The Watchman by Robert Crais Page A

phone.
    The girl said, “That smells incredible.”
    “Would you like a glass of milk, or water?”
    “Please. The milk.”
    With her sunglasses off, her eyes were red, and Cole wondered if she had been crying. She caught him looking, and flashed the crooked smile. It was smart and inviting, and could never be made by someone who had just been crying, but there it was. Cole thought, this kid has had plenty of practice hiding herself.
    Cole said, “You look familiar.”
    “I do?”
    “Are you an actress?”
    “Oh God, no.”
    She opened the sandwich and made a little squeal that didn’t go with the smile.
    “This is perfect! I didn’t want to be a pain before, but I’m a vegetarian. How did you know?”
    “Didn’t. I made these for Joe. He’s a vegetarian, too.”
    “
Him
?”
    She glanced out at Pike, and Cole thought her smile straightened.
    “Red meat makes him aggressive.”
    She laughed, and Cole found himself liking her. She took a tremendous bite of the sandwich, then another. She watched Pike on the deck as she chewed.
    “He doesn’t say much.”
    “He’s into telepathy. He can also walk through walls.”
    She took another bite, though this one was not so large. She went back to staring at Pike again, but her smile was gone and her eyes seemed thoughtful.
    “He shot a man right in front of me. I saw the blood.”
    “A man who was trying to kill you.”
    “It was so loud. Not like in the movies.”
    “No. It’s loud.”
    “You can feel it.”
    “I know.”
    “They keep finding me.”
    Cole touched her back.
    “Hey—”
    Her eyes fixed on Pike.
    “Can he get in trouble?”
    Cole didn’t answer because Pike stepped in from the deck.
    “We have a place. Let’s go.”
    She glanced at her sandwich again, then his.
    “But you haven’t eaten. I haven’t finished.”
    “We’ll eat in the car.”
    Cole followed them out, said his good-byes, and watched them drive away. He did not ask Pike where they were going, and Pike didn’t say. He knew Pike would call him when they were safe.
    Cole looked at his house, then considered his car. Joe Pike was the only thing that had been in Cole’s life longer than the house and the car. They met back when Pike was still riding a black-and-white and Cole was working as an apprentice to old George Feider, Cole still piling up the three thousand hours of experience he needed to be licensed as a private investigator. Pike had referred to George as Cole’s T.O.—his training officer. Bud Flynn had been Pike’s training officer when Pike was a rookie, and Pike had revered the man.
    Cole found himself smiling. A few years later when Cole had the hours and Pike was off the job, George retired, so Cole and Pike pooled their money to buy Feider’s business, both of them agreeing Cole’s name would be the only name on the door. Pike had no intention of getting a license. He had other businesses by then and only wanted to help Cole part-time, saying without him covering Cole’s back, Cole would probably get himself killed. Cole hadn’t known whether or not Pike had been joking, but that was part of Pike’s charm.
    If these people know who I am, they might try to find me through you.
    Cole took a deep breath. He drew the air deep, expanding his chest until the pain made his eyes water, then he went back into the house.
    They might try to find me through you.
    Cole thought, Let’m bring it—I got your back, too, brother.
    He went to work.
     
     
     

7
     
     
    PIKE CRUISED east on Sunset Boulevard into the purpling sky, driving easy for the first time in twenty hours, invisible in the anonymous car. When they passed Echo Lake with its fountain, dim in the twilight, Pike turned north into the low hills of Echo Park. The houses would be nicer east of the park, but the twisting residential streets to the north were narrow and the homes were clapboard shotguns. Prewar street lamps were flickering on when they reached the address.
    Pike said, “This is