Myron looked first at the tall cop, then back at the short one with the mustache. Then he said: “Darryl Hall called. He wants to know if the reunion tour is still on.”

That made the smiles vanish.

The taller officer said, “Put your hands behind your back.”

“What, are you going to tell me he doesn’t look like John Oates?”

“Hands behind your back now!”

“Hall and Oates? ‘Sarah Smile’? ‘She’s Gone’?”

“Now!”

“It’s not an insult. Many chicks dug John Oates, I’m sure.”

“Turn around now!”

“Why?”

“I’m cuffing you. We’re taking you in.”

“On what charge?”

“Assault and battery.”

“On whom?”

“Jake Wolf. He told us you trespassed on his residence and attacked him.”

Bingo.

His cop-needling had worked. Now he knew why these guys were on him. It wasn’t about him being a suspect in Aimee’s disappearance. It was the pressure brought upon them by one Big Jake Wolf.

Of course, the plan hadn’t gone perfectly. They were arresting him now.

The John Oates cop snapped on the cuffs, making the obvious move of having them pinch his skin. Myron checked out the taller one. He looked a little nervous now, his eyes darting about. Myron figured that was a good thing.

The shorter one dragged him by the cuffs back to the same gray Chevy that had been tailing him since he’d left his house. He pushed Myron into the backseat, trying to hit his head on the doorframe, but Myron was ready and ducked it. In the front seat, Myron spotted a camera with a telephoto lens, just as Win had said.

Hmm. Two cops taking pictures, following him from his house, stopping him from talking to Randy, cuffing him—Big Jake had some juice.

The taller one stayed outside and paced. This was all going a little too fast for him. Myron decided that he could play that. The short one with the bushy mustache and dark curly hair slid into the seat next to Myron and grinned.

“I really liked ‘Rich Girl,’ ” Myron said to him. “But ‘Private Eyes’—I mean, what was up with that song? ‘Private eyes, they’re watching you.’ I mean, don’t all eyes watch you? Public, private, whatever?”

The short guy’s fuse blew faster than anticipated. He took a swing at Myron’s gut. Myron was still ready. One of the lessons Myron had learned over the years was how to take a punch. It was crucial if you were going to get into any physical confrontation. In a real fight, you almost always get hit, no matter how good you are. How you reacted psychologically often decided the outcome. If you don’t know what to expect, you shrivel up and cower. You get too defensive. You let the fear conquer you.

If the blow is a headshot, you need to play the angles. Don’t let the punch land square, especially on the nose. Even slight head tilts can help. Instead of four knuckles landing, maybe it will only be two or one. That makes a huge difference. You also have to relax your body, let it go. You should turn away from the strike, literally roll with the punch. When a blow is aimed at your abdomen, especially when your hands are cuffed behind your back, you need to clench the stomach muscles, shift, and bend at the waist so it doesn’t wallop the breadbasket. That was what Myron did.

The blow didn’t hurt much. But Myron, noting the taller guy’s nervousness, put on a performance that would have made De Niro take notes.

“Aarrrggggghhh!”

“Damn, Joe,” the tall one said, “what the hell are you doing?”

“He was making fun of me!”

Myron stayed bent over and faked loss of breath. He wheezed, he retched, he started coughing uncontrollably.

“You hurt him, Joe!”

“I just knocked the wind out of him. He’ll be fine.”

Myron coughed more. He faked like he couldn’t breathe. Then he added convulsions. He rolled back his eyes and started bucking like a fish on the dock.

“Calm down, dammit!”

Myron stuck his tongue out, gagged some more. Somewhere, a casting agent was speed-dialing Scorsese.

“He’s choking!”

“Medicine!” Myron managed.

“What?”

“Can’t breathe!”

“Dammit, get the cuffs off him!”

“Can’t breathe!” Myron gasped and made his body wrack. “Heart medicine! In my car!”

The taller one opened the door. He grabbed the keys from his partner and unlocked the cuffs. Myron kept up with the convulsions and eye rolls.

“Air!”

The tall one was wide-eyed. Myron could see what he was thinking: out of hand. This was getting too out of hand.

“Air!”

The tall one stepped aside. Myron rolled out of the car. He got up and pointed to his car. “Medicine!”

“Go,” the taller one said.

Myron ran to his car. The two officers, dumbfounded, just watched. Myron had expected that. They were just here to scare him off. They had not expected any back talk. They were town cops. The citizens of this happy suburb obeyed them without question. But this guy hadn’t bowed to them. They’d lost their cool and assaulted a man. This could mean huge trouble. They both just wanted it to end. So did Myron. He had learned what he needed to—Big Jake Wolf was scared and trying to hide something.

So when Myron reached his car, he slid into the driver’s seat, put the key in the ignition, started it up, and simply drove off. He glanced in his rearview mirror. He figured that the odds were on his side, that the two cops would not chase him.

They didn’t. They just stood there.

In fact, they looked relieved to just let him go.

He had to smile. Yep, there was no question about it now.

Myron Bolitar was baaack.

CHAPTER 30

Myron was trying to figure out what to do next when his cell phone rang. The caller ID read OUT OF AREA. He picked it up. Esperanza said, “Where the hell are you?”

“Hey, how’s the honeymoon going?”

“Like crap. Do you want to know why?”

“Is Tom not putting out?”

“Yeah, you men are so tough to seduce. No, my problem is that my business partner is not answering calls from our clients. My business partner is also not in the office to cover my absence.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, well, that covers it.”

“I’ll have Big Cyndi transfer all the calls directly to my cell. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”