by Robert Crais
Cole parked the gun in his waistband behind his back, pulled his T-shirt over it, then opened the door.
The man in front said, “Elvis Cole?”
“He moved to Austria. Can I take a message?”
The man in front held up a black leather badge case showing a federal ID.
“Special Agent Donald Pitman. Department of Justice. We’d like a few words.”
They didn’t wait for Cole to invite them in.
10
Outside the walls of the Echo Park house, the neighborhood woke with the slowly rising sun. Finches and sparrows chirped. Sprinklers at the house next door came on, ran for twenty minutes, then automatically stopped. Cars started, then backed out of drives or pulled away from the curb. The brittle shades that covered the windows brightened until the house was filled with a dim golden light. On mornings like this with their silence and peace, Pike sometimes thought he felt the earth turn. He wondered if someone remained at his house.
The girl was still sleeping.
Pike poured ground coffee into a small pot, filled the pot with water, then set it on the range. Pike had been making coffee this way for years. He would bring it to a boil, then pour it through a paper towel or maybe he wouldn’t bother with the towel. The coffee would be fine either way. Simple was better.
After a while the coffee boiled. Pike watched it roil for a moment, then turned off the heat and let it settle. He didn’t bother with the towel. He poured some into a Styrofoam cup, then brought it out to the table. He had just taken a seat when his cell phone vibrated again.
Cole said, “Can you talk?”
Pike could see the girl’s door from the table. It was closed.
“Yes.”
“Two agents from the Department of Justice came by this morning, Donald Pitman and Kevin Blanchette. They brought your gun. It was still in an LAPD evidence bag.”
Pike said, “Okay.”
“They didn’t mention King or Meesh or the girl, or any of that. They didn’t ask if I knew what was going on or if I had seen you. They just gave me the gun and told me to tell you they were taking care of it.”
“You probably shouldn’t call me from your house anymore.”
“I walked next door.”
“Okay.”
“Pitman said if I heard from you I should tell you to call. You want the number?”
“I have it.”
“He said the gun was a sign of good faith, but if you didn’t call, the good faith would stop.”
“I understand.”
“You going to call?”
“No.”
“Couple more things. Nothing in the record connects Meesh to L.A. or gives us something to work with, so the bodies are our best shot. We get them ID’d we might be able to work backwards to Meesh.”
“I’ll talk to Bud.”
“It’s not like I have too much to do. I can call over there.”
Pike sipped the coffee, then glanced at Larkin’s door.
“Bud’s on it. Did you check out the girl?”
Cole hesitated, and Pike read a difference in his tone.
“She hasn’t told you about herself?”
“What would she tell me?”
“She’s the chick in the magazines.”
“She’s a model?”
“No, not like that. She’s rich. She’s famous for being rich. I didn’t place her with the short hair, the way people can look different in person. She’s always in the tabloids-going wild in clubs, making a big scene, that kind of thing. You’ve seen her.”
“Don’t read tabloids.”
“Her father inherited an empire. They own hotel chains in Europe, a couple of airlines, oil fields in Canada. She has to be worth five or six billion.”
“Huh.”
“If she’s cool, she’s cool, but keep an eye on her. She’s the classic L.A. wild child.”
Pike glanced at the door.
“She seems all right.”
“Just so you know.”
Pike had more of the coffee. It had gone cold, but Pike didn’t mind. He thought about Pitman and Blanchette showing up at Cole’s house with the gun. A show of goodwill. He wondered why two federal agents would do that, but mostly he didn’t care. He wanted to find Meesh.
Pike said, “Can you get Bud Flynn’s home address?”
“Am I not the World’s Greatest Detective?”
“Something I have to do later. I can’t take the girl and I don’t want to leave her alone. Could you stay with her?”
“Babysit a hot, young, rich chick? I think I can manage.”
Pike ended the call, then punched in Bud Flynn’s cell number. Flynn answered on the third ring, sounding hoarse and sleepy. Pike wondered if Bud was at a table somewhere, having coffee the way Pike was having coffee, but he decided Bud was in bed. It was only seven-forty. Bud had probably been up pretty late.
Pike said, “You sound sleepy. Did I wake you?”
As he said it, the girl’s door opened and Larkin stepped out. She was puffy with sleep, and still wore only the bra and the tiny green thong. She didn’t look so wild.
Pike touched his lips with a finger. Shh. Larkin blinked sleepily at him, then went into the bathroom.
Bud said, “You’re killing me, Joe. Jesus, where are you?”
“We’re good. Why is everyone so upset?”
Pike, having fun.
“You dropped off the world, is why! You’re supposed to take care of her, yes, but you can’t just disappear. The feds, they’re-”
Pike interrupted.
“How many people know I have her?”
“What are you asking? What are you saying, asking that?”
“You, your boys in their nice silk suits, the feds, her family? Someone hit my home this morning, Bud, so your leak is still leaking. Trust is in short supply.”
Larkin came out of the bathroom and into the living room, her bare feet slapping the floor. Pike held up his coffee to show her that coffee was available, then pointed the cup toward the kitchen. She didn’t seem self-conscious about her lack of clothes or even aware of it. She went past him into the kitchen.
Bud still had the uncertain voice.
“I understand what you’re saying, but we have five bodies to deal with. We have a full-on police investigation, and-”
Pike cut him off again.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. Larkin and I will meet you. Don’t tell her father or those feds or your boys in their silk. Come by yourself, and we’ll figure this out. You good with that?”
“Where?”
The girl came out of the kitchen with the pot. She looked confused as she held up the pot, her expression saying what in hell is this? Pike raised a finger, telling her to wait, then checked his watch. It was now thirteen minutes before eight.
“Where are you right now?”
“Home. In Cheviot Hills.”
“The subway stop in Universal City at noon. Can you make it at noon?”
“Yes.”
“What will you be driving?”
“A tan Explorer.”
“Park in the north lot. As far north as you can. Wait in your car until I call.”
Pike turned off his phone. Larkin took this as a sign she could speak, so she waved the pot.
“What is this?”
“Coffee.”
“It’s sludge. There’s stuff in it.”
Pike finished his cup, then went to the couch and pulled on the long-sleeved shirt.
“Pack your things. We’re going to see Bud.”
She lowered the pot, staring at him as if she were fully dressed.
“I thought we were safe here.”
“We are. But if something happens, we’ll want our things.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“Every time we leave the house we’ll take our things. That’s the way it is.”
“I don’t want to ride around all day scrunched in your car. Can’t I stay here?”
>
“Get dressed. We have to hurry.”
“But you told him noon. Universal is only twenty minutes away.”
“Let’s go. We have to hurry.”
She stomped back into the kitchen and threw the pot into the sink.
“Your coffee sucks!”
“We’ll get Starbucks.”
She didn’t seem so wild, even when she threw things.
11
Pike didn’t bring her to Universal and didn’t wait until noon. Cole had Bud’s home address before they were out the door.
Cheviot Hills was an upscale neighborhood set on the rolling land south of the Hillcrest Country Club in midtown Los Angeles. Gracious homes with immaculate yards and manicured sidewalks were scattered throughout the area, though the larger homes were closer to the park. The homes farther south and closer to the I-10 freeway were smaller, but still beyond a police officer’s salary. Back in the day when Pike rode with Bud, the Flynns had shared a duplex in Atwater Village.
Bud’s current home was a small split-level not far from the freeway. A tan Explorer was parked in the drive as if it had been there all night. The house sat at the top of a rise, with a gently sloping drive and a front lawn that struggled against the brutal summer heat. Many of the homes had not been changed since they were built in the thirties, which gave the street a sleepy, small-town feel. A brace of jacaranda trees colored the car and the driveway with purple snow.
Larkin swiveled her head as they drove past the house, alert and excited.
“What are we going to do?”
“You’re going to stay in the car. I’m going to talk to him.”
“But what if he’s not here? What if he left?”
“See the jacaranda flowers on the driveway? They haven’t been disturbed.”
“What if he wasn’t here? What if he lied?”
“Please be quiet.”
Pike parked across the mouth of Bud’s drive so Larkin would be clearly visible in the car, then got out and went to the front door. Pike stood to one side of the door, positioning himself so he could not be seen from the windows. He called Bud’s cell.
Bud said, “Gotta be you, Joe. The incoming call says restricted.”
“Look in your driveway.”
“Joe?”
“Look outside.”
Pike heard movement over the phone, then inside the house. The front door opened. Bud stepped out. He stared at the girl, but didn’t yet see Pike. Bud had already dressed for the day, but Pike thought the years had caught up with him in the past thirty-six hours. He looked tired.
Pike said, “Bud.”
Bud showed no surprise. He scowled the way he had scowled when Pike was a boot, like he was wondering what he had done to be cursed with this person who was ruining his life.
He said, “What did you think I would do, have Universal surrounded? Have spotter planes up in the sky?”
Pike made a rolling gesture so Larkin would roll down her window.
Pike called out to her.
“Say hi to Bud.”
Larkin waved and called back from the car.
“Hi, Bud!”
Pike called out again.
“You want to stay here with him?”
Larkin made a two-thumbs-down gesture and shook her head. Pike turned back to Bud, but Bud was still scowling.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“This is a nice house. You’ve done all right.”
“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing? Do you know how much shit I’m in?”
“I’m showing you she’s alive and well. You can tell her father and Special Agent Pitman she’s fine. You can say she doesn’t want to come back because she likes staying alive.”
Bud grew irritated.
“Now waitaminute, goddamnit-this isn’t only about the girl. You dropped five bodies in two days. You think, what, Pitman can tell LAPD, hey, it’s all right, our civilian killed those dudes to protect our witness, and Northeast Homicide will let it go? You have to help straighten this out.”
Pike didn’t care if they let it go or not. He wondered why Bud hadn’t mentioned that Pitman had returned his gun. Then he wondered whether or not Bud knew, and, if not, why Pitman hadn’t told him.
“What does Pitman want?”
“You, the feds, a couple of assistant chiefs from Parker and the Sheriff’s, that’s what we’re talking about. You and Larkin answer their questions, Pitman says the locals will go away.”
“Won’t happen.”
“Pitman says if you don’t come in he’ll issue a warrant for kidnapping.”
The corner of Pike’s mouth twitched, and Bud reddened.
“I know it’s bullshit, but you’re out here running around and nobody knows what’s happening. The feds believe they can protect her. They think the problem is me, and that’s what they’re telling her father. He’s this close to firing me.”
“So tell me, Bud-is she safer with you now or me?”
“I turned over my personal records to the DOJ. I gave them my guys-their cell records, hotels and expenses, everything. Her father, he gave Pitman an open door on his lawyer, his staff, their e-mails and phones-all of it. We’ll plug the leak.”
“Who’s checking Pitman?”
Bud blinked as if he was facing a dry wind, and finally shook his head.
“I can’t keep her safe. I can’t even cover for you. I know that was part of the deal, but now I don’t know.”
“My way, the leak doesn’t matter.”
Bud finally looked at him. His eyes were hard stones hidden by flesh weakened with age.
“Joe. What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for Meesh.”
“You aren’t just looking. I don’t want to be involved with anything like this. You want my help, but I don’t even want to know.”
“I only have two leads back to Meesh-the men in the morgue and the Kings. If the Kings were in business with him, then they probably knew where he was staying and how to reach him. Maybe I can find him through them.”
“They’re still missing.”
“The feds must have something. Can you help with that?”
“Pitman has their home and office under twenty-four-hour surveillance. He has their phones tapped. He even has someone watching their yacht. If those people fart, the feds will be on them. If you try to get close to anything they own, the feds will be on you, too.”
“Then the men I killed are my last door back to him. What do you know?”
Bud darkened, but glanced at the girl and wet his lips.
“I gotta get my keys. Inside in the entry. That okay?”
Pike nodded.
Bud stepped into his house, but only long enough to fish his keys from a blue bowl inside the door. Pike followed him out to his car. Bud opened the Explorer and Pike saw the same cordovan briefcase he had seen in the desert. Bud took out three pictures. They were the security stills taken when the Barkleys’ home was invaded. Pike had seen them up in the desert, too.
Bud handed them to Pike, and tapped the top picture.
“This man was one of the original home invaders. You shot him in Malibu. He’s the only one of the five you shot who was also one of the home invaders.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. But this man-”
Bud shuffled the pictures to point out a man with prominent cheekbones and a scarred lip.
“-he’s the freak who beat the housekeeper. You recognize either of these other guys from Malibu or Eagle Rock?”
“Who are they?”
“Don’t know. We haven’t been able to identify any of the five people you put in the morgue. The Live Scan kicked back zero. No IDs were found on the bodies, and they weren’t in the system. You can keep these pictures, you want.”
Pike stared at the pictures, thinking it didn’t make sense that none of the five had been identified. The type of man you could hire to do murder almost always had a criminal re
cord. The Live Scan system digitized fingerprints, then instantly compared them with computerized records stored by the California Department of Justice and the NCIC files, and those files were exhaustive. If a person had ever been arrested anywhere in the country or served in the military, their fingerprints were in the file.
Pike said, “That doesn’t sound right.”
“No, it does not, but all five of these guys were clean.”
“No IDs or wallets?”
“Not one damn thing of a personal nature. You arrested a lot of people, Joe. You remember many shitbirds smart enough to clean up before they did crime?”
Pike shook his head.
“Me neither. So here we are.”
Bud slammed his trunk, then stared at the girl.
“I guess I should apologize, getting you involved in this mess, but I won’t. You could just give her back to Pitman. It’s your choice, playing it this way.”
Bud studied Larkin for a moment longer, and Pike wondered what he was thinking. Then Bud turned, and with the new angle of light, Pike thought he looked as hard as ever.
Bud said, “I’m trusting you won’t let this little girl down.”
Pike watched Bud walk away, then returned to the Lexus and immediately drove away.
Larkin said, “He seems like a nice man.”
“He was a good officer.”
“That’s what he told my dad about you, that you were a good policeman. What he said was, you were the best young officer he ever worked with.”
Pike didn’t answer. He was thinking about the five nameless killers, cleaned up for crime with no criminal records. Pike thought he might still use them to find Meesh, and he believed he knew how.
DEPLOYMENT PERIOD ONE
RAMPART DIVISION ROLL CALL
EVENING WATCH, 1448 HOURS
His dark blue uniform was crisp and fresh, with creases as straight as ruled lines. His stainless steel and copper badge caught light like a mirror, and the black leather of his holster and shoes gleamed as they had in the Marine Corps. Military-issue sunglasses hung from his pocket in the approved position. Pike’s kit, gear, and appearance were in order and by-the-book perfect, which was the way Pike liked it. Pike, Charlie Grissom, and Paul “P-bag” Hernandez were seated in the front row in the roll call room of the Rampart Division Police Station. This being their first official day on the job after having graduated from the Los Angeles Police Academy, they wore badges and carried loaded weapons for the first time. Today, they would begin their careers as probationary police officers, known within the Los Angeles Police Department as boots. Pike and the other boots sat erect with their eyes on Sergeant Kelly Levendorf, who was the evening watch commander. Slouching, slumping, or leaning on the table was not permitted. Being boots, they were required to sit in the first row, face forward, and were not allowed to look at the veteran officers who filled the room behind them. They were not allowed to join in the banter during roll call, or react or respond to the veterans, no matter how many spitballs came their way. They had not yet earned that right. Though they had graduated from the academy, they would spend the next year becoming “street certified” by experienced senior officers known as P-IIIs – Pee Threes – who would be their teachers, their protectors, and their Gods. Two things would happen at this first roll call. They would meet their P-IIIs, which Pike was looking forward to, and they would introduce themselves to the veterans, which Pike dreaded. Pike wasn’t much for talking, and talked about himself least of all. Levendorf made car assignments, then rolled through everything from suspected criminal activity and suspects known or believed to be in the area, to officer birthdays and upcoming retirement parties. He read most of his announcements from a thick, three-ring binder. When he finished he closed the book and looked up at the shift. “Okay, we have some new officers aboard, so we’ll let’m introduce themselves. Officer Grissom, you have one minute, one second.” Pike thought, Here it comes. At the academy, each recruit was given one minute plus one second to introduce himself. The recruit was expected to be brief and on point-just as he or she was expected to be when dealing with superiors, radio dispatchers, and the public. Grissom surged to his feet, all gung ho enthusiasm, and turned to face the crowd. He was a short, chunky kid with delicate blond hair, who always seemed anxious to please. “My name is Charlie Grissom. I graduated from San Diego State with a degree in history. My dad was an officer in San Diego, which is where I was born. I like to surf, fish, and scuba dive. I’m always looking for dive buddies, so look me up if you’re interested. I’m not married, but I’ve been dating the same girl for about a year. Being a police officer is all I’ve ever wanted. My dad wanted me to go on the San Diego PD, but I wanted to be with the best-so I’m here.” This brought a roar of approval from the shift, but as it died a ragged voice behind Pike cut through the din. “He kisses ass real good.” Pike saw Grissom flush from the corner of his eye as Grissom took his seat. Levendorf said, “Officer Hernandez-one minute, one second.” Hernandez glanced over at Pike as he stood, and Pike made an imperceptible nod of encouragement. Pike and Hernandez had been roomies at the academy. Hernandez turned to face them. “My name is Paul Hernandez. My grandfather, my dad, and two uncles were all LAPD – I’m third generation-” The shift cheered and clapped until Levendorf told them to knock it off, then ordered Hernandez to continue. “I had two years at Cal State Northridge playing baseball before I got hurt. I love baseball, and I bleed Dodger blue. I’m married. We’re expecting our first this June. I became an officer because I look up to officers, what with my family and all. That’s the way I was raised. It runs in the blood.” The shift cheered again as Hernandez returned to his seat. Levendorf quieted the crowd, then looked at Pike. “Officer Pike-one minute, one second.” Everyone said pretty much the same things-they talked about their education and their families, but Pike hadn’t gone to college and wouldn’t talk about his family. He couldn’t see that it mattered or why it was anyone else’s business, anyway. Pike figured all that mattered was what a man did in the moment at hand, and whether or not he did right. Pike stood and turned. This was the first time he had seen the officers assembled behind him. They were all colors and ages. Many were smiling and loose; others looked stern; and a lot of them looked bored. Pike noted those officers with two stripes on their sleeves. Civilians always confused these for corporal stripes, but these were the P-IIIs. One of them would be his training officer. “My name is Joe Pike. I’m not married. I pulled two combat tours in the Marines-” The shift broke into wild applause and cheers, with many of the officers shouting “Semper fi.” LAPD had a high percentage of Marine Corps veterans. Levendorf waved them quiet and nodded at Pike to continue. “I want to be a police officer because the motto says to protect and to serve. That’s what I want to do.” Pike took his seat to scattered applause, but someone in the back laughed. “Got us a regular Clint Eastwood. A man of few words.” Pike saw Levendorf frowning. Levendorf said, “We call this part of the program ‘one minute, one second,’ Officer Pike-so I figure you got about forty seconds to go. Perhaps you’d offer a bit more, self-illumination-wise; say, about your family and hobbies?” Pike stood again, and once more faced the crowd. “I qualified as a scout/sniper and served in Force Recon, mostly on long-range reconnaissance teams, hunter/killer teams, and priority target missions. I’m black belt qualified in tae kwon do, kung fu, wing chun, judo, and ubawazi. I like to run and work out. I like to read.” Pike stopped. The shift stared at him, but Pike didn’t know whether or not to sit down so he stared back. No one applauded. Finally, an older black P-III with salt-and-pepper hair said, “Thank God he likes to read-I thought we had us a sissy.” The shift broke into laughter. Levendorf ended the roll call, and everyone herded toward the exits except for Pike and the other new guys. They stayed behind to meet their P-IIIs. Three senior officers bucked the departing crowd to make their way forward. The burly black officer who made the crack about Pike being a reader went to Grissom. The second P-III was an Asian
officer with a face as edged as a diamond. He offered his hand to Hernandez. Pike watched the third P-III. He was shorter than Pike, with close brown hair, a rusty tan, and a thin, no-nonsense mouth. Pike guessed he was in his late thirties, but he might have been older. He had three hash marks on the lower part of his sleeve, signifying at least fifteen years on the job. He came directly to Pike and put out his hand. “Good to meet you, Officer Pike. I’m Bud Flynn.” “Sir.” “I’ll be your training officer for your first two deployment periods. After that, if you’re still around, you’ll swap T.O.’s with the other boots, but you’re mine for the first two months.” “Yes, sir.” “You can call me Officer Flynn or sir until I say otherwise, and I will call you Officer Pike, Pike, or boot. We clear on that?” “Yes, sir.” “Got your gear?” “Yes, sir. Right here.” “Grab it and let’s go.” Pike hooked the gear bag over his shoulder and followed Flynn out to the parking lot. The mid-afternoon sun was hot and the air was hazy from the smog bank that heated the city. Flynn led Pike to a dinged and battered Caprice that had probably racked up over two hundred thousand hard miles. When they reached the car, Flynn pointed at it. “This is our shop. Its name is two-adam-forty-four, which will also be your name after I teach you to use the radio. What do you think of our shop, Officer Pike?” “It’s fine.” “It is a piece of shit. It has so much wrong with it that it would be down-checked on any other police force in America. But this is Los Angeles, where our cheap-ass city council won’t give us the money to hire enough men, or buy and maintain the proper equipment. But do you know what the good news is, Officer Pike?” “No, sir.” “The good news is that we are Los Angeles police officers. Which means we will use this piece of shit anyway, and still provide the finest police service available in any major American city.” Pike was liking Flynn. He liked Flynn’s manner, and Flynn’s pride in the department, and Flynn’s obvious pride in his profession. Flynn put his gear on the ground at the back of the car, then faced Pike with his hands on his hips. “First we’re going to inspect the vehicle, then load our gear, but before we get going I want to make sure we’re on the same page.” Flynn seemed to want a response, so Pike nodded. “I respect your service, but I don’t give a rat’s ass about it. Half this police force was in the Marines and the other half is tired of hearing about it. This is a city in the United States of America. It isn’t a war zone.” “Yes, sir. I understand.” “That piss you off, me saying that?” “No, sir.” Flynn studied Pike as if he suspected Pike was lying. “Well, if you are, you hide it well, which is good. Because out here, you will not show your true feelings to anyone. Whatever you feel about the lowlifes, degenerates, and citizens we deal with-be they victim or criminal-you will keep your personal opinions to yourself. From this point on, you are Officer Pike, and Officer Pike works for the people of this city no matter who and what they are. We clear?” “Yes, sir.” Flynn popped the trunk. It was tattered and empty. He pointed inside. “This is the trunk. I’m driving, so my gear will go on the driver’s side. You’re the passenger, so your gear goes on the passenger’s side. This is the way we do it on the Los Angeles Police Department.” “Yes, sir.” “Stow your gear, but don’t stop listening.” Pike stowed his gear as Flynn went on. “The academy taught you statutes and procedure, but I am going to teach you the two most important lessons you receive. The first is this: You will see people at their creative, industrious worst-and I am going to teach you how to read them. You are going to learn how to tell a lie from the truth even when everyone is lying, and how to figure out what’s right even when everyone is wrong. From this, you will learn how to dispense justice in a fair and evenhanded way, which is what the people of our city deserve. Clear?” “Yes, sir.” “Any questions?” “What’s the other thing?” “What other thing?” “The first lesson is how to read people. What’s the second?” Flynn’s eyebrows arched as if he was about to dispense the wisdom of the ages. “You will learn how not to hate them. You’ll see some sorry bastards out here, Officer Pike, but people aren’t so bad. I’m going to teach you how not to lose sight of that, because if you do you’ll end up hating them and that’s the first step toward hating yourself. We can’t have that, can we?” “No, sir.” Flynn inspected the trunk to make sure Pike had stowed his gear correctly, grunted an approval, then closed it. He turned back to Pike again, seemed to be thinking, and Pike wondered if Flynn was trying to read him. Flynn said, “Now I have a question. When you said why you became an officer, you quoted the LAPD motto, to protect and to serve. Which is it?” “Some people can’t protect themselves. They need help.” “And that would be you, Officer Pike, with all that karate and stuff?” Pike nodded. “You like to fight?” “I don’t like it or not like it. If I have to, I can.” Flynn nodded, but the way he sucked at his lips told Pike he was still being read. Flynn said, “Our job isn’t to get in fights, Officer Pike. We don’t always have a choice, but you get in enough fights, you’ll get your ass kicked for sure. You ever had your ass kicked?” “Yes, sir.” Pike would not mention his father. Flynn still sucked at his lips, reading him. “We get in a fight, we’ve failed. We pull the trigger, it means we’ve failed. Do you believe that, Officer Pike?” “No, sir.” “I do. What do you think it means?” “We had no other way.” Flynn grunted, but this time Pike couldn’t tell if his grunt was approving or not. “So why is it you want to protect people, Officer Pike? You get your ass kicked so much you’re overcompensating?” Pike knew Flynn was testing him. Flynn was probing and reading Pike’s reactions, so Pike met Flynn’s gaze with empty blue eyes. “I don’t like bullies.” “Making you the guy who kicks the bully’s ass.” “Yes.” “Just so long as we stay within the rule of law.” Flynn considered him for another moment, then his calm eyes crinkled gently at the corners. “Me being your training officer, I read your file, son. I think you have what it takes to make a fine police officer.” Pike nodded. “You don’t say much, do you?” “No, sir.” “Good. I’ll do enough talking for both of us. Now get in the car. Let’s go protect people.”