“Hang on.” The guard ducked back into the shack for a moment. When he reemerged, he had the keys and a clipboard. “Show me some ID, please.”

Jerry produced the driver’s license from the apartment on Ocean Boulevard. The guard looked it over, nodded, made a checkmark on the sheet in the clipboard, and gave him the keys. “Thanks,” Jerry said.

“No problem,” the guard replied. Since he had the proper papers, he’d earned the proper respect.

As he and Tim went back to the lot, Tim said, “Steinberg?”

“Yeah, well…” Jerry shrugged. “Everything they say about how security-crazy Howard Hughes is, it’s an understatement.” Which was true, if you substituted a secretive spy agency for a reclusive gazillionaire. Or, for all Jerry could prove, even if you didn’t.

“Crazy enough to get people fake licenses?” Tim said. Jerry just shrugged again. He hoped Tim wouldn’t push it. His friend didn’t; he had the same kind of politesse as the King of Siam.

There was the Rambler. It was dusty, but all the tires had air in them. Jerry opened the driver’s-side door. Hot air poured out. He rolled down the window. To Tim, he said, “Hang around till I make sure it starts, okay?”

“I was going to. I’ll give you a jump if it doesn’t.” Tim sounded offended he could have imagined anything else.

Jerry slid behind the wheel. When he turned the key, the motor fired up right away. “Ignition! Liftoff!” he said.

“Cool. Want to go somewhere and have lunch?”

“Did you see that Greek place a couple of blocks back? That might do it. They had ‘Breakfast’ on the sign, so they should be open.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tim said.

The Greek place wasn’t fancy—what harborside joint was?—but it gave a lot of food for not a whole lot of money. Tim had chicken in avgolemono sauce; Jerry got the keftedakia plate. He bought. Tim grumbled, but only for form’s sake. He’d driven Jerry here; he deserved some reward.

“You heading back up now?” Tim asked as they walked out to their cars.

“One more errand to run down here,” Jerry answered. “You saw my fake ID—forget you did, man. That never happened, okay? Anyway, I need to get my real one back.”

Tim Ishihara looked at him. “You want somebody around?” He didn’t say in case they hit you over the head with a pipe, but getting it didn’t take much reading between the lines, either.

“Everything oughta be cool.” Jerry didn’t want company. He also didn’t want to drag Tim in any deeper, although with that envelope, his friend was already in too deep.

“Okay. I sorta have to figure you know what you’re doing. I only wish I had some evidence to go with that.”