He handed the bag to the back seat and picked up his phone. Flipping through the screens, he found the jailbreak app the boys made for getting through the firewall of the California Motor Vehicles Department database. He tapped it open and looked across the lot to type in the Mazda plate. While the phone did its job, he licked the rest of the powder off the stirrer.

A file opened: Stacie Singer. Thackrey sighed. “How does anyone end up with a name like that?”

Russell leaned forward to see the screen. “Guessed the wrong name. Minus five points.” He bobbed in time with the techno in his earbuds.

Thackrey opened Facebook and typed in the name. “Shouldn’t I get something for guessing a name ending in ‘e’?” As the search ran, Thackrey turned in his seat. “So, Victor, my faithful hadji, have we thought about how to remove the blood from the trunk liner?”

Victor’s head rested against the window, eyes closed. “I think we need to talk about what just happened. Do you know what you’ve done, ’cause it sure seems like you don’t.”

“No hurry, of course. But eventually steps will need to be taken. It’s a liner. Can’t it be removed?”

Russell looked thoughtful. “Too bad we didn’t put down plastic.”

“Do—you—know—what—you’ve—done?” asked Victor, louder this time.

Thackrey reached behind him and tapped the phone against Victor’s knee. “Hey, man, I know exactly what we’ve done. Now let’s focus on what we do about it.”

Victor opened his eyes. “Two options. One, I remove the liner and wash it in a large-capacity machine at a laundromat.”

“That’s going to attract a lot of attention and be remembered later,” Russell said. “Besides, the blood’s in the fibers now.”

“Or, two, I replace the liner with a new one. I order it online and request overnight. Have it by tomorrow.”

“You always were the smart one,” Thackrey said.

“Thank you, sahib.” Victor bowed his head.

Thackrey lowered the driver’s side window. Victor could be trusted, although trust, like many other things, would require effort and attention on Thackrey’s part. Outside, the sky was dark and leaden. Along the western horizon, coastal fog blew inland to blanket the rooftops like the folds of a shroud. “By the by, chums, as grateful as I am for your assistance tonight, you’re not done. The bell tolls three times for betrayers. You’re helping me with two more things concerning my late friend.”

“You’re joking,” Victor said. “After the risks we just took, Russ and I are packing up and getting out.”

“Before you skulk away, you’re going to help me clean up this mess. Otherwise, I call the locals about a certain vintage Mercedes in the park tonight. We used your car, didn’t we?”

“You’re a shit, you know that? This is your problem, not ours.”