left his house. He pushed Myron into the backseat, trying to hit his head on the doorframe, but Myron was ready and ducked it. In the front seat, Myron spotted a camera with a telephoto lens, just as Win had said.
Hmm. Two cops taking pictures, following him from his house, stopping him from talking to Randy, cuffing him — Big Jake had some juice.
The taller one stayed outside and paced. This was all going a little too fast for him. Myron decided that he could play that. The short one with the bushy mustache and dark curly hair slid into the seat next to Myron and grinned.
“I really liked ‘Rich Girl,’ ” Myron said to him. “But ‘Private Eyes’—I mean, what was up with that song? ‘Private eyes, they’re watching you.’ I mean, don’t all eyes watch you? Public, private, whatever?”
The short guy’s fuse blew faster than anticipated. He took a swing at Myron’s gut. Myron was still ready. One of the lessons Myron had learned over the years was how to take a punch. It was crucial if you were going to get into any physical confrontation. In a real fight, you almost always get hit, no matter how good you are. How you reacted psychologically often decided the outcome. If you don’t know what to expect, you shrivel up and cower. You get too defensive. You let the fear conquer you.
If the blow is a headshot, you need to play the angles. Don’t let the punch land square, especially on the nose. Even slight head tilts can help. Instead of four knuckles landing, maybe it will only be two or one. That makes a huge difference. You also have to relax your body, let it go. You should turn away from the strike, literally roll with the punch. When a blow is aimed at your abdomen, especially when your hands are cuffed behind your back, you need to clench the stomach muscles, shift, and bend at the waist so it doesn’t wallop the breadbasket. That was what Myron did.
The blow didn’t hurt much. But Myron, noting the taller guy’s nervousness, put on a performance that would have made De Niro take notes.
“Aarrrggggghhh!”
“Damn, Joe,” the tall one said, “what the hell are you doing?”
“He was making fun of me!”
Myron stayed bent over and faked loss of breath. He wheezed, he retched, he started coughing uncontrollably.
“You hurt him, Joe!”
“I just knocked the wind out of him. He’ll be fine.”
Myron coughed more. He faked like he couldn’t breathe. Then he added convulsions. He rolled back his eyes and started bucking like a fish on the dock.
“Calm down, dammit!”
Myron stuck his tongue out, gagged some more. Somewhere, a casting agent was speed-dialing Scorsese.
“He’s choking!”
“Medicine!” Myron managed.
“What?”
“Can’t breathe!”
“Dammit, get the cuffs off him!”
“Can’t breathe!” Myron gasped and made his body wrack. “Heart medicine! In my car!”
The taller one opened the door. He grabbed the keys from his partner and unlocked the cuffs. Myron kept up with the convulsions and eye rolls.
“Air!”
The tall one was wide-eyed. Myron could see what he was thinking: out of hand. This was getting too out of hand.
“Air!”
The tall one stepped aside. Myron rolled out of the car. He got up and pointed to his car. “Medicine!”
“Go,” the taller one said.
Myron ran to his car. The two officers, dumbfounded, just watched. Myron had expected that. They were just here to scare him off. They had not expected any back talk. They were town cops. The citizens of this happy suburb obeyed them without question. But this guy hadn’t bowed to them. They’d lost their cool and assaulted a man. This could mean huge trouble. They both just wanted it to end. So did Myron. He had learned what he needed to — Big Jake Wolf was scared and trying to hide something.
So when Myron reached his car, he slid into the driver’s seat, put the key in the ignition, started it up, and simply drove off. He glanced in his rearview mirror. He figured that the odds were on his side, that the two cops would not chase him.
They didn’t. They just stood there.
In fact, they looked relieved to just let him go.
He had to smile. Yep, there was no question about it now.
Myron Bolitar was baaack.
CHAPTER 30
Myron was trying to figure out what to do next when his cell phone rang. The caller ID read OUT OF AREA. He picked it up. Esperanza said, “Where the hell are you?”
“Hey, how’s the honeymoon going?”
“Like crap. Do you want to know why?”
“Is Tom not putting out?”
“Yeah, you men are so tough to seduce. No, my problem is that my business partner is not answering calls from our clients. My business partner is also not in the office to cover my absence.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, well, that covers it.”
“I’ll have Big Cyndi transfer all the calls directly to my cell. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”
“What’s wrong?” Esperanza asked.
Myron didn’t want to disrupt her honeymoon any more than he already had, so he said, “Nothing.”
“You so lie.”
“I’m telling you. It’s nothing.”
“Fine, I’ll ask Win.”
“Wait, okay.”
He briefly filled her in.
“So,” Esperanza said, “you feel obligated because you did a good deed?”
“I was the last to see her. I dropped her off and let her go.”
“Let her go? What kind of crap is that? She’s eighteen, Myron. That makes her an adult. She asked you for a ride. You gallantly — and stupidly, I might add — gave her one. That’s it.”
“That’s not it.”
“Look, if you gave, say, Win a ride home, would you make sure he got all the way into the house safely?”
“Good analogy.”
Esperanza snickered. “Yeah, well. I’m coming home.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re right, I’m not. But you can’t handle both on your own. So I’ll tell Big Cyndi to transfer the calls down here. I’ll take them. You go play superhero.”
“But you’re on your honeymoon. What about Tom?”
“He’s a man, Myron.”
“Meaning?”
“As long as a man gets some, he’s happy.”
“That’s such a cruel stereotype.”
