Hans wanted to know who was waiting to talk to him, but not badly enough to risk taking a peek. Had to be the cops. A bloody stab-wound victim had a way of attracting attention. It certainly wasn’t Palmieri’s guys. They wouldn’t have asked permission.

Hans really didn’t like heights, but the window seemed like his only option. He climbed out and lowered himself as far as he could before letting go.

When he hit the ground he heard a distinctive crack. A pain shot through his leg like an ice pick to the neck. An unfortunate image under the circumstances. If he’d broken anything, he couldn’t worry about it. Carmen was all that mattered. An orderly and a woman he was pushing in a wheelchair stared in amazement at what looked like Quasimodo after a vampire attack.

Hans knew he had to get off the street. A man had left the driver’s door of his car open as he helped a woman out of the other side. Hans dragged himself over to the car and climbed in. His appearance alone was enough to keep the man from interfering. Hans sped away without the slightest idea of where Carmen had gone.

Sitting in her car in Reseda, Carmen thought about her options. She knew Palmieri hadn’t really bought her story. But she also knew it didn’t matter as long as he thought she was going to meet him at Falco’s at 9 o’clock. Even talking to him on the phone made her shiver like a 5-year-old in the dark. But she’d sucked it up and acted as if she were the one in control.

Now she was considering whether to take out a little insurance policy. She dug through her purse and found a dog-eared business card smeared with lipstick, eyeliner and anything else floating around at the bottom of her bag. She’d almost thrown it out dozens of times, but she kept it on the chance that someday it might come in handy. This was that day.

Carmen could just make out the number. She punched it into her cellphone. “I bet you never expected to hear from me.”

Hauser had an uncanny ability to recall every voice he’d ever heard. It’s why he’d been the best in the bureau at sitting on a wire. “Carmen?”

“You said if I ever came up with anything good to give you a call.”

“My God, Carmen, that was five years ago. I’m no longer… . What is it you’ve got?”

“You guys are still interested in Palmieri, right? Well, I’m guessing the judge that let him out on bail probably didn’t give him permission for a little run down to Cabo.”

Hauser ventured, “I can guarantee you he didn’t.”

“Well, if you wanna violate him, he’ll be flying in tonight. And if you want the whole jackpot, I know where he’s gonna be at 9 o’clock. You ever heard of Congressman Falco?”

Hauser couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He instinctively looked over at a monitor that showed the two gunmen now sliding along the side of the house. This was going to be the OK Corral and he had a ringside seat so close he’d have to duck the blood.

Hauser thought for a minute. He should probably call this in. Then he fingered Baby Doll and a grin began to creep across his face. “Yeah, I’ve heard of Falco. I even have a pretty good idea where he lives. Why would Palmieri go there?”

“It’s kind of complicated. It has something to do with Las Vegas, blackmail and a flash drive called ‘Birds of Paradise.’ ”

Nick Boone describes himself as a movie buff, avid detective fiction reader and, yes, still an aspiring screenwriter