The Night Crew

paid, carried it out to the parking lot. Two valley guys, in their late teens or early twenties, both with buzz cuts, three-day-artist-hangout stubble and black jackets, were leaning against the hood of a beat-up Buick, and one of them said, ‘‘Hey, mama.’’
    Anna put the Fatburger sack and three cups of coffee on the hood of the truck and turned back to them: ‘‘Hey, mama, what? Huh? What?’’
    One of the guys straightened up and said, ‘‘Hey, mama, what’cha doing tonight?’’
    ‘‘I’ll tell you what I’m doing. I’m working instead of leaning my lazy fat ass on a piece-of-shit junker outside a Fatburger.’’
    ‘‘Hey . . .’’ The second guy pushed away from the Buick.
    Then Creek got out of the driver’s side of the truck and the second guy leaned back against the Buick again, while the first one hitched up his jeans. Creek said, ‘‘Anna, get in the truck.’’
    ‘‘This guy wanted to talk to me,’’ Anna said.
    ‘‘Anna!’’ Creek wasn’t taking bullshit. ‘‘Get in the fuckin’ truck.’’
    Anna, still fuming, picked up the food and got in the truck and Creek said, ‘‘Sorry, guys.’’ Back in the truck, as they pulled out, Creek said, ‘‘What was that all about, huh? You want to get in a fight outside a Fatburger and spend some more time talking to cops? Huh?’’
    ‘‘Bad day.’’
    ‘‘Bad day, my ass,’’ Creek said. ‘‘Take your fuckin’ bad day someplace else.’’
    ‘‘Jesus, you guys, go easy,’’ Louis said, nervous. Creek and Anna didn’t fight.
    ‘‘Yeah, yeah, gimme a Fatburger,’’ Creek snarled.
    They rode in silence until Anna’s cell phone rang.
    ‘‘Anna Batory?’’ Male voice. Familiar. Heavy stress, she thought.
    ‘‘Yeah.’’
    ‘‘This is the guy you met in O’Brien’s apartment this afternoon.’’
    ‘‘Yeah, Harper,’’ Anna said. ‘‘What do you want— where’d you get this number?’’
    He ignored the use of his name and the demand for an explanation of the number. ‘‘I need to see you,’’ he said. ‘‘Like right now. Actually, I need you to come to where I am.’’
    ‘‘Why should I?’’
    ‘‘Because it has something to do with you,’’ Harper said. ‘‘I gotta call the cops pretty soon, but I need you over here first.’’
    ‘‘What has to do with me?’’
    ‘‘Look, you might be in serious trouble. If you want to know about it before the cops come banging on your door, come see me now. Otherwise . . . and hey, you might even make a few bucks.’’
    She thought for a second, then said, ‘‘I’m bringing a friend.’’
    ‘‘It’ll cause them trouble,’’ Harper said.
    ‘‘I’m not gonna be alone with you. Not after you jumped me, like that, you . . . abuser.’’
    Creek looked at her oddly, and Harper, after a second, said, ‘‘Whatever you want to do.’’ Harper was waiting under a streetlight on Cumpston, a couple of blocks south of Burbank Boulevard, a neighborhood of stucco ranch homes. The yard behind him was bordered with an evergreen hedge, long untrimmed, and pierced by a picket gate that had curls of white paint peeling off.
    Creek got out with Anna.
    ‘‘I understand you had a problem with Anna,’’ Creek said, and Anna suddenly realized that she might have a problem with the two men.
    Harper had turned toward Creek with a small crouching movement that suggested he’d just set his feet; and he wasn’t backing up.
    He was good-looking in a mildly beat-up way, Anna thought, a big man with broad shoulders, big hands, a nose that had been broken a couple of times. He carried a heavy tan, with sun-touched hair, like a beach bum, but he was too old for that: late thirties, she thought. He wore an expensive black sport coat, silk, she thought, over a pair of jeans.
    And way down in the lizard part of her brain, something went, ‘‘Hmm . . .’’
    Creek was gliding sideways and Harper was pivoting to cover him, and Anna said, ‘‘I swear to God, the first one of you guys who throws a punch, I’ll kick him in the balls.’’
    Creek stopped moving and Harper relaxed, spread his hands. He glanced quickly at Anna but spoke to Creek: ‘‘If you had the same problem, you would’ve done the same thing, pal.’’
    Creek stared for another moment, then nodded abruptly: ‘‘So what do you want?’’
    ‘‘I want you to come in here,’’ he said. He tipped his head back toward the house. ‘‘But don’t touch