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much fun now. Maybe.
    â€œI’ll go get the first-aid kit,” he said. He left as the sirens grew louder.
    Evelyn had to make a decision. If she stayed, she reasoned, she wouldn’t be able to give the cops much. She hadn’t seen anything that the other witnesses hadn’t. On the other hand, her continued presence here would definitely jeopardize the case against the Armenians, who were surely a much greater threat to society than some lone gunman with terrible aim. Right?
    Her earlobe started to sting. She made sure that no one was paying attention to her and slipped out the front door.
    Â 
    EVELYN SAW LIGHTS FLASHING ACROSS the water—the cops were coming by boat. So she headed inland until she found an unpaved road that ran parallel to the beach, behind the resorts and restaurants. She walked along that for half an hour or so, tripping in the darkness and fighting off mosquitoes. When she figured that she’d gone far enough, she cut back toward the beach to a hotel pier, and from there she caught the ferry to town.
    Evelyn sent Sarah a text from the ferry.
    Howzit, sweetpea? Everything here is great but miss u. Love, mom.
    It was eleven o’clock by the time she got back to her resort. Her dress was torn and her hair was a mess. Not to mention the mosquito bites on her legs and the wounded earlobe, caked with dried blood. The female desk clerk in the lobby gave her a sour look. Assuming, no doubt, that Evelyn was just another debauched gringa tourist, fresh off some wild, booze-soaked sexual encounter.
    Evelyn wished. She ducked her head and hurried past.

Chapter 5
    M aybe Shake was just feeling sorry for himself, but each bullet, it seemed, had managed to cause the maximum possible damage to his restaurant.
    He frowned at yet another ugly gouge in the floor. One bullet had hit the paneled wall in such a way that the wood cracked, splintered, and split apart, floor to ceiling. Two lanterns had been blasted to pieces. Two windows broken. An antique ship’s wheel had fallen off the wall and crushed an antique ship in a bottle.
    Cops swarmed all over the dining room, digging bullets out of the walls and bagging shell casings and dusting every surface for fingerprints. This was the most excitement the San Pedro Police Department had seen in years. They were having the time of their lives.
    â€œIt was a robbery,” one of the cops sitting with Shake said.
    â€œIt wasn’t a robbery,” Shake said. “I told you. He was shooting at the old guy.”
    â€œWhy?” the other cop asked.
    â€œAsk him,” Shake said.
    Quinn was sitting across the room with another cop and the chief of police. He had his legs crossed and was doing all the talking.
    Shake didn’t much care why the gunman had been shooting at the old guy. Shake had bigger worries. His restaurant was trashed and he couldn’t afford to shut down, not even for a minute. Baby Jesus would expect his next payment, rain or shine, no excuses.
    Shake watched Quinn pour himself a glass of wine. Miraculously, his bottle of Argentine white had survived the mayhem. When Shake had gone to see if Quinn was okay, right after the gunman fled, Quinn had waved the question off. “Hell,” he’d said.
    â€œPlease describe the robber again,” the cop told Shake now.
    Shake sighed. “Six two, two hundred pounds or so, a white guy.”
    â€œHe was a white guy.”
    â€œHe was a white guy.”
    â€œBut you said he was wearing a mask!” The cop leaned forward, eyes shining. He’d seen too many reruns of Law & Order.
    â€œIt was a ski mask,” Shake said. “I could see part of his nose and some of his forehead.”
    â€œAnd that was white?”
    â€œAnd around his eyes. Yes. It was white.”
    The other cop made a note in his notebook.
    Shake looked around the room. The woman, Evelyn, had disappeared. He didn’t know what to make of that. She’d been gone when