I glanced over at him, and wasn't impressed. He acted tough with his shaved head and gym-rat muscles, and maybe he was, but he came across like an actor who won fights without sweating because he lived in a make-believe world where every woman was last year's Miss June.

I said, "How could I not understand, them having beachfront up my ass? Now that I'm scared, who are you and what do you want?"

"Golden's computer."

I glanced in the mirror again. Neither of the men in the Toyo appeared to be Golden, but I couldn't be sure.

"Do you think I have it with me here in the car? I don't have it."

"Where is it?"

"With a friend in Culver City. I gave it to him for safekeeping."

"Fine. We'll pick it up from your friend."

"Did Golden send you?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Is he in the Toyota?"

"Let's go see your friend."

He flicked the atom bomb to remind me it might go off, so I shrugged.

"Okay. If that's what you want."

We didn't bother with the freeway; we dropped south out of downtown, and used the surface streets. It was a lot faster. Only an hour and twenty minutes.

When we reached Culver City, I approached the back of the shop through a residential area and an alley with our escorts close behind. I didn't want them to see where we were going until it was too late.

"Where are we going?"

"He has a little business nearby. They're closed now, but he'll still be there with the computer."

"What's this asshole's name?"

"Joe."

"If he makes any trouble, we'll cook his ass."

"I understand. Hey, you're the man with the gun."

"Remember it."

I turned down the alley behind the row of stores where Joe Pike has his business and pulled into the delivery spot directly outside the back door. Joe's gleaming red Jeep was to my left and a highly polished Chevy truck was to the right. The white Toyota pulled up behind us, blocking me in. A small gray peephole stared out at us from the door.

"Okay," I said. "This is it."

He glanced at the door. A sign hung above it saying:

PART FOUR

FIREARMS ARMED RESPONSE UNNECESSARY

"What the fuck, a gun store?""Yeah, this is his. He has several businesses."

I tapped the horn twice, and the man with the bag lurched, jerking the bag up toward me.

"Fuckin' asshole! What the fuck?"

"Take it easy. He won't answer the door after business hours. I have to let him know to come to the back. C'mon, you want to get the computer or not?"