Free No Rest for the Wicked by A. M. Riley Page A

REVOLVER
    AND ATHLETIC CLUB sign appeared around a bend in the road.
    “Just cruise past the lot. I'll tell you when to stop.”
    Drew's mouth set in a grim line, but he did as I asked. Sure enough, I spotted Peter's Mustang in the attendant parking lot. I waited until we were almost out of sight and then said.
    “Here. Just park it here for a while. Try to look inconspicuous.”
    “Inconspicuous? What the hell you up to, man?”
    “Just do it.”
    From where I sat, I could see the parking lot behind us in Drew's driver's side rearview mirror.
    Happily, Peter was a punctual creature of habit. He'd always had the late brunch around three p.m., and, sure enough, just as Drew was beginning to glance at his watch, I saw Peter and Jonathan appear next to Peter's Mustang. They chatted for a minute there by the car.
    Jonathan put his hand on Peter's arm.
    Peter smiled and shook his head. He unlocked his car.
    But Jonathan kept his hand on Peter's arm and said something else. He seemed insistent.
    “Dude, Betsy's gonna pierce me a new one,” said Drew.
    “Another minute,” I said.
    Peter hesitated, listening to Jonathan talk earnestly. Then he planted both feet and stuck his hands in his pockets. He seemed to be considering whatever case Jonathan was pleading.
    Drew cranked the ignition and put the truck into gear.
    “Don't move,” I commanded. I pulled out my phone and dialed Peter's number.
    “Hello, Adam,” he answered. “We were just talking about you.”
    “Guess my ears were burning,” I said lightly.
    Two blocks away, still I saw his little bat ears prick up and his head raise and swivel as if he could instinctively feel me nearby. Happily, Peter had never seen Drew's truck so he wouldn't recognize it.
    “What's up?” he asked.
    “Just wanted to say hello,” I said.
    A silence and I kicked myself. Now he was suspicious. I never called Peter just to chat. I hated shooting the shit.
    “Are you all right?”
    “Yeah, of course.”
    “You sure?” Peter was definitely picking up the scent of something hinky.
    “Yeah. Um. Gotta go. See you tonight?”
    “Your team in?”
    “Not sure yet.”
    Peter made an impatient noise. “Nancy's sticking her neck out on this. I want to back her up.”
    “I just need to finesse things a little.”
    In the mirror, I could see him pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. Over the phone receiver, I heard him snuffling into it. “Is there a problem?”
    “No.”
    He exhaled a disbelieving laugh but said, “She's set to go as soon as we have a location.
    Call me soon, okay?”
    “You got it.”
    We simultaneously disconnected and I watched as he pocketed his phone, saying something to Jonathan, who crossed his arms, looking truculent. Good.
    “Dude, Betsy's paging me,” said Drew.
    Jonathan was still talking, but Peter was shaking his head, and I knew that expression.
    Even from far away and seeing him through two layers of glass, I could tell that Peter was not going to be swayed by whatever Jonathan had to say.
    “Okay, we can go,” I told Drew.
    Drew pulled out from the curb and kept driving around the curve of Academy Road until we got back to Elysian and hung a left toward the freeway.
     
    After Peter had passed from my limited view, I went back to sit with Caballo, who had taken up his game again.
    “We done spying on your hottie boyfriend?”
    He was focused on the little toy, thumbs busy, eyes on the screen.
    “How do you know he's a hottie?” I asked.
    Caballo laughed. “Seen him before, dog. He lives in the condo where you stash your bike, right?”
    Caballo dropped the game when I landed on him, one fist holding his throat, the other raised to splinter his face into a million pieces. “Don't you go near him.”
    Caballo's mouth opened and closed, but he didn't say anything. Probably because I had his throat squeezed shut in my hand. His eyes bulged.
    Then his knee came up and caught me hard enough to knock me loose. I fell back and he jumped me. “You