'Let him try. I don't think the local cops care what happens in Mexico, and since you didn't do anything wrong, he'll look like a fool. Then you can have him charged with extortion.' 'It's not that easy.' 'Why?' Buchanan's wound cramped as he suddenly thought of something. The phone had rung just after Buchanan and Doyle entered the office. Was that merely a coincidence? Jesus. Buchanan hurried to the front door, yanked it open, and glanced tensely both ways along the street. A woman was carrying groceries toward a cabin cruiser. A car passed. A jogger went by. Two boat mechanics unloaded a crate from the back of a truck. A kid on a bicycle squinted at the bandage around Buchanan's head. Buchanan pulled it off and continued staring along the street. His pounded from the fierce sunlight. There! On the left. At the far end. Near the beach. A big man with strong shoulders and a brushcut - Bailey - was standing outside a phone booth, peering in Buchanan's direction. Bailey raised his muscular right arm in greeting when he saw Buchanan notice him.
