"You shot him?"

"Yes. I just said so, huh?"

Bubba edged slightly more to the right.

I said, "Don't do that, Bubba. I'm good with this. I'll drop you where you stand."

Franco said, "And while you're shooting him, what do you think I'll be doing, huh?"

I said, "I can drop him and you before you can clear the piece. You made one mistake coming in here with your hands empty. Don't make another one."

Candy said, "You can't shoot him, Spenser. He's our key to the whole story."

I said, "Yes, I can. We've still got Felton," and then everything went to h.e.l.l. The Mexican woman walked in through the archway and stopped next to Franco when she saw the gun. Franco stepped behind her. I raised my gun. Candy said "No," and pushed at my arm. Franco was around the corner of the archway. Bubba had his gun out. I yanked my arm free of Candy and shot Bubba twice and shoved Candy down on the sofa and sprawled over her facing the archway. The Mexican woman was crouched on the floor near the archway. Felton was still cross-legged on the opposite couch, body bent as close to double as he could get, both hands over his head. Bubba had fallen backward to the floor. The smell of gunshot was in the room but no sound. The hum of central air conditioning filled an otherwise soundless void. Candy was motionless beneath me.

Then Franco's voice came from behind the archway. "Come on, Felton," Franco said. "Get off the couch and walk over here."

Felton kept his hands clutched over his head and looked up in my direction.

"Come on," Franco said again. "He won't shoot. He needs you alive, don't you, boyfriend. You kill him and you got nothing. Besides, I can blast the Mex from here and not even move. So we'll trade. Felton walks and you get the Mex, huh?"

I didn't say anything. I kept the gun on the entryway. I took a quick check on Felton from the corner of my eye. I didn't think he was a threat, but I hadn't counted on the Mexican woman either.

Franco said, "Get your fat a.s.s out here, Felton, and now. Or you want to stay with them?"

"No," Felton said. His voice was squeaky. "No. I'm coming." He got off the couch and scurried fatly over to the archway and through.

Franco said, "We're leaving now, boyfriend. I'm backing out behind Felton. He's fat enough even for me. You have to kill him, huh? To get to me. Then what you got?"

I didn't speak. I could hear Candy's breath coming a little short beneath me. I could smell her perfume too, now that the shooting fumes were beginning to thin. I heard shuffling sounds recede down the front hall, then the front door opened and closed. I didn't move. Franco could open the front door and shut it without leaving, and when I came charging through the archway, he could cut me in half.

Candy said in a m.u.f.fled voice, "You're smothering me."

I eased off of her and stood out of line of the archway, beside the couch.

Candy said, "Have they gone?"

I put my finger on my mouth and shook my head. "I guess so," I said loud enough for Franco to hear me. I moved over beside the archway and waited. The Mexican woman crouched where she had been. Candy stayed down on the couch. Then I heard the front door open again and shut. And silence. A double fake? Faintly I heard a car door slam. No double fake. I rolled around the corner of the archway in a crouch.

Franco could have sent Felton out to start the car. The hall was empty. I opened the front door and watched the taillights of a car disappear up the street. I went back into the living room.

With considerable emphasis I said, "Son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"I shouldn't have hit your arm," Candy said.

"True. But you didn't have much chance to think." I was looking down at Bubba. There was blood on his chest and his eyes were wide and silent.

"I was afraid I'd lose the story," she said.

"I know." No more hanging out at Venice Beach, Bubba. No more pumping iron. No more suntan oil and choker bathing suits.

"But I risked your life for it," Candy said.

"Part of the job description," I said. The Mexican woman was standing against the wall by the archway watching us.

"And now we've lost Sam Felton."

I nodded. The Mexican woman watched everything I did. Her eyes fixed on my face. I said to Candy, "We've got to tell the cops."

"No."

"Yes. I've killed a guy in front of a witness. There's no way out." I looked at the Mexican woman. "Do you speak English, ma'am?" I said.

"No speak," she said. "Espanol."

"See," Candy said. "She doesn't even understand English. She'll never even call the police."

"She says she doesn't speak English," I said. "That doesn't mean she doesn't. It doesn't mean she hasn't friends who speak English. It doesn't mean that the L.A.P.D, doesn't have Spanish-speaking cops. Do you speak any Spanish?"

"No, why?"

"I thought you might be able to rea.s.sure the woman. She's got to be in a state of terror."

Candy shook her head. "I don't know any Spanish."

I smiled at the Mexican woman. "Okay," I said. "It's okay."

I got out the card that Samuelson had given me and went to the phone. Candy looked panicky. "Can't you keep Sam Felton's name out of it?"

"You're in shock," I said. "Otherwise you'd know better. This is his house. There's a stiff in his living room. Of course I can't keep it out."

"But he's my key witness."

"Not anymore," I said. "Somebody's going to find him dead someplace in a day or so."

"They'll kill him?"

"Absolutely," I said. "That's why Franco took him. You saw how easy it would have been to get him talking. Franco knew that. So do the people that pay Franco. Felton's dead."

"Oh, G.o.d," Candy said.

"True," I said. "What we got now is Franco. He'll be harder."

I dialed Samuelson's number. The cop you know is better than the cop you don't know.

Chapter17.

SAMUELSON WAS STILL wearing his tinted gla.s.ses even though it was nearly midnight. Besides Samuelson there was a guy from the sheriff's department and two uniformed cops and a lab technician with a camera and a lawyer that KNBS had sent over after Candy called in. One of the uniformed cops with a name tag that said LOPEZ spoke Spanish to the Mexican woman. Samuelson and the sheriff's investigator spoke English to Candy and me. A lot of English.

Samuelson had his coat open and his hands in his hip pockets. The gesture exposed his service revolver, lmtt forward in its holster on the left side of his belt. Ile was looking past us through the far windows at the city lights, far below. Bubba had been hauled off by the coroner's people. There was a white chalk outline of his body on the rug. There was a large dark bloodstain inside the outline.

"Let me see if I've got this right now," Samuelson said. He continued to stare past us. "Rafferty saw, or says he saw, Sam Felton make a payoff to a hammer named Franco. He told you. You started investigating. You hired Spenser here-"

The lawyer interrupted. "The station hired Spenser."

Samuelson didn't look at him. "-to keep you out of trouble." He paused, looked sideways at me, said, "Nice job," and went back to staring out the window.

"Despite your warnings," Samuelson continued, "Rafferty pushed Felton and turned up dead. You didn't see any good reason to tell me that, and instead, you and Spenser came over here and questioned Felton until the same hammer, Franco-who had also beaten you up, and who had been following you around, and whom you saw no reason to mention to me-that hammer shows up here with a helper and tried to kidnap you, succeeded in kidnapping Felton while Spenser had the drop on him. And Spenser managed to staple the helper without shooting himself in the elbow. That about fit?"

The lawyer said, "There are several aspects to that summary which imply-"

I said, "Yeah, that's about right."

The lawyer was portly, red-faced, and young, wearing a blue suit of European cut that didn't go with his body and an open-necked white shirt that showed a lot of French cuff.

"Now, listen, I can't represent you if-"

"You represent her," I said. "Not me."

The sheriff's man said, "Aw, for chrissake, counselor. Hush up."

The lawyer turned on him. "Now, just one minute, officer. If you think that you can get away with intimidation, you've picked the wrong lawyer."

Samuelson looked at the ceiling.

The sheriff's man said, "Intimidation. That wasn't intimidation. When I intimidate, you'll know it."

The lawyer said, "Are you planning to make a charge against these people, in clear violation of const.i.tutional guarantees?"

"I'll charge them with being a pair of a.s.sholes," Samuelson said, "and I'll discuss with the D.A. whether I want to charge them with anything else. How about you, Bernie?"

The sheriff's investigator nodded. "The maid backs up as much of their story as she knows about. She told Lopez that the big one"-he nodded at me-"shoots very quickly."

"Swell," Samuelson said, "We need another one of those out here."

"Are you looking for Sam Felton?" Candy said. Samuelson looked at Bernie, the sheriff's man. They both looked at me.

"You got any guesses where we might find Felton?" Bernie said.

"Not where," I said. "But I'll bet on his condition."

Samuelson said, "Yeah. Worse than it would have been if you people had talked to me earlier."

"What makes you think they wouldn't have burned him if you people got on his case?"

"'Cause we wouldn't let them," Samuelson said.

"Of course not," I said.

The technician with the camera had packed it away in his tool kit and was leaning on the archway. From the hallway Lopez told Samuelson that he was going to take the maid to her sister's to stay.

Samuelson said, "Well, I'm going home and visit my wife. Don't go anywhere, Spenser. I'll want both of you downtown tomorrow to go through the mug hooks. I'll talk with the legal guys and we'll see. Miss Sloan is a reporter, and you were protecting her. Lemme say one thing though. To both of you. I don't want even a smell of either one of you anywhere near any aspect of this case forever. You understand?"

"I think you can count on that," the lawyer said.

"I better," Samuelson said. "Because if I can't, I'll bury both of them. That, counselor, is intimidation." He walked out of the room, and the technician and the sheriff's man went with him. All that was left was the lawyer, Candy, me, and the other prowl-car cop who hung around to secure the house.

"Can I give you a lift home, Candy?" the lawyer said.

"No thanks, Keith, I've got my car. I'll take Spenser."

"Okay, fine. Be careful what you say to anyone about this," he said and looked at me.

"Yes, we will, Keith," Candy said. "Good night." We all went out together and Keith drove off. I got into the MG beside Candy. We drove quietly and slowly back down the winding canyon roads toward Sunset.

"Franco will be in the mug book," I said to Candy. "Guys like him always are."

She was quiet, driving slowly through the dark emptiness of Beverly Hills.

"Once we've got an I.D. on him, the cops will find him. They're good at that."

I wasn't sure she heard me. The top was still down on the MG, and the velvet dark night seemed very low over us.

"Much better than we would be," I said.

There was a rich smell of flowers in the dark air as we went down Beverly Drive. It made me think of funerals. We crossed Wilshire, then Olympic, and pulled in under the entrance portico at the Hillcrest. There was a man to take the car. Duty before sleep. No music filtered down from the rooftop. Candy went into her room and locked the door behind her without a word. I went into mine. It was hot. I turned on the air conditioner and undressed in the dark. When I put my gun on the end table, I could still smell the faint odor of spent ammunition. I didn't like it. Bubba probably hadn't liked it either. If he'd smelled it. Which he probably hadn't.

Chapter18.

WITH A LITTLE computer magic we I.D.'d Franco in about five minutes. They had all the mug shots cross-indexed by names and pseudonyms and in various other ways, and when we fed in the various things we knew, the computer spit out five names. We looked at the five pictures and the third one was Franco. His full name was Francisco Montenegro. His last address was in Hollywood on Franklin Avenue. He was forty-one years old and had been busted six times, two jail terms. All his arrests were for muscle stuff: a.s.sault, extortion, twice for murder.

We talked with Samuelson and a detective named Alvarez in Samuelson's office.

"I know Franco," Alvarez said. "He is bad news. He used to be a collector for a loan shark named Leon Ponce, maybe still is. He'll kill people for you, if you'll pay him. Or break bones." He looked at me. "You know the score, don't you? He's like a hundred other guys in this town or yours. Except he's badder than most of them. You're lucky. Most people bang up against Franco, they don't come out ahead."

The phone rang on Samuelson's desk. He answered, listened, said "Okay," and hung up.