Pike wanted Gomer or Mendoza, but they were not around. Neither was Michael Azzara or his shiny new Prius, but the maroon Monte Carlo was parked at the curb outside the fence.

Pike studied the number and locations of the people, the position of the vehicles in the parking lot, and everything surrounding the building. Something about the body shop bothered him.

Pike counted one man in the service bays and two in the parking lot by a 1969 candy-gold SS396. The man in the service bay was fitting a fender onto a car, but having a difficult time. None of them were familiar, but the men by the 396 drew Pike’s attention. One was a younger man in grease-stained work clothes who was showing the other man something under the hood. The other man was duded up in lizard-skin cowboy boots, an immaculate white Stetson, and a pink-and-white cowboy shirt under a suede sport coat. A Western belt with an enormous brass buckle held up jeans sporting a razor crease. A few minutes later, the cowboy had seen enough. He walked over to the service bays, said something to the man with the fender, and that’s when a man Pike recognized from the Monte Carlo appeared. He was the man who had pointed his gun hand at Pike; the man who lifted Mendoza off his feet to welcome him home. The two men shook hands, then the cowboy walked through the main gate to an anonymous Buick and drove away.

Watching the cowboy leave, Pike understood what had been troubling him. Yesterday, a dozen men were present and the yard was busy. Today, only three men remained, leaving the body shop deserted. Pike found this curious, but it would also make his job easier.

Pike circled the block again, but this time he parked on a residential street behind the body shop. He stripped off his sweatshirt, then strapped into a lightweight ballistic vest. He cinched the Velcro tight, pulled the sweatshirt back on, and reset his holster. When he was good to go, he let himself out of the Jeep and approached the body shop from the rear.

The man from the Monte Carlo had disappeared, but Pike saw the yard man helping his co-worker with the fender in the far bay. Pike did not care about them. He wanted Mendoza’s friend.

Pike stepped into the first bay and spotted the man from the Monte Carlo in an office at the rear of the building. He was in front of a television with his back to the door. The Dodgers were playing a day game. Pike checked to see that the other two men were still struggling with the fender, then slipped toward the office as silently as a fish gliding through water.

On TV, Vin Scully called the play as the Dodgers took a 2-0 lead in the first off a two-run homer by David Snell. The man watching pumped his fist and shouted to himself.

“Thass what I’m talking about! Show them bitches how we do it out here!”

Pike hooked an arm around the man’s neck, lifted his feet from the floor, and closed his carotid artery. This shut off the blood to his brain. The man struggled hard for the first few seconds, but sagged as he lost consciousness. Pike held him until the man went limp, then lowered him and tied his wrists behind his back with a plasticuff. Pike had made dozens of high-speed entries in different parts of the world, usually into tear-gassed rooms where armed hostiles hid behind hostages, desperate to kill him. His moves now were practiced and efficient.

Out in the far service bay, the two men were still busy with the fender when Pike left the office. They were fitting the driver’s side front fender in place, one man bolting the front, the other the back. Pike angled to their midpoint blind spot, and drew his .357 as he closed. Behind him, Vin Scully filled the silence, saying what a fine acquisition Snell had been from the Kansas City Royals.

Pike hit the first man with the pistol above the right ear, then pivoted to meet the second man, thumbing the hammer to let the man hear the pistol cock.

The man stared, mouth open but soundless.

Pike tipped the muzzle toward the floor.

“Down. Hands behind your head.”

The man did it immediately.

Pike tied off both men at their ankles and wrists, then whispered to the man who was still awake.

“Man in the office. What’s his name?”

“Hector Perra.”

“Close your eyes. Make a sound, I’ll kill you.”

He closed his eyes.

Hector was on his feet when Pike returned to the office. He was spinning in a circle like a dog chasing its tail, trying to see his wrists. Then he saw Pike, lowered his head, and charged.

Pike guided him headfirst into the door frame, jerked him upright, then snapped a backfist onto the bridge of his nose. Hector’s eyes fogged, but Pike held him up.

“Look at me. Focus.”

Hector’s eyes cleared.

Pike made his hand like a gun with his thumb up and index finger out, and pointed at Hector.

“Remember?”

Pike hit him again, moving so fast Hector did not see it coming. His head snapped back, but Pike had not hit him hard. Pike wanted him awake.

“Where are they?”

“Whachu talking about?”

“The people who own the sandwich shop.”

“I don’t know, bro. Whachu talking about?”

Pike studied the dark eyes. They were angry and fearful, but also confused. Father Art told him the Malevos had over sixty known members spread throughout Venice. Not all of them would be part of every crime committed, nor even know what the other members were doing. Pike decided Hector was telling the truth.

“Where’s Mendoza?”

“How the fuck I’m supposed to know? Off doing his thing.”

“You see him this morning?”

“Man, we ain’t married. I got my own life.”

Pike hit him again, harder than before, then shook him to help clear his head.

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Yesterday. After his release.”

“Where?”

Pike wanted to see if Hector was playing it straight.

“Here, bro. Homes made bail, he hung out for a while, then split. You know how it is.”

“Where’d he go when he left here?”

“Home to his old lady, I guess. I dunno. We was gonna get together, but I never heard back.”

“Was Gomer with him?”

“I dunno.”

Pike searched Hector for weapons, but found only keys, a cell phone, and a wallet. He held up the keys.

“The Monte Carlo?”

Hector nodded, and Pike jerked him to the door.

“Let’s go. Outside.”

“You takin’ my car?”

“I’m taking you.”