The Night Crew

radio out of his pocket, and relayed the route to the tracking cars.
    ‘‘You do this much?’’ Anna asked.
    ‘‘Not exactly like this, but, you know—like this,’’ he said.
    ‘‘Dopers, mostly?’’
    ‘‘Little of this, little of that,’’ he said. ‘‘Some dope. Doing a little more vice lately, been backing up some of the gang guys.’’
    ‘‘You like it?’’ Anna asked.
    ‘‘Sure, it’s fun,’’ he said, and she had to smile: he was a cheerful guy, despite his ratlike exterior. Then: ‘‘I couldn’t help noticing that you’re carrying a gun.’’
    ‘‘Yup.’’ She nodded.
    ‘‘You got a permit?’’ he asked.
    ‘‘Are you kidding?’’
    ‘‘Maybe you should give it to me—the gun,’’ he said.
    ‘‘Maybe not,’’ Anna said.
    ‘‘I could take it,’’ he suggested.
    ‘‘Cop takes gun from woman stalked by serial killer who brutally murdered movie actress.’’ She looked over her shoulder at Louis. ‘‘Could we get that on the air?’’
    ‘‘Are you kidding?’’ Louis said. ‘‘I could sell it everywhere. But it’d sound better if we said, ‘Cop takes gun from woman stalked by serial killer who brutally murdered movie actress, while gangs run wild with assault rifles in South-Central.’ ’’
    ‘‘That is an improvement,’’ Anna said.
    ‘‘It’d do okay,’’ Louis said. ‘‘But if you could get him to rough you up a little bit, we’d get more than we got for the jumper.’’
    ‘‘How about it?’’ Anna said, turning back to Coughlin and batting her eyes. ‘‘Do you carry a club or a sap or anything? Could you push me around a little? I mean, I kind of . . . like it.’’
    Louis said, ‘‘ ‘Cop takes gun from beautiful woman stalked by serial killer who brutally murdered glamorous, drug-abusing ‘‘90210’’ actress, abuses her with baton, while gangs run wild with assault rifles in South-Central—and she likes it.’ ’’
    Coughlin hunched over the steering wheel and shook his head sadly. ‘‘Christ, this could be a long night,’’ he said.

twenty-three

    They took the Pacific Coast Highway north as far as Sunset, Sunset back east. They narrowly missed hitting a Mercedes Benz 500E that came rocketing out of a Beverly Hills side street and crossed Sunrise without slowing. ‘‘Rich junkies,’’ Coughlin muttered. ‘‘Eat that speed and can’t handle it.’’
    ‘‘Fire back in Bel Air,’’ Louis said. He had his headphones on.
    ‘‘Any good?’’ Anna asked, turning to look at him. He’d belted himself into his office chair.
    ‘‘Doesn’t sound like much,’’ Louis said, as he punched numbers into a scanner. ‘‘But I think I’ve heard the name. Jimmy James Jones?’’
    ‘‘I don’t know,’’ Anna said. ‘‘It rings a bell.’’
    ‘‘Preacher,’’ Coughlin said. ‘‘He used to have a TV show.’’
    Anna nodded. ‘‘That’s right, good.’’ To Louis: ‘‘Anything about women, or people hurt?’’
    ‘‘Nope. Mostly smoke. Jimmy James Jones called in the report himself and he’s still in the house.’’
    Coughlin glanced at her expectantly, but Anna said, ‘‘Keep going.’’
    • • •
    ‘‘How do you decide?’’ Coughlin asked, after a while. Sunrise rolled along outside the windows, a shabbier section near Hollywood, a few men and women strolling along the streets, cars playing games along the curbs. ‘‘How do you know what to go to?’’
    ‘‘Magic,’’ Anna said.
    ‘‘I’m serious,’’ he said. He jabbed at the brake. A woman with a shopping cart looked for a moment as though she might lurch into the street.
    ‘‘So am I,’’ Anna said. ‘‘I don’t know how to decide. You just go on the sound of it.’’
    ‘‘Like what?’’
    ‘‘Like the fire: that could be something. If Jimmy James Jones was just a little more famous—not much more, just a little bit—we’d go over. If there were people hurt, we’d think about it. But the thing is, all the local stations are so sensitive to anything with a celebrity, that they’ve probably got their trucks rolling right now. So even if it turned out to be good, we might not sell much, because everybody would have it. Louis only mentioned it because we’re close enough that we could probably get there first.’’
    ‘‘First isn’t always enough,’’ Coughlin said.
    ‘‘No,’’ Anna said, shaking her head. ‘‘Sometimes it’s enough—but not always. When the story is