42
THERE WAS NO WAY FOR Ray to tell which of The Bear’s bodyguards were there by choice and which were indentured. They were all clad in dark suits and wore stone faces.
He was so filthy from the night’s encounters, there wasn’t much distinguishing him from the other homeless wandering Pico in the early morning hours. Dirt streaked his face from crawling out of the hole in Edgar’s yard. Red-brown droplets sprayed from Mr. Crowley’s broken jaw speckled the chest of his stolen shirt. Sweat rung the armpits, wet stains from his efforts dragging Katie to the SUV. He hoped to keep his head down and walk into the bathhouse uninterrupted, but he wouldn’t be so lucky.
“Keep moving,” the guard at the door said. He was different from the man who’d been at the door when Mr. Crowley had lured him t
