Turning the hair dryer on, he blew warm air over Smythe’s frozen face until it was ice-free, then held the phone over his face until the screen unlocked. He hadn’t been that concerned about the texts until now, but if she called 911, it would suck. He needed a little time to pack his printers and the few belongings he’d taken from the Yuba City house.

I’m fine, he texted back. Not dead. 24-hr bug. Feeling better. Love you.

Glad u r not dead! The message was punctuated by heart emojis. Will call tonight. Miss u.

“Fuck,” he muttered. If she called and he didn’t answer, she might call 911. That was what he needed to avoid. Miss u, he replied.

He’d get the truck loaded up with his stuff, just in case. But he’d use some of the time to print more license plates. What he hoped for was to get Kowalski to back off and stop trying to kill him, but he didn’t think that was likely. So now he was focused on finding Kowalski’s hangouts. What he really wanted was Kowalski’s weapons stash, but if he stumbled on a vehicle along the way, he’d take it, because the Lexus was too dangerous to drive now. The BOLO on him listed the car’s make, model, and color along with the note that it would have fake plates.

Assholes. He was putting the blow dryer away when another text arrived on Smythe’s phone. It was a photo of some really cute kids all lined up, mouths open like birds. They were singing.

The next text read: Liam was the very best!

Liam, DJ had deduced, was the couple’s grandson, the event a concert at the kid’s school.

Send video, DJ typed back, because that was what Smythe usually said. DJ had wondered why the man hadn’t gone with his wife, but had realized through reading their texts that Smythe and his son-in-law did not get along.

He was lowering the freezer lid when a memory tickled his brain.

Concerts. Children.

“Oh,” he breathed.

Kowalski had a kid. A little boy, around six years old. On Wednesday, the kid had done a recital at his school. It was a private school, because DJ remembered Kowalski complaining about the cost of tuition when they’d been negotiating with a customer who’d wanted a break on the price of the kilo of coke they were selling.

This could work. He knew what the kid looked like, kind of, having once seen a photo of the boy while peeking at Kowalski’s phone. He’d taken every opportunity to spy on Kowalski because, while he’d trusted him to a point, Kowalski was all about himself. As are we all.

He’d wanted to learn, wanted to know the important details, so he’d risked looking over Kowalski’s shoulder. Therefore, DJ had a decent recollection of the boy’s face.

Schools had Facebook pages and websites. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA