He turned out to be another of Jimmy’s cousins, and like Jimmy, he was almost unflappable. He expressed no curiosity about the bullet holes, simply set to work. “It’ll take a couple of days to fix this,” he said. “And it’s going to be noisy, so at least while I’m working, you might want to be somewhere else.” A good idea. I decided to pay a visit to Emil Ramos, and then David Zhang, whose Scottsdale Air Park offices weren’t far from each other. First I stopped by Patriot’s Blood to see if the copier had been fixed. I still needed to read the remaining pages of Gloriana’s memoirs. The door to the office was locked, but when I tapped on it, Poor Sandra peeped out. “We’re closed until Monday, Ms. Jones.” She looked more harassed than usual. “The toilet’s not functioning and the copier’s still down, so Zach gave everyone the day off. I’m not even supposed to be here, but I figured I’d sneak in and get some extra work done in all the peace and quiet.”
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