“All right, Simmons. You know the drill. We gotta take you in and book you.”
Drake shook his head. “Tell me this is a joke.”
“Wish it was. Sorry. Let’s go. Oh, and I need your Taser.”
Drake handed it over as the homeowner watched, a smirk on his face, and Drake got another waft of fish stink rising from his shirt.
“Christ. What is that? Smells like an open sewer,” the cop complained as they walked together to the car.
“You ever have one of those days?” Drake asked.
The cop stopped by his cruiser, opened the back door, and nodded. “All the time, man. Watch your head.”
Chapter Four
The afternoon light faded to amber as dusk approached. Harry paced in the small area behind his desk, gazing through the window at a copse of trees behind the office, the stub of an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth. Obviously agitated, he finally stopped and faced Drake, who was sitting in one of two dilapidated chairs in front of the desk.
“I’m sorry, man, but I warned you. I can’t have this kind of crap associated with my company.”
“What crap? I nailed him. Dead to rights,” Drake protested.
“While trespassing on private property. You’re lucky the old lady didn’t jump into it and file, too.”
“She’s lucky I don’t sue her for the dog bite.”
Harry shook his head and sat in his worn executive chair, his nervous energy finally dissipated, and leaned over to open his bottom desk drawer. He extracted a locking metal box and lifted the lid.
Drake caught the bundle of rubber-band-wrapped hundreds in midair.
Harry smiled. “Good catch.”
“Thanks. This the five?”
“Yup. Listen. Drake. We go back a ways, so let me make a suggestion. Lie low. Take some time off. Go find a girl or get drunk or something. Take a vacation. And consider a different line of work. This isn’t for you. You’re too smart to be a bounty hunter. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, a degree…you’re wasting your time with this.”
Drake’s eyes fixed on Harry’s face. “You firing me? For real?”
“You don’t work for me. You’re a free agent. So I can’t fire you. But if you’re asking, I’m not going to hand you any more jobs, at least not for a while. I don’t need the grief. You know better than to chase a perp through private property like that. And Cranford’s complaining that you used cruel and unusual subjugation techniques. He may press charges, too.”
“What? I Tasered him.”
“You got him in his family jewels.”
“While he was trying to kick my face in.”
“Still. It looks bad.” Harry’s gaze wandered to his message pad. “Dude, you’re the best I’ve ever seen at figuring out where these mugs are hiding. It’s eerie — like a sixth sense. But you don’t follow the rules, and that’s a big problem. So even though you’re great at the tracking part of the job, you suck at the obeying the law part, and I can’t have that reputation associated with me.” He squinted at the writing on the pad. “Oh. Hey. I almost forgot. This came in earlier. Some guy looking for you. An attorney, he said.” Harry tore off the message slip and handed it to Drake, who read it with a puzzled expression.
“Did he say what he wanted?”
“Nope. Maybe somebody else wants to file charges against you. Been a full day even by your standards, hasn’t it?”
“Very funny. Can I use the phone?”
“Sure. And then make yourself scarce. If you still want work, call me in a month. But for now, you’re off my approved list. Nothing personal, of course.”
“Of course.” Drake stood and walked to the office door. “I’ll use Betty’s phone, okay?”
“Mi casa, baby. Sorry to cut you off at the knees.”
“No sweat. Maybe you’re right. Time for some sightseeing someplace warm and sunny. Maybe Mexico. You can live pretty cheap there, I hear.”
“That’s the spirit. Get a tan. Have too many beers. Find a señorita to lie to. You’re a young man. Live a little.”
“Not that young.”
“What are you, twenty-five? I got stuff in my freezer older than that.”
“Twenty-six. Not that I’m counting.”
“Course not.”
Drake sat behind Betty’s receptionist desk and dialed the number. Washington State, judging from the area code. It rang three times and then a musical female voice answered.
“Baily, Crane, and Lynch. May I help you?”
“I think so. I’m returning a call from a Michael Lynch?”
“Certainly, sir. And who may I say is calling?”
“Drake Simmons.”
Music on hold waltzed in his ear for thirty seconds and then a refined baritone boomed over the line. “Michael Lynch.”
“Mr. Lynch, this is Drake Simmons. You called today?”
“Oh, yes, of course. First of all, let me extend my sincere condolences.”
“Condolences?”
“Yes. Your aunt, Patricia Marshall, passed away the day before yesterday.”
“I’m sorry. Patricia Marshall? You say she was my aunt?”
“That’s correct. I gather you weren’t close?”
“There must be some mistake. I’ve never heard of Patricia Marshall.”
“Mmm. Apparently she was your father’s sister.”
“My father didn’t have a sister, as far as I know.”
“Well, be that as it may, as executor of her will, her instructions were very clear. I have a package here that I’m to hand to Drake Simmons, currently of San Antonio Road in Mountain View, California, in person. Your employer was kind enough to confirm that’s you. I’ve also been authorized to purchase a plane ticket to get you to Seattle, as well as pay for accommodations for two days. And of course, compensate you for your time.”
“Compensate me?” Drake echoed, his ears perking up.
“Yes. A thousand dollars a day. Apart from what she left you, of course.”
“She left me something besides the…package?”
“Correct. Twenty-five thousand dollars. All the money she had in the world.”
“Mr. Lynch, I’m afraid there’s been some sort of mistake. I don’t know this woman, and as sorry as I am to hear she passed away, I’m not sure what to make of this. How do I know you’re legit?”
“You called the firm’s offices. If you like, go online and check us out — verify that I’m a member of the bar, that we’ve been here for over twenty years, whatever you like. You should be able to do that quickly.” Lynch paused. “Mr. Simmons, there’s twenty-five thousand dollars with your name on it in my account, and a package that requires you to sign for it in my office. Do you have something so pressing that you can’t make it here to claim your inheritance?”
“See, that’s the problem. It’s an inheritance from an aunt I didn’t even know I had.”
“If you say so. That’s not my concern. But it’s your money, assuming you show up to claim it.”
Drake thought about the odd set of circumstances. “And there are no strings attached?”
“Correct. Show up, confirm your identity, sign, collect your cashier’s check and the package, and you’re done.”
Drake picked up one of Betty’s pens. “Fine. I can fly in tomorrow. I’ll verify your bona fides, and if it all checks out, I’ll be on the first plane out tomorrow. How do I get a ticket paid for, and will you be there around lunchtime?”
When Drake arrived at Lynch’s building the following afternoon, he was impressed by the baroque décor and wood-paneled offices on the firm’s floor. The suite smelled like prosperity, of weighty matters and important men. The receptionist was a perfectly manicured Chinese woman not much older than Drake, who peered over the rims of designer glasses at him with the glacial composure of a surgeon. One look at her severe suit made him feel instantly underdressed in his dark gray cargo pants and blue polo shirt, his North Face jacket clenched in one hand as he waited for her to alert Lynch of his arrival.