Troubleshooter

9/11?"

"You rep all the Sinners?"

"I do."

"How's that arranged?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm on retainer to the club."

Bear said, "Lucrative, I'd imagine."

Her gaze dropped to his feet. "I don't buy my shoes at Payless."

"You know where that money comes from?"

"And your paychecks come from an Enron-funded junta government that supports tyrannical monarchies and wages illegal war in violation of international law and against UN votes. Looks like you've got the moral upper hand on a sleazy gal like me. Let's get to business. I bill six-fifty an hour. This diverting badinage with the constabulary has already cost me"-a glance to her Baume amp; Mercier-"a hundred and twenty-five dollars."

"I'm sure Uncle Pete'll pick up the tab," Bear said.

"Good idea. I'll inform Billing."

Tim produced the municipal permission allowing the Sinners to ride without helmets in that morning's funeral procession. She lowered her head into a pair of frameless half-glasses and perused it. She finished, and her glasses took flight, landing softly on the legal pad on her desk. "What's your angle?"

"Goodness of my heart. I was told to smooth things over so our fine city's middle-class churchgoers can sleep soundly in their beds."

She refolded the permission. "I'll drag you through the press if we take you at your word and you use it to roust my clients." She seemed to speak without breathing, a rapid-fire assault perfected by years of courtroom performance. "It's 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."