"Same fucking side, Billy."
Billy flicked a speck of lint away. "The Engineer took out Lazurus's crew before he disappeared. Did you know that? Wiped the slate clean, every one of them, except for his own bodyguard. Disappeared with an unknown amount of cash and the cigar box of D-flawless diamonds that Lazurus was so fond of. The Engineer's old shop is as interested in finding him as you are."
"Sure they are."
Billy smiled. "Perhaps I have overstated their commitment."
"I want to talk to your contact at his old shop. I want to find out-"
"Who would ever trust me if I did that?" Billy laughed. "Besides, I've already asked about the Engineer. He's as much a mystery to them as he is to you." He stroked his chin. "I have good news, though. Your personnel file got hacked yesterday afternoon."
Thorpe stiffened. "Who was it? Did you run him down?"
"Regrettably, no," said Billy. "Warren put in a trip wire, but the intruder managed to cover his tracks. Temporarily at least. We can't be sure who it was, but the Engineer is the most likely candidate."
"He's got some sweet moves," said Warren, his eyes on the GameBoy. "I've been slingshot all over the planet, bouncing from one ISP to another, but I'll find him."
"Warren changed the file, just as you asked," said Billy. "I had him tweak your postdischarge assessment. Fine piece of work, too, getting past the shop's fire walls."
"A defcon four-quality crack job," said Warren. "I could bring down the space shuttle if Billy asked me to."
"But you can't trace the Engineer."
"Not yet," said Warren.
"According to your file, you're now a very bad boy, Frank, as corrupt as they come. There's even a notation that you may have lifted a few million in cash from an al Qaeda banker who didn't survive his arrest. For your sake, I hope the Engineer doesn't take the bait."
"We're not done with each other," said Thorpe.
"I'm sure it will be a lovely reunion," said Billy. "Give Warren time to locate the Engineer. Warren's an artist. When I met him, he was wasting his time as a card counter in Vegas, and hot-sheeted at most of the casinos. Now he has a calling." His face was radiant. "I hate seeing talent wasted. That's the only sin there is."
"Oh, there's a few more," said Thorpe.
"Indeed." Billy sat on the bench, arms and legs spread wide, staking his turf. "How do you like it on the beach, Frank? Not much fun being just a taxpayer, is it?"
"I'm still getting used to it."
"You don't have to get used to it." Billy crunched the ice cubes from his drink between his strong white teeth. "Retirement is overrated. Even with perfect weather and congenial companions, I couldn't wait to get back into action. We've been spoiled, Frank. Playing God, it's the best game in the world." He winked at Thorpe. "You can talk about the nobility of the cause, but if all we cared about was the red, white, and blue we could have just bought a war bond."
Thorpe was going to disagree, but Billy would have known he was lying.
"I've started a… consulting firm, Frank. I'm in the process of assembling a team, the best of the best. Strictly corporate accounts. My clients are as eager for information as our former employer, just as ready to secure an advantage over their competitors, but without any presidential findings or pesky oversight boards to finesse. For us, there's just the paycheck and the pleasure of making the chickens tap-dance."
"What do we need him for?" asked Warren. "Just another soldier boy grown up and no place to go."
"Not just a soldier boy," said Billy. "Frank was Delta Force, the warrior elite, and freelancers by nature and training. No snappy salutes in Delta, no parades or public ceremonies; they actually call their officers by their first names."
"That's enough, Billy," said Thorpe.
"You should be proud of yourself," said Billy. "Frank here actually started a war by himself, set a leftist guerrilla army up against a Colombian drug cartel, and they never even knew who lit the match. Sadly, though, our government doesn't take kindly to such initiative. If I hadn't stepped in, Frank here might have ended up in Leavenworth."
"Are you done, Billy?"
"I just wanted to explain to Warren why I value you so highly," said Billy. "You're a rare individual, Frank, creative and highly adaptive, willing to spill blood, but not enamored of violence. Kimberly was the same way." He showed his teeth. "She was tougher, though. You're a little too tenderhearted."
"You want to bet?" said Thorpe.
Billy folded his hands in his lap. "Actually… no."
"What about Gavin Ellsworth?" Thorpe said lightly. "Is he on your team?"
"One of my first hires," said Billy. "A very cautious fellow, but a brilliant forger." He bent forward, started unlacing his bowling shoes. "We're going to have such a grand time working together again. I've got a new client, a software-development firm under considerable pressure in the marketplace. They have their sights on a rival firm's chief designer. I need one of your signature three-cushion shots, Frank. I need to get the man fired, to make his work product suspect to his former employer, and then have our client pluck him from the depths of despair. Nothing more grateful than a rescued man, right?" He slipped off his shoes, grinned at Thorpe. "When can you start?"
Thorpe didn't answer.
"The shop isn't going to take you back, if that's what you're counting on. The shop isn't even going to exist much longer, not as an off-the-books entity. None of them are." Billy wiggled his toes. His burnt-orange socks had a pattern of tiny black clocks. "Control and accountability are the watchwords of the day. Your imbroglio with the Engineer is already being cited as a rationale for the shops' being subsumed into traditional agencies. No fun in that, I can assure you. I can just see you sitting at an FBI meeting when the agent in charge starts droning on about work sheets and…" Billy narrowed his eyes, wagged a finger at Thorpe. "You rascal. I must be getting rusty."
"Just a little."
"You asked me about Gavin Ellsworth, and I let it slip right by," said Billy, annoyed with himself. "What do you want with him?"
"I can fool you, Billy, but I can't fool you for long."
6
Pinto was on his knees, tightening the chain linkage on Danny Duck, when the staff-only door opened behind him. "I told you, it's going to take me at least another hour," he called, concentrating on the lag bolt. The torque wrench slipped and he scraped his knuckles on the housing. "Fuck." He licked his hand, tasting blood and grease, as he turned. "See what you done…" Vlad and Arturo stood in the open doorway, the two of them outlined by the morning sun, and Pinto's Cocoa Puffs did a backflip in his guts. He smiled. "Hey… you surprised me."
"Imagine that," said Arturo. "It's not even your birthday, either."
Vlad quietly shut the door, and the interior of the Down the Bunny Hole ride was darker after the flash of sunshine, illuminated only by the overhead lights.
Pinto gripped the torque wrench.
Arturo walked over to Gloria Goose and sat down, propping one foot on her plastic beak as he leaned back against the red upholstery. He folded his hands in his lap, a powerfully built middle-aged man in a black suit. His face was broad and deeply pocked, his hair brushed straight back. "You're late, Pinto."
Pinto stood up, wiped his hands on a rag, his forearms so heavily tattooed that it looked like he was wearing blue lace gauntlets. "Not so late… just a few eight balls behind."
"A few?" Arturo admired the shine in his loafers. His oldest son, Preston, shined all the shoes in his father's closet every evening after finishing his homework. As a boy, Arturo had helped support his family by shining shoes in the business district of Los Angeles. His sons would never need to shine another man's shoes, but it was good training. "I think it is more than a few. What do you think, Vlad?"