Flashback

“Maybe,” she grunted. “But this car thing is a nonstarter, Nick. For one thing, the city just held their annual auction of impounded vehicles a few weeks ago. The lots are mostly empty.”

“You’ll find something for me, K.T.”

“God damn it,” she snarled, balling her hands into fists. “Quit doing that to me, you asshole. I don’t owe you anything.”

Nick nodded assent but K.T. looked down, almost panting in her anger, and said to the ground, “Except my life, Nick. Except my life.” She raised her head. “If I find a car—which I don’t think I can—where do you want me to deliver it? Your cubie mall?”

“No,” said Nick and thought fast. It had to be someplace public but also fairly safe from thieves. Someplace with security nearby but a non-noisy security. “The Six Flags Over the Jews parking lot,” he said. “As far on the south side as you can park it. They don’t check the vehicles until the end of the visiting hours about nine p.m., but the guards at the main gate sort of keep an eye out on the cars in the lot. Just park it as far south as you can but not so off by itself that it’ll be noticeable.”

“How will you know which car it is?” muttered K.T., checking her watch again.

“Text me. And park it, you know, the opposite direction of other cars in the row.”

“Where do I put the key fob for this car I won’t be able to get for you?” she asked. “Over the visor?”

Nick produced the small metal box he’d got from Gunny G. that morning. “This is magnetic. Set it inside the left rear wheel well… like in the Mad Max movies.”

“Right, like in the Mad Max movies.” She took the little box, clicked it open and shut, and rolled her eyes at the nonsense.

“Never mind,” said Nick. “Just don’t get the box anywhere near your phone or other computer stuff… that powerful magnet will wipe the memories clean.”

K.T. started to hand it back to him as if the box had the plague.

Nick held his palms out and shook his head. “I was joking. It’s barely strong enough to stick to the car. Left rear wheel well.”

“All right,” she said and turned again to leave. “But I’m not promising anything…”

Nick touched her shoulder again but gently this time. “K.T.?”

She glared back at him, but not with the real fury he’d seen before. “What?”

“Whether you find a car for us or not, if today doesn’t turn out well for me… and I have a hunch…” He shook his head and started over. “If something happens to me, and Val and his grandfather show up, can you look out for them for me? Find a safe place for them until…”

She stared at him and there was real pain in her dark eyes. She said nothing. Nor did she walk away.

“You’ve met Leonard,” Nick hurried on. “He’s a good man but he’s… you know… been an academic his whole life. If he got Val out of L.A. safely, he’s probably already exceeded his real-world survival capabilities and Leonard is already almost seventy-five years old…” He shut up. He couldn’t find the right words.

“You’re asking me to watch over Val if Nakamura or someone kills you today,” said K.T.

Nick nodded stupidly, his eyes full and his throat tight.

“Oh, Nick, Nick…,” K.T. said sadly and turned on her heel and walked away from him toward the distant wall of garage doors.

Nick knew that this was a yes. Or at least he took it as one.

He pulled the gelding into a thirty-minute parking area near the capitol at the top of the hill and looked down from south of the flaking gold capitol dome toward the valley where the Coors Field prison and Mile High DHS Detention Center straddled the junction of Cherry Creek and the Platte River. He lowered his driver’s-side window and shut the batteries off.

What next? For the first time in the two weeks since Nakamura hired him, he had a few hours to and for himself. In twelve hours or less—probably less, maybe a lot less—he’d be summoned to appear in front of that billionaire again to either announce he was sure who’d killed Keigo Nakamura or admit that he’d failed. Either way, he thought, Nakamura’s response wasn’t going to be gentle.

Nick Bottom hated puzzles. He’d hated them since he was a kid. But he had always been eerily good at figuring them out. It had been the ratiocination part of police work that had boosted him through the uniformed ranks to first grade so quickly and got him up into the rarefied air of Major Crimes detective work in his youthful midthirties.

But now…