faint light. 'Hey, you that dog killed them people?'
'Lotta dogs kill a lotta people in this city.'
'A'ight. I'll bump gums. You cross me, I go public on your ass.' Freddy winked good-naturedly. 'Now, I don't know what it means. I'm just a relay man. Tommy can only call certain phone numbers from the inside, and I'm one of them. I'm his clearinghouse, right? Yesterday I get word to go to a pay phone at a certain time, someone would call. So I go. And they call. Just a grumble. 1Three words. Tommy calls me at our usual time today. I tell him. He hangs up. That's all I know. I just relayed the message.'
'Which was?' Bear asked impatiently.
''The left side.''
As if on cue, the metal screen slammed down, bathing them in darkness. At the same time, Tim and Bear repeated, ''The left side'?'
'The hell does that mean?' Bear said.
''F I supposed to know, they'd be no point in tellin' me in code, right?' Freddy held up his hands. 'Like I said. I don't know too much so I don't know too much.'
'I'm beginning to feel the same goddamned way.'
After the next few questions went equally nowhere, Tim and Bear left the strip club in silence. Finally Bear said, 'Maybe the left side was a meet point for after the break. The left side of a road. Or a river. Something.'
'I think it's more than that. Walker had an emotional reaction to it. It put him in motion. It's the answer to something.'
'So maybe it was a signal for the break. The bedsheet? Wasn't that on the left side?'
'I keep thinking it's gotta have something to do with Boss Hahn.'
'Walker stabbed Hahn on the left side. Though I doubt that directive would've puckered him in the dining hall. Let's take a spin through the files again, have Guerrera do a keyword search on the Aryans, the prison, the Black Guerrilla Family, whatever we got.' Bear pulled himself behind the wheel, slamming the door a little too hard. The dash clock showed 2:03 A.M., and it was ten minutes slow.
A long night, and they'd wound up with three words. Three words that could mean a lot of things but were cause enough for Walker Jameson to kill Boss Hahn and break out of prison.
And were likely cause enough for him to do more than that.
Chapter 12
The run-down community within earshot of freeway traffic showed off couches, carports, and rusted truck bodies languishing on dirt lawns. The street was 3:38 A.M. quiet. Walker pulled over his Accord, shut the door soundlessly, and prowled.
Shadows, shrubs, tree trunks-even the pit bulls didn't pick him up. A light through a particular kitchen window caught his interest. He crept close, on his toes, peering. An open refrigerator door cast a golden glow across the sleep-puffy face of a slim brunette in her mid-thirties. Attractive features starting to wear down from work and worry. A pert mouth showing the pull of gravity at the edges. Shoulder-length hair cut in no particular style and parted in the middle. Her body, visible beneath a too-long L.A. Clippers T-shirt, still looked fit. Firm in the chest, pinched at the waist when the fabric shifted. Wide, flat feet, nails covered with chipped pink paint.
She returned the water pitcher to the refrigerator shelf and shuffled back down the hall with her glass. His steps muffled by the barren flower beds, he mirrored her movement outside, picking her up in her room through a seam in the blinds. Converted den, fold-out couch. She eased back beneath the sheets, took a final sip, and set the glass on her bed-stand. He followed the movement of her torso in the faint blue glow of the night-light. After a few minutes, her breathing grew deep and steady.
Walker withdrew silently, circled to the back of the house, and found a sliding glass door with a broken latch. He moved down the dark hall as if floating-not a creak beneath his boots. The doorknob turned soundlessly. Five well-placed steps and he was bedside. He inched the top sheet back, exposing a bare shoulder, and took in the swirl of brown hair on the pillow.
He stood over her sleeping form, the cool metal of the Redhawk pressed to the small of his suddenly sweating back.
Chapter 13
Boston bounded past Tim over the porch, leapt through the truck's open passenger door, and Bear pulled out from the curb with a wave. Tim entered the house quietly. Dray was out cold on their bed, paperback butterflied on her chest.
She stirred, grinding a hand into her eye. 'Your son requests your presence.'
Tim checked his watch. 'He's not down?'
'Is he ever? He doesn't fall asleep for good until he sees you. We know this.'
Tim crossed the hall and saw Tyler's head poke up over the padded guardrail of his bed. Snowball, the aptly named hamster, snoozed on his exercise wheel. Habitually lazy, Snowball had never evolved into the playmate they'd hoped for; he'd just evolved into a larger hamster.
'Fuff pillow.'
