Tom felt the uncomfortable silence so he smiled and turned to Pike. “I hear you are an ex-Marine.”

“Yeah,” replied Pike, “while I was busy risking my life and losing friends in Iraq, your friend here was protesting and prancing around singing songs.” He scowled at Jennings and added, “Patriotic you’re not, isn’t that right?”

“I would not hesitate to fight to defend my own country,” said Jennings evenly, “but not to invade to make an oil grab in someone else’s country.”

“Oil? Bullshit! We invaded because of what those bastards did to us at 9/11! How come you weren’t protesting that?”

“Iraq had nothing to do with 9/11. You need to take a look at Saudi —”

“Gentlemen,” said Oskar sternly. “No more of that talk. It’s Christmas. We’re here to enjoy ourselves.”

Pike took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before saying, “You’re right, I’m sorry. Christmas is a tough time of year for me. I know too many who won’t ever be coming home to be with their wives and kids.”

“I understand,” replied Jennings, quietly.

“Apology accepted?” asked Pike, sticking out his hand.

Jennings shook his hand and said, “No problem. It’s what makes America great. Everyone is entitled to an opinion.”

“I understand you’re taking tomorrow off work,” said Oskar, looking at Jennings. “You taking your friend out on the town?”

“No, Tom has to get back to Vancouver. Tomorrow morning I’m hanging Christmas lights on the house while Anna takes the kids shopping. Then in the afternoon we’re going out to pick a Christmas tree.”

“Sounds nice,” replied Oskar. “Christmas should be the time for families.”

“It’s kind of a tradition with us,” said Jennings. “In the evening we decorate the tree and then sit in front of the fireplace singing carols and drinking eggnog. I’d invite you, but our singing is pretty awful.”

“That’s okay.” Oskar smiled. “My new girlfriend has invited me over for dinner. It will be interesting to see if she can cook.” He looked around at the crowd, then smiled apologetically and said, “Guess I should continue making the rounds. Have a merry Christmas.”

Once they were out of earshot, Tom asked, “You like Oskar?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know.” Tom shrugged. “Something doesn’t feel right. I wouldn’t trust them.”

“Them? You mean, Virgil. Yeah, don’t worry. He doesn’t have anything to do with the company. He’s only visiting Oskar.”

“Not only him,” replied Tom. “Oskar, too. Why would he be hanging out with a goon like Pike?”

“I told you, Pike is corporate security.”

“I doubt Oskar is in need of security tonight. Some of these people might get drunk, but they don’t look like the type to take a swing at anybody.”

“I don’t understand. What are you getting at?” asked Jennings.

Tom eyed Oskar across the room as he smiled and patted someone on the back. “I don’t know … your boss seems too smooth. Not your league.”

“Not my league? Tom, I’m not some kid trying to make a living strumming a guitar. I’ve grown up.”

“I know.”

“So what is it? Don’t tell me you’re jealous I’m in the big bucks? You know I never cared about that.”

“It’s not the money,” replied Tom, feeling hurt that Jennings would think that. “I’m glad you’re doing well. Maybe I’m just being cynical, thinking of that old story.”

“What old story?” asked Jennings.

“Where some environmentalist becomes such a pain in the ass, the oil companies hire them and give them a big salary to shut them up.”

“When have you ever known me to shut up?” said Jennings, grinning.

“Good point.” Tom smiled before becoming sombre again. “Still, I never pictured you as being welcomed by establishment, let alone accepting the offer.”

“It’s a chance to do some good for the planet and humanity both. I’ve got two kids. I want them to grow up in a safer and better world.”

“Don’t we all,” replied Tom, as his attention was diverted across the room. “And who is that fellow?” he asked, with a nod toward another man who was talking to Pike. “He looks pretty nasty, as well.”

“I think he’s supposed to look nasty,” said Jennings thoughtfully. “He’s Pike’s partner in corporate security. Goes by the nickname of Rabbit. Both of them are only hired on short term contracts to provide security on occasion.”

“Rabbit? You gotta be kidding. Sounds like a cartoon character.”

“Anything but,” said Jennings seriously. “He’s an ex-Marine as well.”

“Yeah? Why do they call him Rabbit?”

“You tell me,” smiled Jennings. “Take a look.”

Tom looked at Rabbit, who was walking over to the bar. As he walked, he tended to bounce off the toes of each foot, causing his head to bob slightly higher than normal. It gave the impression he was hopping. “Got it.” Tom snickered.

“Figured you would. You always were perceptive.”

“So tell me, why would a company like yours need to hire them? Seems to me, everyone should be happy with what you are doing.”

“Some of the places we go are a little dangerous. Third-world countries … slums. Places where if you’re white, it is automatically presumed you are rich. Actually, by the standards in those countries, we really are … which makes us prime targets for muggers or even kidnappers.”

“So those two goons are suppose to protect you?” asked Tom.

“They can handle themselves. Both of them have all sorts of black belts and used to instruct some sort of martial-arts program when they were with the Marines. Either one could snap your neck like a pretzel.”

“That’s comforting,” said Tom sarcastically. “Pike the Spike and Killer Rabbit.”

Jennings chuckled. “Those would be good nicknames for those two.”

Unfortunately, Jennings was about to find out how accurate the description was.

Chapter Two

It was ten o’clock the following morning when Tom strolled down Wilcox Avenue. On one side of the street were a row of bail bonds shops, while on the other side a row of police cruisers led up to the entrance to the Los Angeles Police Department.

Years earlier, Tom had known a few friends who were detectives working out of the building. Back then, he wasn’t adverse to passing on information about some of the real bad guys who were trying to get their talons into the music industry.

A phone call earlier told him one friend still remained. Brent Morgan had since been promoted from detective to captain and was happy to meet with his old acquaintance.

Morgan met Tom at the front counter and after the initial greeting, Morgan suggested he drive Tom someplace for coffee.

“Really good to see you again, Morgy,” said Tom, as he settled into the front seat of an unmarked police car.

“You too, Tom. It’s been a long time. Hearing your voice this morning really brought back some memories of the old days.” He glanced at Tom sideways and said, “Thought I would take you to the northwest corner of La Brea and Sunset.”

Tom reflected a moment, then smiled. “Tiny Naylor’s Drive-in. Where I used to meet you and the boys to pass on a little intel once in a while.”

“Glad to see your memory is still sharp. I sure miss those days when there was still some real glamour around here.”

“It has really changed,” replied Tom. “I hardly recognize it anymore.”

“You got that right. Remember how much you hated drug dealers and told me the dope situation would become more nasty and lethal as time went on?”

“I remember.”

“Well, you were right.” Morgan stopped at a traffic light and took the opportunity to eyeball Tom. “So tell me, I have the feeling this is more than a social visit. What’s up?”