Zavala smiled and said, “We've been hearing about a tortilla plant in Baja California, outside Ensenada, that might be for sale real cheap.”

Hanley's watery eyes narrowed under the prominent brow ridge. “Where'd you hear that?” he growled.

“Around.” The corners of Zavala's lips turned up in a mysterious smile.

“Sorry, gentlemen, I'm not familiar with any Baja tortilla plant.”

Zavala turned to Austin. “He says he's not familiar with that one.”

Austin shrugged. “We're surprised at your answer. Enrico Pedralez says you're very familiar with the property. He gave us your name and said you arranged the deal for him.” Hanley's defenses went on full alert at the mention of the Mexican mob boss. He was uncertain how accountable he had to be to these two strangers. He fast-forwarded through the categories of likely threats: police, IRS, state bureaucrats. These men didn't fit into any pigeonhole. He decided to take the offensive.

“May I see some identification from you gentlemen?”

“That won't be necessary,” Austin said.

“In that case, if you're not out of my office in two seconds, I'll throw you out myself.”

Austin made no move to rise. “You could try,” he said with an icy coldness, “but I wouldn't recommend it. I wouldn't bother calling in your Mexican pals, either.”

Seeing that intimidation wasn't going to work, the lawyer reached for the phone. “I'm calling the police.”

“Why don't you call the bar association while you're at it?” Austin said. “I'm sure they'd like to hear how one of their members set up a deal with a notorious Mexican mafioso. That framed license on your wall won't be worth the paper it's printed on.”

The hand retreated, and Hanley stared across the desk. “Who are you gentlemen?” He practically spat out the last word.

“A couple of people who want to know more about that plant in the Baja,” Austin said.

Hanley was having a hard time trying to figure out this pair. With their athletic builds and sun-burnished faces they looked like a couple of beach bums, but he detected a hard edge under their genial image.

“Even if you had credible authority I couldn't help you,” he said. “All discussions on that matter are covered by lawyer-client privilege.”

“That's true,” Austin said agreeably. “It is also true that you could go to jail for making a dirty deal with a known criminal.”

Hanley's mouth widened in an insincere smile. “Okay, you win,” he said. “I'll tell you what I can. But let's compromise. Tell me why you are interested in this property. It would be the fair thing to do.”

“True,” Austin said, “but this is an unfair world.” His coral green eyes bored into Hanley's face. “I'll put your mind at ease. Your slimy dealings are not our concern. Once you tell us who hired you for the Baja job, chances are you'll never see us again.”

Hanley nodded and plucked a cigar from a humidor without offering his guests one. He lit up and puffed smoke in their direction. “I was contacted about two years ago by a broker from Sacramento. He had heard about my, ah, connections, south of the border and thought I would be the perfect go-between for a highly lucrative deal with no risk and little work.”