“I’m supposed to be worried?”

“Pocketful of felonies, Georgie Porgie.”

“Another country heard from,” said Bosc.

“You think John G.’s gonna protect you? Something tells me the chief doesn’t know about your film career.”

Bosc’s eyes got hard and cold, offering a glimpse of the meanness that lurked beneath the pretty-boy façade.

He said, “What I think is you’re fucked.” Laughter. “In the ass. Then again . . .”

Milo hefted the camera and the drugs.

Bosc said, “You think you’re seeing something, but you’re not. None of that exists.” He shook his head and chuckled. “You are so fucked.”

Milo laughed along with him. Stepped forward. Placed his foot on one of Bosc’s shins and bore down.

Bosc cried out in agony. Tears filled his eyes as he struggled to twist away.

Milo lifted his shoe.

“You asshole-fuck,” Bosc panted. “You stupid faggot fuck.”

“S’cuse me, Craig-o.”

“Go ahead,” said Bosc, catching his breath. “You’re only digging your own grave.”

Milo was silent.

Bosc’s smile returned. “You just don’t get it, do you? This is L-fucking-A. It’s not what you do, it’s who you know.”

“Connections,” said Milo. “Got yourself an agent, yet?”

“If you had a brain, you’d be an ape,” said Bosc. “You gain access to my premises with a clear B&E/kidnap combo, then add assault. We’re talking major felony, prison time to the next millennium. You think any of that shit you’re holding’s going to stand up evidentiary-wise? I’ll say you planted it.”

Milo fanned the photos. “It’s not my dick in these.”

“That’s for sure,” said Bosc. “Yours would be half the size and packed in fudge.”

Milo smiled.

“You’re out of it, man,” said Bosc. “Have been from the beginning, always will be. No matter how many 187s you close. No good deed goes unpunished, man. The longer you keep me here, the more screwed you are, and so is your shrink buddy.”

“What does he have to do with it?”

Bosc smiled and closed his eyes again, and for a moment Milo thought the guy would revert to silence. But a few seconds later, Bosc said, “It’s a game. You and the shrink are pawns.”

“Whose game?”

“Kings and bishops.”

“John G. and Walter Obey and the Cossack brothers?”

Bosc’s eyes opened. Cold again. Colder. “Stick your head up your ass and get yourself a clue. Now let me go, and maybe I’ll help you out.” Snapping out the order.

Milo placed the contraband on a table. Paced the room, as if considering compliance.

Suddenly, he hurried back to Bosc’s side, kneeled down next to Bosc, placed the tip of his finger on Bosc’s shin. Precisely on the spot where his shoe had dug in.

Bosc began to sweat.