Quotes from Robert Crais

The beer came and I said, "Joe, I'm thinking that there is something larger here than an attorney's zealous defense of his client." The master of understatement.

I glanced at Pike, but Pike was staring out the front door. Intimidating the neighborhood. I said, "Maybe he mentioned a buddy who worked at a Shell Station or an ex-con he would have drinks with.

Maybe if I didn't think about Mimi Warren or Traci Louise Fishman or Eddie Tang they would all disappear and living would be easy. Elvis Cole, Existential Detective. I liked that. Not thinking, properly done, creates a pleasant numbed sensation in the brain that I like a lot. There are women who will tell you that not thinking is one of my best things.

How many warnings do you need before we charge you with felony stupid?" Evanski

The living room walls were crowded with trophies for excellence in the martial arts. Hundreds of them. Gleaming first-place cups and championship belts from exhibitions and tournaments all over the United States. Best All-Around. In Recognition of Excellence. Black Belt Master. Over-All Champion. "Don't worry about this stuff," I said. "The guy probably bought'm." Pike said, "Uh-huh.

Pike stood six-one and weighed one ninety-five, all ropy muscles and crimson arrows inked on his delts. He wore a sleeveless gray sweatshirt, sun-faded jeans, and running shoes. Dark glasses masked his eyes. No

Stephanie was still holding his hand, and Scott was wondering what she meant by it when an enormous Bentley sedan appeared at the end of the street, as out of place in this neighborhood as a flying carpet, windows up, smoked glass, not a speck of dust on its gleaming skin. Stephanie

Pike did not move his eye from the sight picture. Cole, Ramos, Park. The Zeiss was fitted with a laser range finder displaying the range in tiny red numerals in the upper right quadrant of the sight picture. Elvis Cole was forty-two meters away. Overkill. Stone

Jon Stone was more Joe's friend than mine, though 'friend' probably wasn't the right word. Jon was a private military contractor, which meant he was a mercenary. He was also a Princeton graduate and a former Delta Force operator. His primary client was the Department of Defense. Same boss, different pay grade. Pike

She gazed up at the buildings and imagined angels perched on the edge of the roofs; tall slender angels with drooping wings; standing in perfect silence, watching her without expectation as if in an eternal dream: We give you the city. No one is watching. Set yourself free.

After a bit, she said, "Do you believe in angels?" "No." "I do. That's why I go driving like this. I look for angels. They only come out at night.

cat came toward him, paced away, then returned. Its dark face was as fierce as a Maori. The fur on its spine was spiked like a Mohawk warrior. Pike

She spoke in a fast rush. "Can't talk. Meet me in forty minutes. Say where." Forty minutes. Not half an hour or an hour. Forty. Like we were Ukrainian spies. We

Daniel hoped they were right. The arrow dude might be some kinda bad-ass mercenary, but if he had a hard-on for the waitress, he was way past the money stage. Men stayed sharp when it came to money. Men got stupid when it came to women. Daniel

nostrils flickered and twitched. Her breathing pattern changed when she sniffed for a scent. Sniffing wasn't breathing. The air she drew for sniffing did not enter her lungs. Sniffs were small sips she took in groups called trains. A train could be from three to seven sniffs, and Maggie always sniffed in threes. Sniff-sniff-sniff, pause, sniff-sniff-sniff. Budress' dog, Obi, sniffed in trains of five. Always five. No one knew why, but each dog was different. Scott

Deep purple moved through the blue as Pike left. Pike was creepy good at this stuff, but Pike had taken a serious risk by entering Jon's home. A cocked-and-locked Kimber .45 was only inches away, not that it had done Jon any good. Embarrassing. Jon

Riley was a big boy, too, six two, six three, but he dressed nicer than the goons. Had the boots, but he wore slacks and a sport coat. A polite guy, well-spoken, Hicks even kinda liked him, but every time they were together, Hicks was ready to kill him. Scars slashed his forehead and nose, and ginormous knuckles bulged from catcher's-mitt hands.

Stone touched the air with the tip of his chopstick as if he was dotting an i with a quill pen. "Your talker there, he's Sang Ki Park. He doesn't run the gang. That would be his uncle, Young Min Park. Sang is the second in command. They're Ssang Yong Pa—the Double Dragon gang—straight out of the R-O-K. Hard-core and nasty." ROK was the Republic of Korea. I

When Pike reached home, he stretched in the parking lot to cool, then peeled off his sweatshirt, deactivated the alarms, and let himself in. His condo was austere and functional with little in the way of decoration. Dining room set off the kitchen; couch, chair, and coffee table in the living room; a flat-screen television for sports and news. A black stone meditation fountain burbled in the corner. Pike found peace in the natural sound, as if he were alone in the forest. Pike

Mills paced to the door, but didn't leave, as if he had needed motion to contain himself. "I

Scott found two discs when he opened the envelope, one labeled Tyler's, the other Club Red. Something about the number of discs bothered him, and then he recalled Melon had logged two discs from Club Red. He wondered why Cowly gave him only one of the Club Red discs, but decided it didn't matter. Scott

Holman looked back at Chee. He said, "Remember when you offered to front me some cash? I hate to do it, man, you being so nice with the car and this phone, but I gotta go back on what I said. I need a pack." A pack was a thousand dollars. When banks wrapped used twenties, they bundled fifty bills to a pack. A thousand dollars. Chee

A taupe couch faced matching taupe chairs across a blocky coffee table. Matching end tables that were too large for the space bracketed the couch, and a generic mass-produced painting hung on the wall. The furnishings appeared new, but looked like furnishings found in a discount motel chain. Pike

Holman settled in, expecting her to be late. She would arrive late to establish her authority and to make sure he understood the power in this situation was hers. Holman didn't mind. He had trimmed his hair that morning, shaved twice to get a close shave, and polished his shoes. He had handwashed his clothes the night before and rented Perry's iron and ironing board for two dollars so he would appear as unthreatening as possible. Holman