“Pacific Dining Car’s open twenty-four hours. I’ll buy you a big steak afterward.”

Bayless cracked his knuckles. His shoulders bunched but his eyes were submissive. “You bribing me, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

Bayless snorted. “I’m a slut, ready to bend over, and spread for prime rib?”

“I was thinking the big surf-and-turf combo, that potato they have the size of Idaho, sour cream, chives, salsa if you’re into that. Also Martinis, wine, cognac with the dessert. My preference is the pecan pie. Goes well with cognac.”

Bayless rolled his eyes. “I’m getting reflux just listening. Dining Car on Sixth Street or Santa Monica?”

“Take your pick.”

“It’s not a matter of food, Milo, but yeah, I’ll try to get it nailed down A-sap.”

“Appreciate it, Al. And do let me buy you dinner.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” said Bayless. “Stomach isn’t what it used to be and the idea of cholesterol clogging my pipes terrifies me—tell you what, bring some herb tea, I’ll supply the hot water.”

“You’re destroying me, Al.”

“Wish I was the man I used to be,” said Bayless. “Make it decaf chamomile, no mint, mint reminds me of toothpaste.”

“Oh, Lord,” said Milo. “My mood’s dropping beyond Prozac territory.”

“Hey,” said Bayless, “we actually save someone’s life, your mood’ll be fine.”

CHAPTER

23

The purchase:

1. Seven aluminum signs, @ $10.45 each, discount for quantity order: $65.84

Yellow triangle within a white rectangle bearing a message:
You’re on Film! CCTV Cameras in 24 Hour Use

2. Ten Night Owl Security Cameras, @49.99 each, with discount: $449.91

Subtotal: $515.75
Ca. State Sales Tax @ 9.00%: $46.42
Grand total: $562.17

Milo wrote a personal check.

I said, “The department wouldn’t have to pay sales tax.”

“I’ll bring that up when I face Saint Peter.”

Labor was free; Milo, Reed, Binchy, and I, all versed in the instructions and armed with tools from home.

Al Bayless and a computer cop named Hal Wiggins made sure the signal fed to Bayless’s console upstairs as well as to Milo’s home and work computers.

Bayless had made sure no cleaning crews would be on-site but despite that, when the installation was over and we rode up to his lobby-level office, we came face-to-face with a man and a woman toting cleaning supplies across the expanse of granite and marble.

“What the hell.” Bayless barreled toward them.

Terrified, the woman dropped a plastic bottle of glass spray. The man just gaped.

Bayless said, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Clean,” said the man, heavily accented, barely audible.

“Without authorization?”

“We always,” said the man.

“What do you mean you always?”

“Clean. Two time a week.”

“Where?”

“A’vent, thir’ floor.”

“Advent Investments?” said Bayless.

“Yeah.”

“They bring their own crew in?”

The man fished a key out of his pocket. Bayless snatched it. “This is for the delivery door out back. You do deliveries?”

No answer.