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them.”
    Wilson leaned back on the stool as if Pike was no smarter than the asshats who came to the hospital.
    “You know what? It’s over, all right? It’s done with, and we don’t know who did it, so let’s not make it worse.”
    He waved toward Betsy.
    “Between you and this one, I’m gonna wake up murdered.”
    Betsy said, “Don’t be a jackass.”
    Dru stared at Wilson with worried eyes, then turned away and went into the storage room. Pike followed her, and found her crying. She closed her eyes hard, then opened them, but the wet didn’t go away.
    “He’s impossible. It’s been so hard, trying to make a go of this place, and now we have these people on top of everything else.”
    She closed her eyes again, and raised a hand, stopping herself.
    “I’m sorry.”
    Pike touched her arm. One touch, then he lowered his hand.
    “It will be fine.”
    “I’ve been telling myself that for years.”
    “This time is different.”
    Pike went back to his Jeep and once more checked the time. Gomer was in the wind, but Pike knew where to find Mendoza. He would have been transported to the Pacific Community Police Station to await his arraignment after he was released from the hospital. The District Attorney’s Office had forty-eight hours to arraign him from the time of his arrest, but Pike knew they would likely bump him to the head of the line because of his injury. This meant he would probably be arraigned sometime today. If he made bail or posted bond, he would be released.
    Pike phoned his gun shop. He had five employees, two who were full-time and three who were former police officers. A man named Ronnie ran the shop, and had been with Pike a long time.
    Pike said, “You okay without me this morning?”
    “Yeah. Why?”
    “Something came up. I’m going to be busy for a while.”
    “Take your time. Do it right.”
    “Can Liz find out something for me?”
    “If she can. Whatcha need?”
    Ronnie’s youngest daughter was a Hardcore Gang prosecutor for the D.A.’s Office in Compton. Pike explained about Reuben Mendoza waiting at Pacific Station for his court appearance.
    “They’ll probably arraign him today, but they might hold him until tomorrow. Can she find out?”
    “Where are you?”
    “Cell.”
    “Call you right back.”
    Ronnie got back to him eight minutes later.
    “It’s today. They took him over this morning. That’s gonna be the Airport Courthouse down in Hawthorne. You need some help with this?”
    “I’m good.”
    Pike closed his phone and went hunting for Reuben Mendoza.

5
    T he Airport Courthouse was one of forty-eight superior courts spread among the four thousand square miles of Los Angeles County. It sat in the southwest corner of the Century Freeway/San Diego Freeway interchange, less than a pistol shot from LAX, and looked like a giant green moth with glass wings, struggling to get into the air.
    Pike left the 405, dropped down La Cienega to the courthouse, and found a place to park with an easy, eyes-forward view of the back entrance. The public could enter the building through either a front or a back entrance, but Pike knew from experience that defendants who made bail were released through the back. Pike also knew the arraignment court had no hard-and-fast calendar for seeing defendants. Right now, Mendoza would be in a holding cell with a number of other defendants. Their order of appearance before the judge would change with the changing schedules of public and private defense attorneys, attorney-client meetings, motions, and arguments. Pike was okay with waiting and would wait all day if necessary, but he suspected the court staff would take pity on Mendoza’s broken arm.
    Pike made himself comfortable. He took a deep breath, exhaled from the bottom of his lungs, then did it again. He felt his body relax and his heart rate slow. He watched the door, and breathed, and thought about nothing. Pike could sit like this for days, and had, in places far less comfortable