Page 44 of Pro Bono

The man with no mustache said, “We’re registered bounty hunters. He’s—”

The mustached man said, “Stop! Shut up!” Then he said, “Some people hired us to kick his ass. The woman’s too.”

“Good save. Your stupid friend almost got me to give up on you. Nothing personal, then?”

“It was a job.”

“I’m sure you know how this works,” Copes said. “What have you got to make us take the risk of letting you start your car and head east? One bid, and make it fast. We can’t keep off the radio for much longer.”

“The inside door panel on the back seat passenger side comes off. There’s a white plastic bag stuck in the empty space.”

“Have you lost your mind?” the man with no mustache said.

“You think they wouldn’t find it when they searched the car at the station?”

Minkeagan opened the backseat door, took out a pocketknife, thumbed the spring assist so the blade flicked out, and pried the panel off. He reached in and pulled out the pharmacy bag that Ollonsun had given the mustached man hours ago. He looked inside, then pulled out his own pistol and held it on the two men and handed the bag to Copes. After a look, Copes closed it and said, “It’s your lucky night.”

Minkeagan straightened the row of ID cards and driver’s licenses on the car seat and took a few pictures with his phone. Then he put his phone away and held his pistol on the two men while Copes took a handcuff key out of his pocket and unlocked the two men’s handcuffs.

Minkeagan said, “I shouldn’t have to say this, but since one of you is as sharp as a potato, I will. We’ll be watching for you. If we see either of you anywhere in the City of Los Angeles again, or your car gets picked up on a license plate reader, you’ll be charged with attempted murder of that guy upstairs. We have pictures of you, your ID, your car, the bullet hole in the wall, the gun that fired it, and your blood all over the carpet. If I were you, I’d be sure to drive at least until daylight before I stopped at an emergency room to get my golf injuries treated.”

They watched and waited while the two men got into the car and the one with the blood-soaked mustache reached across his body withhis left hand to start the engine and drove the vehicle down the street. Minkeagan said, “How much do you suppose is in that bag?”

“Too much for beating up a law-abiding couple, I think.”

“Maybe they were supposed to kill them.”

Copes and Minkeagan walked around the block to their car and got inside. Minkeagan bent down and flapped back the upper end of the rubber mat at his feet to retrieve the burner phone Warren had given him. He pressed number three and waited, then hung up. About a minute later his phone rang. He said, “Hi.”

Warren said, “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I just called to tell you those two are gone.”

“You didn’t—”

“We gave them an opportunity to escape prosecution. They’re on the freeway by now.”

Warren paused. “Thanks for coming by.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The call ended. Warren put the burner phone back on the kitchen counter and plugged it in to charge. He looked at the clock on the screen. It was four sixteenA.M.He went to the door between the kitchen and the dining room and picked up the rubber doorstop that kept it open. He carried it to the entrance door the intruders had drilled open and jammed it under the door to keep it shut. Then he carried the coffee table over and propped it against the doorknob and said, “Let’s try to get some sleep.”

19

It was after six when a garbage truck down on the street backed up, and its warning signal’s repeated high-pitched beeps woke Charlie Warren. He got up, made coffee, and went to look at his door. It wasn’t that he doubted his memory. He just needed to see it again while he decided what to do about it.

He went to his computer to find a locksmith. When he signed in he scanned the email messages, and found one that had been sent just after midnight. Then he heard the sound of Vesper’s feet padding in from the hallway and looked up. “Good morning. Did the garbage truck wake you up too?”

“Yes,” she said. “At first I thought last night was a dream.”

“I can’t blame you.”

She nodded at the computer. “Anything interesting going on?”

He looked at the screen. “I think so. A message came in on the office email overnight. It’s from Founding Fathers Vested. Want to hear it?”

“Sure.”

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