Mobbed up all the way to Mexico City. Our jails are full of MS-13 and Mexican Mafia hitters. Flores may have his throat cut before he ever sees a grand jury. It?s too bad. The kid might be a war hero, but those women and girls who ate the forty-five rounds aren?t here to mourn for him.?

Hackberry took the phone from his ear and opened and closed his mouth to clear a sound like cellophane crinkling inside his head. Outside, the flag was popping and straightening in a flume of yellow dust.

?You still with me, Sheriff?? Riser said.

?Yeah, copy that. Listen, isn?t Hugo Cistranos the key? Don?t tell me y?all don?t have dials on this guy. Why aren?t you squeezing him instead of chasing Flores and Vikki Gaddis around??

?I don?t get to call all the shots, Sheriff.?

Hackberry could sense the change in Riser?s mood. Through his office door, he could see Pam Tibbs escorting Flores and Gaddis to a small room that was used for interviews. ?I can appreciate your situation,? he said.

?Sorry I haven?t gotten back to you. I had to go back to Washington, and I?ll probably have to take off again tomorrow. What?s all this about? If I were you, I?d ease up. You?re a combat veteran. Sometimes you have to lose a few for the greater good. That might sound Darwinian, but those who believe different belong in monasteries.?

?This is all about nailing Josef Sholokoff, isn?t it??

?Neither of us makes the rules.?

?Have a good trip to Washington.?

?Let me be up-front again. I?ll try to keep you in the loop. But the word is ?try.??

?You couldn?t be more clear, Mr. Riser.? Hackberry replaced the receiver in the cradle. Pam Tibbs stood in the doorway. He looked woodenly at her.

?I hope Bonnie and Clyde appreciate this,? she said.

?Bring a cruiser around to the back door. Bonnie and Clyde were never here. Indicate that to Maydeen on your way out.?

?You got it, boss man.?

?Don?t call me that.?

THE THERMOMETER HAD just peaked at 119 degrees when Nick Dolan carried his bag out of the Phoenix airport and hailed a cab, one with more dents than it should have had. The driver was from the Mid-east and had festooned the inside of the cab with beadwork and pictures of mosques and words from the Koran and was burning incense on the dashboard and playing Arabian music on a tape deck. ?Where to, sir?? he said.

?I?m not sure. Where can you get a blow job in Mecca??

?Excuse me, sir??

?The Embassy Suites.?

?In Phoenix??

?What?s your name??

?Mohammed.?

?I?m shocked. No, I want to go to the Embassy Suites in Istanbul. Do you hand out earplugs with that music??

?Earplugs? What earplugs, sir??

?The Embassy Suites off Camelback.?

?Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Hang on, sir.? The driver floored the cab, swinging out into traffic, throwing Nick across the seat with his luggage.

?Hey, we?re not on a hijack mission here,? Nick said. He knew his histrionic display at the driver?s expense was a mask for the fear that once again had taken up residence in his breast and was feeding at his heart. He had gotten the phone number of Josef Sholokoff from his old partner in the escort business and had made an appointment to meet Sholokoff at his house at nine P.M. that evening. The fact that Sholokoff had given Nick easy access to his home only increased Nick?s sense of insecurity.

?Hey, Mohammed, you ever hear of a guy named Josef Sholokoff?? Nick said. He gazed out the window, waiting for the driver?s reply. He watched the palm trees and stucco homes on the boulevard zoom by, the gardens bursting with flowers.

?Hey, you up there in the clouds of incense, you know a guy by the name of??

The driver?s eyes locked on Nick?s inside the rearview mirror. ?Yes, sir, Embassy Suites,? he said. He turned up the volume, filling the cab with the sounds of flutes and sitars.

Nick checked in to the hotel and undressed down to his boxer shorts and strap undershirt. His suite was on the fifth floor and overlooked the outdoor swimming pool; he could hear children shouting and splashing in the water. He started to go into the bathroom and take a shower but felt so weak he thought he was going to collapse. He fixed a glass of ice and bourbon from the hospitality bar and sat down in a chair and picked up the telephone. He could see his reflection in the mirror on the bathroom door. It was that of a