Illegal Read Online Free Page A

trackers from Arizona. Vaqueros y indios. Cowboys and Indians. Just like in the movies.
    "If the wind is right, the Indians can smell your burlap sacks a mile away," he claimed. "You need someone who knows what they're doing. I don't lose people in the mountains or leave them to die in the desert."
    Marisol leaned over the table, exposing even more décolletage, showing the line where the darker sun-burnished skin gave way to the softness of her crème de cacao complexion. She put a wistful note in her voice. "But if you are going tonight, and have room for two more, I promise to pay you later."
    El Tigre wiped beads of sweat from his forehead, then drained the rest of his beer. He seemed to be weighing the options, using his limited brains and his even more limited morals.
    "I won't disappoint you," she said, spicing her words like chiles in hot sauce.
    He took a pen out of a shirt pocket and scribbled an address on a paper napkin. "The stash house. We leave at midnight. Bring the money you have. We will work out the rest."
    He smiled a gold-capped grin, the contented look of a wolf contemplating a lamb.

EIGHT
     
    Sleep. Dammit. Sleep!
    Maybe it was the oysters, Payne thought.
    From the Chimney Sweep, Payne had moved to the Oyster House, a neighborhood saloon in Studio City.
    Dinner alone.
    Sitting at the bar. A dozen oysters, a spicy cioppino stew, two Sam Adams drafts, and the complimentary peach schnapps the regulars receive.
    Payne would have liked to have shared dinner with a woman. But who?
    Maybe Carol, a former client who loved shopping at Saks on Wilshire, but skipping the inconvenience of paying. Was she out of jail yet?
    Or Polly, a kosher caterer in Brentwood who specialized in festive circumcision brunches. Her business, Prelude to a Bris, was booming.
    Or that woman who owned the cat condo in Rancho Cucamonga. Hair in a tabby-colored shag, big hoop earrings. Jeez, what was her name? Well, if he couldn't remember, it must not have gone that well. And now that he thought about it, hadn't Cat Lady had a funky smell?
    What about Sharon?
    Her scent was warm and sweet. A fresh peach from the tree. And they always had great sex, though it tapered off after she'd shot him. Not that he wasn't willing, once the anesthesia wore off.
    Sharon had been aiming her nine millimeter at Lester Koenigsberg when she winged Payne. Unhappy with Payne's handling of his divorce case, Koenigsberg was holding a knife to his lawyer's neck, threatening to slice his jugular. Hardly the reaction Payne expected after disproving Mrs. Koenigsberg's allegations that Lester had a violent temper.
    Payne was semi-grateful to Sharon for saving his life. But why a detective in Consumer Frauds even needed a gun was beyond him.
    He listened to the paddle fan turn, clickety-clack ing.
    C'mon, sleep!
    He adjusted the pillow under his gimpy knee. Ever since the crash on the P.C.H., the leg wouldn't straighten completely.
    Sleep, dammit, sleep!
    The bed was just too damn big when you're alone. A cruise ship with one passenger.
    The house was a one-story, two-bedroom California bungalow with a small porch devoid of furniture. The faded green stucco could use a fresh coat of paint. The dreary 1950s kitchen smelled of mildew, the low-pitched roof leaking during winter rains. The perfect home for the unhappily divorced man.
    Payne flicked on the night-table lamp, made from a bowling pin, and stared straight into Sharon's face. An eight-by-ten glossy, taken on Mammoth Mountain. A ski trip, the background a heaven of powdery snow. Sharon's cheeks pink from the cold, Adam bundled in a parka.
    Smiling. Laughing.
    Old times. Good times. Short times.
    Oak bookshelves lined one wall. Scott Turow and George V. Higgins. Crime stories well told. Payne didn't like those courtroom novels where the lawyers were heroes. Too unrealistic.
    No, it wasn't the oysters. Or the lonely bed. Or the choking memories. The day was still with him, and all the days before that. A ton of