Lusk pulled on a pair of leather work gloves and wiggled his fingers to loosen them up. When he saw Keegan coming, he straightened up and grinned. “Kind of early for the likes of you,” he said. He rolled up the back door of the truck.

“At least it’s cool,” Keegan said.

“Seventy-two degrees never felt so good,” Lusk admitted. “But it’s all uphill from here. They say it’s going to break a hundred today.” He grunted and lifted a stack of newspapers out of the truck by the twine that bound them. “What has you out and about at this ungodly hour?” Lusk lugged the papers over to the back of his stall, listing to one side with the burden, and disappeared inside.

Keegan followed him.

“Shouldn’t you still be in bed?” Lusk asked. His voice was muffled by the plywood.

Keegan stood in the shed’s doorway. “Kip, I need a big favor,” he said, keeping his voice low.

Lusk emerged, clapping imaginary dust from his gloves. “I’ve done you enough favors, buddy.” He brushed past Keegan and headed for the truck. “I’m starting to think you take me for granted.”

“I’ll pay for this one.”

Lusk stopped and turned back to Keegan, his hands on his hips. “If you’re paying, it’s not a favor,” Lusk said. “It’s a job. You’d think a writer would have a better grasp of the English language.” Lusk went back to the truck and lifted down another stack of newspapers—The Daily Breeze—and lugged them to the back of his stall. HOTTEST DAY OF YEAR SINGES LA the paper’s banner headline read.

Keegan waited until Lusk was inside the booth again and spoke to him through the doorway. “Look, Kipper,” he said. “I need you to find me a gun. A Smith and Wesson Model Ten.”

Lusk pushed past him again. “That’s a revolver, right?”

Keegan followed him to the back of the truck. “Yeah, and it has to be a snub nose,” he said. “Not nickel, either. It’s gotta be blued. Original wooden grips. At least ten years old.”

Lusk looked both ways along Hill Street and then down along Fifth. He waited while an empty bus slowed to make the turn onto Hill. Its hydraulic brakes hissed, and then the engine rumbled as it pulled away. “Listen, Professor,” Lusk said when the bus was halfway down the block. “I can get you a real pretty Colt Python three-fifty-seven. Like new.” He was using his salesman voice now. “No papers, but a price you won’t believe.” He tapped Keegan’s chest with one gloved finger. “In your hand in twenty minutes. No questions asked.”

“No,” Keegan said. “You don’t understand.” He didn’t want to raise his voice, and that required him to slow down and focus, but he could feel his frustration mounting. “Listen to me, Kip,” he said. “I need a very particular gun. It’s gotta be a snub-nose Smith and Wesson. Just like the ones the LAPD jacks carry. And I need it today.”