"Too bad."

"But Carner still might be able to identify him and tell us who he might work for."

"Or course," she said dryly. "They must know each other from the union meetings."

"They're rivals in a highly specialized field, and they're known to work in the same geographic area. I don't really think they hang out together swapping war stories, but they might know each other on sight." Lynch checked his watch. "Lunchtime. I have a pretty good idea where I'll find him. Do you want me to take you home?"

"Home? Why?"

"Carner is a seedy man, and I may have to go to some seedy places to find him."

She laughed with real amus.e.m.e.nt. "Get real. Believe me, I've done seedy. You think I'm afraid of a little grunge, Lynch?"

"Afraid, no. Revolted, maybe."

"Now that's a possibility. But I won't let it get in the way. Give me a little credit."

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Lynch cut over to Pacific Highway, where he quickly drove to the Under Pressure topless bar, which featured a large sign that Kendra guessed lit up in brilliant neon after dark.

Lynch pointed to the sign. "It's animated. You don't even want to know what it looks like at night."

"You sure found your way here awfully easily."

Lynch parked on the street. "Part of the job. The clubs along here attract a rough clientele. Maybe you'd better stay in the car."

She unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door. "Don't be absurd. That's not going to happen."

He shrugged. "How did I know you were going to say that?"

They climbed out of his car and walked toward the club. She looked at the shabby, weather-beaten building. "I deejayed in a place like this for a few weeks once. It was fascinating how certain types of songs, certain rhythms, certain beats would affect the tips that the women would get. It would make an interesting psychological study."

"Uh-huh. Believe me, you didn't deejay in a club like this. Clubs like this don't have DJs. More like a beer-stained old ca.s.sette deck behind the bar."

They walked around back and crossed a small parking lot to the entrance, where a beefy bald man in a tight T-shirt was seated on a stool outside. Heavy ba.s.s throbbed from within the club.

"I need to talk to Derek Carner," Lynch said.

The bouncer stared at him as he pulled out a can of Skoal tobacco, took a pinch, and placed it between his lower lip and gum. "Don't know 'im."

"Sure you do. He's a regular. Has been for years." Lynch gestured over his shoulder. "And that's his piece-of-s.h.i.t truck just fifteen feet away from you. You didn't see him drive up?"

The bouncer shrugged. "Maybe I was on a coffee break."

"Maybe you're full of s.h.i.t." Lynch flashed his badge.

The bouncer looked at it, then spit brown juice onto the parking lot. "Department of Justice Liaison? Are you kidding me? Look, unless your lady friend wants a job dancing, I suggest you run along. I have no idea who you're looking for."

"We'll go inside and see for ourselves." Lynch pulled a twenty from his wallet. "This should take care of the cover charge."

The bouncer stood, showing himself to be a good head taller than Lynch. "Sorry. We're all full up today."

Lynch turned and looked at the almost empty parking lot. "I can see that. Word must be getting around about your delicious lunch buffet."

"Do I need to escort you from the property?"

"After we're done here, sure. Appreciate it. I understand this neighborhood can get a bit rough."

Lynch stepped past the bouncer, but the man clamped a gigantic hand over his shoulder and pushed him back. Lynch's hands blurred as they flew toward the bouncer's chest and neck. Before Kendra could even register what had happened, the bouncer was wheezing and staggering back and forth in front of them. He dropped to his knees and clutched his neck before finally rolling over onto his back.

Lynch picked up the twenty-dollar bill, tucked it into the bouncer's shirt collar, then stepped over the choking, wheezing man. He stopped in the doorway and turned back toward Kendra. "Are you coming?"

She also stepped over the bouncer, who was now turning purple. "Now that was caveman," she said.

"Sometimes it's the only option. Remind me to tell you about the time that-"

Click-clock-click.

Lynch froze.

It was the sound of a pump-action shotgun being c.o.c.ked. Kendra looked into the club to see a tall, tanned woman, about forty, aiming the gun at Lynch's chest. "Not another move," she said. "One of my girls is calling the cops."

"Your decision," Lynch said. "But if they come here, I'm going to help them find enough violations to shut you down for good."

"I run a good club. My licenses are in order."

Lynch nodded. "I didn't know the city was handing out gambling licenses to topless bars these days. Because I know that's what's going on next to the dressing area. And I don't think there's anyplace outside Nevada that licenses what goes on in your two VIP rooms. Do you really want to do this?"

The gun wavered slightly in her hands.

Lynch smiled at her. "You used to be a dancer here, weren't you, Sheila? Do you remember me?"

She looked at him for a long moment before lowering the gun. "s.h.i.t, you're a fed."

Lynch gestured to the bouncer, who was only now starting to catch his breath. "I tried to tell that to your friend, but he wasn't listening."

She glanced over her shoulder, where a pair of bare-breasted dancers were climbing off the stage. "What do you want?"

"I'm just here to talk to one of the guys playing cards in the back. This doesn't have to be a big deal."

She thought about it for a moment. "Okay. I'm not giving you permission, but I'm not stopping you, either. If you don't have a warrant, nothing you see will stick." She turned and stepped behind the bar with her shotgun.

"Fair enough." Lynch jerked his head toward the back, indicating that Kendra was to follow him. The bar was small and windowless, illuminated entirely by the half dozen beer signs representing brands that Kendra wasn't even sure existed anymore.

Lynch led her to a door that was almost invisible in the dark club. He tried the k.n.o.b, and upon finding it locked, threw his weight against it. It splintered open, and bright fluorescent light poured into the bar.

Lynch and Kendra strode through the door to see five elderly men surrounding a poker table. They were in midgame, and one of the men leaped to his feet. "Aw, s.h.i.t. A holdup!"

Lynch walked to the table, grabbed one of the other men by the collar, and pulled him to his feet. "No holdup. I just need to talk to Carner here. He'll be sitting out this round."

Carner, a stocky man with frizzy gray hair, cursed. "Come on, I'm on a hot streak. Can't this wait?"

Lynch shoved him ahead of him to the door. "Talk to me, and your karma is only going to improve."

Lynch and Kendra walked Carner through the club, where the dancers had already resumed plying their trade for the dozen or so customers. As they stepped out into the parking lot, the bouncer gave them a wide berth and pretended they weren't there.

Lynch pushed Carner against his beat-up Ford Ranger pickup truck. "I need some information."

"Ask all you want, but I ain't talking, Lynch. Confidentiality is part of my service."

"I'm not interested in your sc.u.mbag employers. I want to talk about your compet.i.tion." Lynch pulled the color printout from his pocket, unfolded it, and held it in front of Carner's face. "He's another cleaner. Do you know him?"

Carner chuckled. "Where, from the union meetings?"

"I made the exact same joke. Now I feel totally unoriginal," Kendra said. She motioned toward Lynch's intense expression. "And believe me, it didn't go over any better then. He's not amused."

"You do know this guy in the picture," Lynch said. "You have a terrible poker face."

Carner's expression had told Kendra that, too, and she was impressed that Lynch had also picked up on the flash of recognition.

Carner shook his head. "I don't know who in the h.e.l.l that is. First of all, it's not the clearest photo, and-"

"Don't bulls.h.i.t me."

"Give me a break, will ya? I can't be talking to you about this stuff."

"You can, and you will."

Carner moistened his lips. "Okay, just saying I did know this guy. And I gave you some information that helped you track him down. What if he was working for one of the same people who I also do some work for? What do you think my life would be worth then?"

"You're forgetting about me."

"You? Are you gonna sweat me out under the hot lights? Beat it out of me? It's not even a contest. Take your best shot."

Lynch lowered his voice. "Think about it, Carner. Why would I walk in there and drag you out where everybody could see?"

"Stupidity?"

"Later this afternoon, I'm going to pay a visit to Robert Chilton and ask him some pointed questions about a man who was murdered in a game arcade in Encinitas last year. You remember that, don't you? The one that no one ever found out about. Blood and brain matter all over, but you had it all ready for the kids and their game tokens by early the next morning."

Panic gripped Carner's face. "Where did you hear this?"

"From you, of course. Just now, after I dragged you out of that poker game. Unless I'm mistaken, at least two of the men at that table are on very good terms with Chilton. Think maybe they'll tell him that you and I had a chat today?"

Carner looked ill. "No one knows about that job."

"Exactly. How will Chilton think I know about it?"

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h."

Lynch held up the printout again. "Who is this man, who does he work for, and where can I find him?"

Carner cleared his throat as if trying to get rid of a sour taste in his mouth. "That's all? I guess you want me to give you a lift to his house, too."

"That won't be necessary."

Carner stared at the printout. "s.h.i.t. What do I care about him? That's John Bergen. He used to do some work for the Vietnamese syndicates. I didn't think he was actually in the business anymore. These days, I think he mostly just buys and renovates old houses and apartment buildings."

"He's gone legit?" Kendra asked.

"There's legit, then there's legit. Who doesn't like a bagful of cash money dropped into your lap once in a while, huh?"

Lynch folded up the printout. "Where do I find him?"

"How should I know? The phone book, Google, take your pick."

"Okay, Carner." He leaned forward, and his voice was low and fierce. "If you've been feeding me a line of bull, I'm not coming after you. I'm going to pay that visit to Chilton, and he'll come after you. Someone will be mopping up your blood someplace. Understand?"

"Yeah, you've made yourself very clear."

"Good."

"Can I get back to my game now?"

"Knock yourself out."

Kendra smiled as she watched Carner stumble back toward the door. "We saved you money, Carner. The man closest to the door was holding a straight flush. He would have clobbered your pair of nines."

IT TOOK LYNCH ALL OF THREE minutes to track down John Bergen's property-management business, and only another two minutes of telephone time for him to extract Bergen's current whereabouts from the company receptionist. Lynch turned the wheel and headed for Chula Vista, where Bergen was reportedly renovating his latest acquisition.

"So how did you know about the arcade cleanup?" Kendra asked. "That completely freaked Carner out."

"We had an agent working undercover in Chilton's organization. He tipped us off at the time, but we were trying to pull together a bigger case and just tabled it for a while."

"A bigger case than murder?"

"Bigger than that sc.u.mbag's murder. Sometimes you just have to look at the bigger picture. They might have nailed Robert Chilton for that one hit, but it would have blown the cover of an agent who had been working years to build a case against dozens of people."

After a few minutes, they parked in front of an older Spanish-style house with a large Dumpster in the driveway. Construction debris overflowed the Dumpster, with several lengths of molding sticking out in every direction.

They got out of the car, and Lynch walked around, opened the trunk, and flipped two switches on a black, s...o...b..x-sized electronic device.

"What's that?" Kendra asked.

"Something that may or may not be of use to us."