I loaded the dead detective's big handgun with eight of his shells. Put the spares back in the box and left the box on the floor of the car. c****d the g*n and clicked the safety catch on. c****d and locked, we used to call it. Saves you a split-second before your first shot. Saves your life, maybe. I put the g*n in the Bentley's walnut glove compartment. It was a tight fit.
Then I sat for a moment and watched the two guys in their car. They were still watching me. We looked at each other from seventy-five yards away. They were relaxed and comfortable. But they were watching me. I got out of the Bentley and locked it up again. Stepped back to the entrance and pulled the door. Glanced back toward the brown sedan. Still there. Still watching.
ROSCOE WAS AT HER DESK, TALKING ON THE PHONE. S
