7
WILLIE TURNED THE CAR onto the Avenue of the Stars and pulled into the parking garage of The Voight Agency. The booth security guards looked like they didn’t bother spending a portion of their minimum wage on dry cleaning.
“Open your trunk please,” one guard said.
Willie flashed her badge at him and he let them pass into the depths of the parking garage without checking the trunk.
“Now I know which building I’m going to blow up when I finally snap,” Nick said, waving to the other sweetly retarded guard.
“Did you really want him digging around in our trunk? There’s a loaded shotgun back there,” Willie said.
“Point taken.”
“I hope they validate. Parking here costs twenty bucks an hour.”
“Is that your subtle way of telling me not to make our interviewee hostile so he’ll volunteer va
