The Narrows

hear the conversation in room 22. The sound of a door shutting ended that idea. He guessed Rachel had just left. Backus returned to the breezeway and hid behind a Coke machine when he heard a car's ignition fire. He waited and listened. He detected the sound of another car entering the lot. He moved from the Coke machine to the corner and glanced out. A man was getting out of a taxi and Backus recognized him, too. It was Terry McCaleb's charter partner. There was no doubt. Backus felt like he had just tripped across a treasure of intrigue and mystery. What was Rachel up to? How had she connected with the charter partner so quickly? And what was the LAPD doing here?
    He looked past the taxi and saw Rachel's Crown Victoria pull out onto the street and drive away. He waited a moment and saw one of the Grand Ams stop and pick up the man on the bus bench and then take off. Backus yanked the brim of his hat down again and stepped out of the breezeway. He walked toward his car.

CHAPTER 26
    I was looking through the peephole, thinking about Agent Walling, and wondering how the brutal terrain of the FBI and the Dakotas had not robbed her of her fire and sense of humor. I liked her for that and sensed a connection. I was thinking that I might be able to trust her at the same time I was thinking I had just been played by a pro. I was sure she hadn't told me everything she was up to, nobody ever does, but she had told me enough. We wanted the same thing, maybe for different reasons. But I wasn't second-guessing my decision to take on the extra rider in the morning.
    The view through the peephole was suddenly filled with the concave image of Buddy Lockridge. I opened the door before he could knock and quickly pulled him inside. I wondered if Walling had seen him on her way out
    "Perfect timing, Buddy. Did anybody talk to you or stop you out there?"
    "Where, here?"
    "Yeah, here." "No, I just got out of the cab."
    "Okay, then where have you been?"
    He explained his lateness by saying there were no cabs at the Bellagio, a story I didn't believe. I saw one of the pockets of his jeans bulging when I took from him the two files he carried.
    "That's bullshit, Buddy. Cabs can be hard to find in this town but not at the Bellagio. There are always cabs there."
    I reached over and slapped my hand against his full pocket.
    "You stopped to play, didn't you? You've got a pocket full of chips there."
    "Look, I stopped to play a couple quick shots of blackjack before coming. But I got lucky, man. I couldn't lose. Look at this."
    He reached into the pocket and pulled out a handful of five-dollar chips.
    "I was kicking ass! And you can't walk away from good luck."
    "Yeah, great. That will help you pay for that room you've got."
    Buddy looked around my place, taking it in. Through the open balcony there was traffic and jetliner noise.
    "Gladly," he said. "I ain't going to stay here."
    I almost laughed, considering what I had seen of his boat.
    "Well, you're welcome to stay wherever you want because I don't need you out here anymore. Thanks for bringing the files."
    His eyes widened.
    "What?" "I've got a new partner. The FBI. So you can go back to L.A. as soon as you want or you can play blackjack until you own the Bellagio. I'll pay the airfare, like I said, and for the chopper ride to the island and forty bucks toward the room. That's the daily rate at this place."
    I held up the files.
    "I'll throw in a couple hundred for your time getting these and getting here."
    "No way, man. I came all the way out here, man. I can still help. I've worked with the agents before, when me and Terry worked a thing."
    "That was then, Buddy, this is now. Come on. I'll give you a ride back to your hotel. I hear cabs are scarce and I'm going that way anyway."
    After closing the balcony door I walked him out of the apartment and locked up. I brought the files with me for reading later. As we were walking down the steps to the parking lot I looked around for the security man but didn't see him. I looked around for Rachel Walling and didn't see her either. I did see my neighbor Jane putting a shoebox into the trunk of a car, a white Monte Carlo. From my angle on the steps I could see the trunk was crowded with other, larger boxes.
    "You're better off with me," Buddy said, protest still clinging to his voice. "You can't trust the bureau, man. Terry was in it and he didn't even trust them."
    "I know, Buddy. I've been dealing with the bureau for thirty years."
    He just