much more results-driven. They’re not overly concerned with how I get the information I do.”
“My guess is that they’d rather not know,” she said soberly.
“I’d guess the same thing.” He added cheerfully, “But why dwell on the negative? Maybe the three of us will have an easy, productive conversation over some ice-cold Coronas at El Hobo Muerto Cantina.”
* * *
They arrived at Zales’s bar less than an hour later, which was located, oddly, in the middle of a residential neighborhood. It was a brick building painted in bright red and yellow hues, with a neon sign depicting a classic hobo figure with a stick and kerchief over his shoulder. The eyes were closed, suggesting that the hobo was indeed dead.
“Unbelievable,” Kendra said.
“You’ll never forget it, will you?”
“Never.”
“Then Zales is a marketing genius. A tasteless son of a bitch, but a genius.”
“If you say so.”
They parked on the street and walked through a gravel parking lot that looked as if it had once been two house lots. Lynch stopped and pointed to a Tesla Model X parked near the back door. “That’s his, or at least I think it is. It’s registered to the business.”
“Nice car. Did you think of getting one of those instead of that Lamborghini you’re driving?”
“I briefly considered it.” Lynch pulled out his phone and spent a few seconds typing something into his screen.
“What are you doing?”
“Just checking something. Let’s go inside.” He put away his phone and led her around front, where half a dozen outdoor tables were occupied with patrons watching a soccer game projected on a large white tarp. They walked inside, where the same game was playing on a pair of wall-mounted televisions. The place was packed, with the customers gathered around a long bar that looked to Kendra almost like a deli counter. Then it dawned on her: The place had once been a diner, only slightly modified for its current use as a dive bar.
A short, curly-haired man in his fifties greeted Kendra. “Hola, bella dama!” Then he saw Lynch. “Oh, shit.”
Lynch clasped his shoulder. “What kind of greeting is that, Zales?”
“Vincent,” he whispered. “My name is Vincent Seles now. You’re gonna ruin everything.”
Lynch smiled. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Not after all we’ve been through together.”
“You almost got me killed.”
“I persuaded you to do your civic duty.”
“You didn’t give me a choice.”
“Sure I did. Testify or go to jail.” Lynch looked around. “You’ve done well for yourself. Much better than jail.”
Zales nervously glanced around the bar. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk about Justin Hayes.”
“Never heard of the guy.”
“Come on.”
“Sorry. Name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Don’t lie to me. Part of your agreement with the U.S. Justice Department is that you would divulge all illegal activities. If you left even one out, that could mean years in jail for you. I’m not trying to jam you up. I just need some information.”
“I’m not going back.”
“You don’t need to. Just tell me what you know about Justin Hayes and what you did for him. Then I’ll leave you alone.”
“Ohhh…Justin Hayes. It’s all coming back to me.”
“I thought that it might.”
Zales pointed to the doors behind the bar. “I need to go to the kitchen for a second. But I’ll tell you what you need to know, okay? That’s all you need? Nothing else, no hidden strings?”
“No hidden strings. You’ll never see me again for the rest of your life.”
Zales gave him a sour look. “That’s what you said after I testified at my last mob trial.”
“Circumstances change, my friend. By the way, this is my friend Kendra.”
Zales gave her a nod much less enthusiastic than the greeting he’d given her earlier. “Charmed. I’ll be right back.”
He circled around the bar and disappeared through the swinging doors to the back.
Kendra turned toward Lynch. “I’m surprised you’re letting him out of your sight.”
“Why, don’t you trust him?”
“Hell, no.”
“Good instinct. Neither do I.”
“Then why are we sitting here?
Lynch chuckled. He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and looked up. “Let’s go talk to him.” He stood and strolled out of the bar.
Kendra jumped to her feet and ran after him. She followed him around the bar and back to the gravel lot where they’d been only minutes before.
Lynch gestured toward Zales’s Tesla. “Oh, look,” he said, in mock surprise.
Zales was in the driver’s seat, frantically pounding on the window.
Lynch leaned against the car and crossed his arms. “Why, Zales. Oh, sorry, I mean Vincent. Or can I call you Vince?”