Pike waited a five-count to see if anyone would follow her out, then crossed the yard fast. He slipped in behind her as she pushed sheets into a top-loading washer. She didn’t know he was there until he wrapped his arms around her, one hand over her mouth, the other pinning her arms. Her body went stiff with an electric jolt of fear. She was strong. She arched her back, trying to twist away, kicking and stomping his legs. Pike held her close, trapping her, and made his voice calm.

“You’re safe. I want Mendoza.”

She tried to bite him.

“Is Mendoza inside?”

She finally stopped fighting, but her body was rigid. He took his hand from her mouth, but stayed ready to clamp down if she screamed. She didn’t.

“You motherfucker. Who the fuck are you?”

“Is Mendoza inside?”

“Lemme go, you bastard. You the police? Who are you?”

“Yeah, I’m the police. Is Mendoza inside?”

“Ain’t nobody here. I don’t know where that bastard is.”

“Let’s see.”

Pike walked her to the house, keeping her in front of him as he drew his weapon. He let her open the door, but listened hard before they entered. The kitchen smelled of bacon and marijuana. Pike heard the television, but no living voices or movement. He whispered in her ear.

“Slow.”

As they stepped inside, the girl suddenly called out.

“Loo-cee, I hoannn!”

Pike gripped her tighter, but she barked out a laugh.

“Homes, he ain’t here. You gotta relax.”

Pike walked her into the living room first. A large glass hash pipe sat on a coffee table opposite the television as if it were watching. He pushed her through the living room to the hall, then through the rest of the house. He checked the closets, the bathtub, and under the beds. He didn’t release her until they were back in the kitchen, where he pulled a chair from the table and told her to sit.

“Fuck you, you bitch. I ain’t gotta sit in my own fuckin’ house.”

“Sit, or I’ll make you.”

Pike saw a fading bruise high on her left cheek as Carla Fuentes looked him over. Her eyes held on his tattoos as if seeing something familiar, and then she sat.

“You ain’t five-oh. You’re the dude broke his arm.”

“Where is he?”

“You find him, you tell me. I hope you kicked his ass good.”

Pike circled the kitchen, looking for something that would give him leverage over the girlfriend or help him find Mendoza.

“If you know about me, it means you’ve seen him.”

“Bullshit it does. Means he called when they were processing him. Said he would be home last night, but that bitch never showed. I got stress in my life.”

Pike found a pink cell phone on the counter by a pack of cigarettes. He opened it, and scrolled through the directory.