“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was me. I fucked up bad. That FBI asshole who came here, Straw? He had the credentials, he knew what to say, but he’s a fake. The real Jack Straw is sucking crawfish heads down in New Orleans right now. I should have checked the guy out, but I didn’t. That was a stupid, bush-league mistake, and it may have put a woman’s life in danger.”

Futardo stared at him as if one or both of them might have a stroke.

“You will never make this mistake, Nancy. For the rest of your career and beyond, you will question everything anyone tells you and you will always check out what they say. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Promise me.”

“Jesus, Jerry, what are we going to do?”

Button didn’t answer. He returned to his desk, and got the real Jack Straw back on the line. Button explained the situation and provided a detailed description of the fake Jack Straw to the best of his ability. When the real Jack Straw started telling Button how he wanted Button to handle the imposter, Button hung up. He took one deep breath, let it out, then dialed the number he had for the fake Jack Straw.

“Jack Straw.”

“Jerry Button here. We caught a break, man. We’re rolling to bag Rainey in five. You wanna go?”

“You found him?”

“A motor cop spotted the Prius. I am rolling in five, brother. You want to go or not?”

“All right. Sure. Where do I meet you?”

“Where are you?”

“Santa Monica.”

“Okay, that’s close. I’ll pick you up on my way.”

Button gave a location, then stowed his phone. He checked his pistol, then clipped it to his belt. Not many dicks still carried the old .38 Snubbies, but Button saw no reason to change. It was small, light, and he had never fired it against another human being.

Button slipped on his jacket and headed out. He saw Futardo grab her purse and jump up to intercept him

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna bag the fucker, Nancy. That’s my job.”

“I want to come. Can I? Please?”

Like a kid. All anxious and eager, and maybe a little afraid.

Button considered letting her come, but finally shook his head.

“Finish your reports.”

He left to bag the fake Jack Straw, and did not see when she followed.

Straw was leaning against his car at the edge of a Ralph’s parking lot on Wilshire Boulevard. Button saw the fake prick as he put on his blinker to turn, and gave a little beep. Straw stepped away from his car, all ready to go.

Button wondered what the guy was up to, pretending to be a federal agent, but figured it probably had something to do with Rainey’s money.