Free The Fourth Motive by Sean Lynch

And he’s willing to pay.”
    “Holy shit,” Kearns said. “I always knew you were crazy, but this is insane; even
     for you.”
    “It’s just another job, Kevin. Same as any other except it pays more, a lot more.
     I need your help.”
    “It’s not ‘just another job’. You’re being hired by the parent of a deputy DA who
     hates our guts, has the means to do something about it, and would like nothing more
     than to see you and me showering together in San Quentin every morning for the rest
     of our lives.”
    “Kevin,” Farrell persisted. “If you come in with me on this case, it’s not only money
     that’s going to be coming your way. Iron Gene Callen has serious juice. He’s the financial
     director for the Alameda County sheriff’s and district attorney’s reelection campaigns.
     One word from him and you get a no-questions-asked appointment as a sworn deputy to
     the Alameda County Sheriff’s Department. Iron Gene makes a phone call and you’re in.
     You could be in the next academy.”
    Kearns sat up straighter. Farrell knew he had his undivided attention.
    “You already spoke to him about me?”
    “Of course,” Farrell said. “I told him I needed to bring on a partner. I didn’t specifically
     name you, but I think the old bastard suspects who I was referring to. He’s read our
     entire file.”
    Kearns leaned closer to Farrell. “What would I have to do?”
    “Nothing we haven’t done before. Mostly bodyguard duty. Shadow Paige Callen. Be prepared
     to intervene in the event of another attack. Help me track down the asshole stalking
     her.” Farrell’s voice lowered. “Convince him to leave Judge Callen’s daughter alone.”
    “Now I get it,” Kearns said. “That’s the real reason this Judge Callen guy didn’t
     hire a reputable private investigations firm. He wants this stalker’s ticket punched.”
    “Like I said, Kevin, you’re a born detective.”
    “Shit, Bob, even if I wanted to partner up with you again, I don’t even own a gun
     anymore. Or a permit to carry it concealed. My revolver is still locked away in the
     evidence room at the Omaha police department.”
    “Got that covered.” Farrell winked. He extracted a folded paper from his inside pocket.
     “I told you Iron Gene has juice, didn’t I? Fill this out and I’ll give it to the Judge
     tomorrow morning. You’ll have your CCW permit approved by tomorrow night.”
    Kearns accepted the form from Farrell. On examination, he found it to be a county
     application for a permit to carry a concealed weapon.
    “A bit of a presumption, wasn’t it?”
    “Not at all. I need you on this one, Kevin. We’re a team, you and me. We both know
     I can count on you in a pinch and then some. We belong together; like Holmes and Watson.”
    “More like Martin and Lewis. And I’m still unarmed.”
    “Not for long,” Farrell said smugly. He reached back into the pocket of his raincoat
     and withdrew a heavy parcel wrapped in an oiled cloth. He thrust it at Kearns.
    “Open it. Christmas came early.”
    Kearns peeled away the cloth to find a large-frame Smith & Wesson revolver with a
     four-inch barrel. The model number on the barrel read “58” and the caliber was .41
     magnum. The weapon had a bit of the bluing worn off at the crown of the muzzle and
     cylinder, undoubtedly from holster wear, but had been well maintained and smelled
     of oil. Kearns opened the cylinder to verify the handgun’s unloaded status.
    “My old uniform duty gun before I made inspector. She shoots straight and hits hard.”
     Farrell handed Kearns a box of fifty hollow-point .41 magnum cartridges and a brown
     leather belt holster.
    Kearns hefted the big wheelgun. “If I get attacked by a charging rhinoceros, this
     ought to do the trick.”
    “What do you say? Can I count on your help?”
    “Give me a minute to think it over, will you? Last time I signed on with you, I got
     shot at, beat up, arrested, and carved up like a Thanksgiving