The Watchman: A Joe Pike Novel [Hardcover]

As the subtitle suggests, Joe Pike, the intriguing, enigmatic partner of L.A. PI Elvis Cole, takes center stage in this intense thriller from bestseller Crais (The Two Minute Rule). To pay back an old debt, Pike is coerced into protecting Larkin Barkley, a hard-partying young heiress whose life is in danger after a "wrong place wrong time" encounter that quickly escalates and spins out of control. The enemy is shadowy, violent and relentless—but the fierce, focused Pike, one of the strongest characters in modern crime fiction, is equal to the challenge. The breathless pace and rich styling are sure to appeal to readers of hard-boiled fiction in general, but since up to now Pike has mostly remained in the background, some fans of the Elvis Cole series (The Forgotten Man, etc.) may find the explicit picture that emerges of Pike at odds with the image they've constructed for themselves. (Mar.)
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*Starred Review* Larkin Barkley, a troubled L.A. woman from a wealthy family, finds herself under the protection of federal agents after emerging uninjured from a serious car accident. Something she saw warrants her death. The bad guys came close to success, probably with an assist from someone charged with her safety. Joe Pike, a former marine, LAPD officer, and mercenary, is hired to protect her on the word of his former police partner. Pike and the girl go underground after another attempt on her life leaves three would-be assassins dead. Pike then enlists his partner, private investigator Elvis Cole, to do the digging while he does the shooting. Cole targets a drug cartel's money-laundering network as the source of the death squads and identifies Barkley's father as the possible link. As the plot careens forward with nail-biting suspense, the similarities between Pike and Barkley become heartbreakingly clear. What could a taciturn killing machine have in common with a spike-haired, tattoo-on-her-ass valley girl? Every adult is a product of childhood, and Pike recognizes in his charge the same chronic emotional pain fueling his own lonely life. Saving her physical being is tough, but not as tough as saving her life. Fans of the Elvis Cole series have long wished for an installment focusing on sidekick Pike, and their wish is more than granted with this stunningly emotional thriller. Wes Lukowsky
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

"(the book) functions admirably as a thriller... (his books) provide so much pleasure to so many of us... including to me" -- David Sexton Evening Standard "This thriller takes off like a cat with its tail on fire, and it's still smoking by the time it hits the last page." -- Alex Gordon Peterborough Evening Telegraph "Yet more tough, cracking stuff from Crais, who returns to form by giving his best characters Elvis Cole and Joe Pike plenty of lethal action" -- Henry Sutton Daily Mirror "It's a simple enough plot, but Crais packs it with terrific action and dialogue. He gets better and better." -- Marcel Berlins The Times "The story moves along at top speed in typical Crais fashion, with lots of ultraviolence, gallows humour and great writing. A must from first page to last." -- Mark Timlin The Independent "Packed with plot twists and suspense, The Watchman serves up a finely balanced offering of action and intrigue which will keep you guessing right to the finish" Canary Wharf City Life "This is a novel of suspense, and it keeps racking up the tension until the very end. Crais is an old-timer at this kind of thing and THE WATCHMAN is him at his very best." -- Vincent Banville Irish Times --This text refers to an alternate Hardcover edition.

Larkin Conner Barkley lives like the City of Angels is hers for the taking. Young and staggeringly rich, she speeds through the city during its loneliest hours, blowing through red after red in her Aston Martin as if running for her life. Until out of nowhere a car appears, and with it the metal-on-metal explosion of a terrible accident. Dazed, Larkin attempts to help the other victims. And finds herself the sole witness in a secret federal investigation. For maybe the first time in her life, Larkin wants to do the right thing. But by agreeing to cooperate with the authorities, she becomes the target for a relentless team of killers. And when the U.S. Marshals and the finest security money can buy can’t protect her, Larkin’s wealthy family turns to the one man money can’t buy - Joe Pike. Pike lives a world away from the palaces of Beverly Hills. He’s an ex-cop, ex-Marine, ex-mercenary who owes a bad man a favor, and that favor is to keep Larkin alive. The one upside of the job is reuniting with Bud Flynn, Pike’s LAPD training officer, and a man Pike reveres as a father. The downside is Larkin Barkley, who is the uncontrollable cover girl for self-destruction - and as deeply alone as Pike. Pike commits himself to protecting the girl, but when they immediately come under fire, he realizes someone is selling them out. In defiance of Bud and the authorities, Pike drops off the grid with the girl and follows his own rules of survival: strike fast, hit hard, hunt down the hunters. With the help of private investigator Elvis Cole, Pike uncovers a web of lies and betrayals, and the stunning revelation that even the cops are not who they seem. As the body count rises, Pike’s biggest threat might come from the girl herself, a lost soul in the City of Angels, determined to destroy herself unless Joe Pike can teach her the value of life…and love. --This text refers to the Audio CD edition.

Robert Crais is the author of many novels, including the New York Times bestsellers The Last Detective, Hostage, and L.A. Requiem. Learn more about his work at www.robertcrais.com.

Chapter One

The girl was moody getting out of the car, making a sour face to let him know she hated the shabby house and sun-scorched street smelling of chili and episote. To him, this anonymous house would serve. He searched the surrounding houses for threats as he waited for her, clearing the area the way another man might clear his throat. He felt obvious wearing the long-sleeved shirt. The Los Angeles sun was too hot for the sleeves, but he had little choice. He moved carefully to hide what was under the shirt.

She said, "People who live in houses like this have deformed children. I can't stay here."

"Lower your voice."

"I haven't eaten all day. I didn't eat yesterday and now this smell is making me feel strange."

"We'll eat when we're safe."

The house opened as the girl joined him, and the woman Bud told him to expect appeared: a squat woman with large white teeth and friendly eyes named Imelda Arcano. Mrs. Arcano managed several apartment houses and single-family rentals in Eagle Rock, and Bud's office had dealt with her before. He hoped she wouldn't notice the four neat holes that had been punched into their fender the night before.

He turned his back to the house to speak with the girl.

"The attitude makes you memorable. Lose it. You want to be invisible."

"Why don't I wait in the car?"

Leaving her was unthinkable.

"Let me handle her."

The girl laughed.

"That would be you all over it. I want to see that, you handling her. I want to see you charm her."

He took the girl's arm and headed toward the house. To her credit, the girl fell in beside him without making a scene, slouching to change her posture the way he had shown her. Even with her wearing the oversize sunglasses and Dodgers cap, he wanted her inside and out of sight as quickly as possible.

Mrs. Arcano smiled wider as they reached the front door, welcoming them.

"Mr. Johnson?"

"Yes."

"It's so hot today, isn't it? It's cool inside. The air conditioner works very well. I'm Imelda Arcano."

After the nightmare in Malibu, Bud's office had arranged the new house on the fly -- dropped the cash and told Mrs. Arcano whatever she needed to hear, which probably wasn't much. This would be easy money, no questions part of the deal, low-profile tenants who would be gone in a week. Mrs. Arcano probably wouldn't even report the rental to the absentee owner; just pocket Bud's cash and call it a day. They were to meet Mrs. Arcano only so she could give them the keys.

Imelda Arcano beckoned them inside. The man hesitated long enough to glance back at the street. It was narrow and treeless, which was good. He could see well in both directions, though the small homes were set close together, which was bad. The narrow alleys would fill with shadows at dusk.

He wanted Mrs. Arcano out of the way as quickly as possible, but Mrs. Arcano latched onto the girl -- one of those female-to-female things -- and gave them the tour, leading them through the two tiny bedrooms and bath, the microscopic living room and kitchen, the grassless backyard. He glanced at the neighboring houses from each window, and out the back door at the rusty chain-link fence that separated this house from the one behind it. A beige and white pit bull was chained to an iron post in the neighboring yard. It lay with its chin on its paws, but it was not sleeping. He was pleased when he saw the pit bull.

The girl said, "Does the TV work?"

"Oh, yes, you have cable. You have lights, water, and gas -- everything you need, but there is no telephone. You understand that? There really is no point in having the phone company create a line for such a short stay."

He had told the girl not to say anything, but now they were having a conversation. He cut it off.

"We have cell phones. You can hand over the keys and be on your way."

Mrs. Arcano stiffened, indicating she was offended.

"When will you be moving in?"

"Now. We'll take the keys."

Mrs. Arcano peeled two keys from her key ring, then left. For the first and only time that day he left the girl alone. He walked Mrs. Arcano to her car because he wanted to bring their gear into the house as quickly as possible. He wanted to call Bud. He wanted to find out what in hell happened the night before, but mostly he wanted to make sure the girl was safe.

He lingered at his car until Mrs. Arcano drove away, then looked up and down the street again -- both ways, the houses, between the houses -- and everything seemed fine. He brought his and the girl's duffels into the house, along with the bag they had grabbed at the Rite Aid.

The television was on, the girl hopping through the local stations for news. When he walked in, she laughed, then mimicked him, lowering and flattening her voice.

"'Hand over the keys and be on your way.' Oh, that charmed her. That certainly made you forgettable."

He turned off the television and held out the Rite Aid bag. She didn't take it, pissed about him turning off the set, so he let it drop to the floor.

"Do your hair. We'll get something to eat when you're finished."

"I wanted to see if we're on the news."

"Can't hear with the TV. We want to hear. Maybe later."

"I can turn off the sound."

"Do the hair."

He peeled off his shirt and tossed it onto the floor by the front door. If he went out again or someone came to the door he would pull it on. He was wearing a Kimber .45 semiautomatic pushed into the waist of his pants. He opened his duffel and took out a clip holster for the Kimber and a second gun, this one already holstered, a Colt Python .357 Magnum with the four-inch barrel. He clipped the Kimber onto the front of his pants in the cross-draw position and the Python on his right side. He hadn't chanced the holsters with Mrs. Arcano, but he hadn't wanted to take the chance of being without a gun, either.

He took a roll of duct tape from his bag and went to the kitchen.

Behind him, the girl said, "Asshole."

He made sure the back door was locked, then moved to the tiny back bedroom, locked the windows, and pulled the shades. This done, he tore off strips of duct tape and sealed the shades over the windows. He taped the bottoms and sides to the sills and jambs, all the way around each shade. If anyone managed to raise a window they would make noise tearing the shade from the wall and he would hear. When the shades were taped, he took out his Randall knife and made a three-inch vertical slit in each shade, just enough for him to finger open so he could cover the approaches to the house. He was cutting the shades when he heard her go into the bathroom. Finally cooperating. He knew she was scared, both of him and of what was happening, so he was surprised she had been trying as hard as she had. And pleased, thinking maybe they would stay alive a little while longer.

On his way to the front bedroom he passed the bath. She was in front of the mirror, cutting away her rich copper hair. She held the hair between her fingers, pulling it straight from her head to hack it away with the cheap Rite Aid scissors, leaving two inches of jagged spikes. Boxes of Clairol hair color, also fresh from the Rite Aid, lined the sink. She saw him in the mirror and glared.

"I hate this. I'm going to look so Melrose."

She had peeled down to her bra but left the door open. He guessed she wanted him to see. The five-hundred-dollar jeans rode low on her hips below a smiling dolphin jumping between the dimples on the small of her back. Her bra was light blue and sheer, and the perfect color against her olive skin. Looking at him, she played with her hair, which now stuck out in uneven spikes. She fluffed the spikes, shaped them, then considered them. The sink and floor were covered with the hair she had cut away.

She said, "What about white? I could go white. Would that make you happy?"

"Brown. Nondescript."

"I could go blue. Blue might be fun."

She turned to pose her body.

"Would you love it? Retropunk? So totally Melrose? Tell me you love it."

He continued on to the front bedroom without answering. She hadn't bought blue. She probably thought he hadn't been paying attention, but he paid attention to everything. She had bought blond, brown, and black. He locked and taped the front bedroom windows as he had done in the rest of the house, then returned to the bathroom. Now the water was running and she was leaning over the sink, wearing clear plastic gloves, massaging color into her hair. Black. He wondered how long it would take for the red to be hidden. He took out his cell phone, calling Bud Flynn as he watched.

He said, "We're in place. What happened last night?"

"I'm still trying to find out. I got no idea. Is the new house okay?"

"They had our location, Bud. I want to know how."

"I'm working on it. Is she okay?"

"I want to know how."

"Jesus, I'm working on it. Do you need anything?"

"I need to know how."

He closed the phone as she stood, water running down the trough of her spine to the dolphin until she wrapped her hair in a towel. Only then did she find him in the mirror again and smile.

"You're looking at my ass."

The pit bull barked.

He did not hesitate. He drew the Python and ran to the back bedroom.

She said, "Joe! Damnit."

In the back bedroom, he fingered open a slit in the shade as the girl hurried up behind him. The dog was on its feet, squinting at something he could not see.

She said, "What is it?"

"Shh."

The pit was trying to see something to their left, the flat top of its head furrowed and its nubby ears perked, no longer barking as it tested the air.

Pike watched through the slit, listening hard as the pit was listening.

The girl whispered, "What?"

The pit exploded with frenzied barking as it jumped against its chain.

Pike spoke fast over his shoulder even as the first man came around the end of the garage. It was happening again.

"Front of the house, but don't open the door. Go. Fast."

The towel fell from her head as he pushed her forward. He hooked their duffels over his shoulder, guiding her to the door. He checked the slit in the front window shade. A single man was walking up the drive as another moved ... --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

Elvis Cole's mostly silent partner, Joe Pike, now has a book of his own. His character, manner, and ethic resemble that of Harry Callahan (Dirty Harry), and thanks to James Daniels, so does his voice. When Daniels isn't portraying Pike, his glib delivery moves the action along. And there's plenty of that when Pike is hired to protect a rich 22-year-old from L.A. Seems that she's seen something--or someone--she shouldn't have. Fifteen minutes into this thriller, Pike has blown away five villains, with more to come. In between, Crais's stories of Pike's past lives--as Marine, cop, and mercenary--make Dirty Harry pale in comparison. It appears that Crais has another winning character. A.L.H. © AudioFile 2007, Portland, Maine-- Copyright © AudioFile, Portland, Maine --This text refers to the Audio CD edition.