Troubleshooter

Chapter 35

Who the hell are you?" Bear asked.

Richie Rich reclined on the wall-mounted bench, his shoulders and head propped against the bars. They'd put him in Cell Block's keep-away zone, behind the holding pens for the standard fare-gangbangers and second-tier mafiosos awaiting court appearances. Additional steel doors covered the mesh gates back here, protecting the identities of the detainees. Witnesses offering testimony against high-profile defendants were stored here, as well as HIV-positive prisoners, hard cases, and juveniles. The single-occupant cells were metal wonderlands-aluminum toilets, steel-reinforced security cams, sturdy sink columns. Everything was bolted or welded down.

The paint on Tim's shirt had hardened, staining the fabric Lion's Tongue Red. A trickle of a less virile tint had dried behind his ear; he'd spent the ride back to Roybal picking bits of windshield glass from his matted hair. Tannino had swapped out his. 357 at the command post, wearing a droll expression-"And to think you objected to the nickname." The marshal was back in his office now, lighting up the phone board.

Tim and Bear had pulled in Guerrera, who leaned quietly against the bars, preoccupied. Bear had presented him his St. Michael medallion from the Impala's rearview mirror, and he'd taken it reluctantly, like a war widow accepting Old Glory. The bullet-riddled vehicle had required a flatbed tow.

"We have you on tape shooting Raymond Smiles." Bear grimaced and rubbed the red indentation on his forehead. His headache and the ribbing he'd gotten in the command post-Thomas and Freed had wrapped bandages around their heads like turbans, and Jim had adhered a battery-operated police light to his crown with heavy-duty rubber bands-didn't seem to be helping his mood. "FBI agent you capped in a restaurant in October. You left him facedown in his tiramisu. You remember?"

Rich tore off a dirty thumbnail with his teeth and spit it on the floor. "He was still on the entree."

"Did you switch teams, Richie Rich?" Bear pressed. "You go on someone's payroll?"

Rich gingerly touched the nasty bruise by his temple.

Tim watched him closely. "You're undercover," he said. "Customs or