Troubleshooter by Gregg Hurwitz Page A

preposterous that riding bareheaded even has to be granted as a favor. We've been petitioning against the helmet laws for years. So much for Patrick Henry--you won't let people risk their own skulls."
    Guerrera said, "Helmet laws save--"
    "Great. A bean counter. Accounting can't justify everything. What you forget is, your numbers erode our freedoms. What's the deaths-per-year cutoff to make something illegal these days? What's next? Diet legislation to cut heart-disease stats? Burgers? French fries? Supersize it and ride the pine in county for the night. What do you say, boys?"
    "We refer to them as freedom fries now, ma'am."
    Tim said, "If any of the nomads contact you, we want to know."
    "Of course. Insert yourselves into every aspect of everything regardless of your understanding or the casualty rate."
    "I'm not sure I'm catching your drift."
    "Bikers are true patriots. As American as laissez-faire economics. They administer their own justice. Surely you can relate to that, miraculously reinstated Deputy Rackley." She seemed disappointed by Tim's nonreaction, not that it slowed her down. "During the grudge match between the Sinners and Cholos, neither club complained to the police or requested protection. You should have let them be."
    "To kill each other?"
    "Beats killing federal officers and innocent bystanders. Which is what happened when you imposed your laws on them. Laws and bikers are like sodium and nitric acid. You're the geniuses playing chemist."
    "Someone drank the Kool-Aid," Bear muttered.
    "You're right. All three of you have stained chins. Aren't you sick of being told what to do? The corporations pay the lobbyists, the laws get passed, and you enforce them. Tax laws. Drug laws. Patriot Act II, the Sequel. Your boss tells you to come sniff around here, and you prick up your little ears and obey."
    "I hadn't realized my ears were pricked," Tim said.
    "And my ears just stick out that way naturally," Bear added.
    "So by way of protest," Guerrera chimed in, "you take the side of gang-rapists and cop killers."
    "Don't you read the papers, Deputy? This country is rotting from the top down. There are no sides anymore."
    Tim said, "There are always sides."
    "Not for me."
    "I bet that makes it easier to sleep at night."
    "Don't play that card with me. I like my Jaguar. I like flying a chartered jet. I like billing six-fifty an hour. And I have no problems sleeping at night. You walk in here, your shoulders squared with all that unequivocal midwestern confidence that comes with thinking you're moral--"
    "I grew up in Pasadena."
    "Same difference."
    "Not to me. I would have preferred the Midwest." Tim nodded at Bear and Guerrera, and they headed out. He paused at the door. "We'll be seeing you soon."
    Her cheeks were still flushed from her tirade. "How's that?"
    "I'm planning to spend more quality time with your clients."

    Chapter 9
    Twenty motor units led the official funeral cortege, an ironic biker send-off, followed by fifty black-and-whites. Behind the caissons bearing the caskets and two riderless horses with reversed stirrups--a tradition holding on from Saxon days--came another police phalanx, trailed by a solemn convoy of unmarked cars. The procession slowed around Chinatown to accommodate a pipe-and-drum band. Local-affiliate TV crews formed up with crowds along the downtown streets, grabbing highlights for the six o'clock news. Evincing terrorist-age sensitivity, people waved flags, prayed silently, pressed their hands to their chests. Uniformed peace officers wore black ribbons across their badges. Grief was rampant but, no less, fear.
    As the draped caskets rolled past, spectators gave in to emotion. The martial choreography was, after all, largely for them--the citizens on hand and the multitudes tuned in from home. The void opened up by the slaying of an officer could be compensated for only by symbolism, an overwhelming show of force and tradition to reassure citizens that they weren't under attack,