Money Burns by Elizabeth Lowell as Ann Maxwell

Author:Elizabeth Lowell as Ann Maxwell [Maxwell, Elizabeth Lowell as Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Action Adventure Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780517106211
Google: R7zp88SDrCMC
Amazon: 0517106213
Barnesnoble: 0517106213
Goodreads: 151094
Publisher: HarperPrism
Published: 1990-12-31T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter SIXTEEN

Jaime had been right. The chrome trim on Cochi Loco's white Mercedes 56OSEC had been replaced with gold. There's no luster like it. I had a good chance to inspect the tri-star emblem on the back deck when Cochi raised the trunk lid and removed a hand-held electronics unit in a black box. He ran up a two-foot antenna on the box and walked all the way around the car, probing with the antenna, paying special attention to the wheel wells and the spaces beneath the bumper.

While he was busy, I rubbed the emblem with my sleeve. It buffed up like the queen's salt cellars. Even the pigtail antenna for the cellular phone had been gold plated. This guy was thorough.

"Pardon me, senor."

Cochi Loco's English was accented but quite clear. I moved away from the trunk.

"Do not move, please. A moment, only."

He pointed the antenna of the black box at me and began tracing the outlines of my body, paying special attention to my crotch, armpits, belt, and legs, the usual places where body transmitters are hidden. I let him finish enough of the job so that there wouldn't be a hassle. Then I knocked the antenna aside.

"I don't think I want to hang around with you guys," I said. "Anybody who has to check his car every fifteen minutes for RF transmitters is too hot for me."

Cochi Loco grunted, considered pushing me to submit to another round of inspection, then decided he had covered the major bases. He hefted the bug detector in his broad palm.

"I know my car is clean," he said with a slight smile. "Can you say the same for yours?"

I changed directions. "You're a little late getting to me. If I had been a cop wearing a wire, I'd already have enough of your boss on tape to make a DA drool."

Cochi's smile didn't inspire a warm feeling in my gut.

"Why do you think we meet in the wine cellar, serior?" he asked in a deep voice. "The walls are reinforced. A body transmitter cannot go through fifteen inches of concrete and steel."

With another grunt Cochi collapsed the telescoping antenna and tossed the RF detector into the trunk. Then he unsnapped a Halliburton case and opened the lid, revealing two guns nested within custom-cut protective padding. One gun was a stainless-steel revolver with a heavy, vented four-inch barrel. The other was a blocky-looking semiautomatic pistol.

Cochi cracked the cylinder of the revolver and loaded it from a box of .44 magnum hollow-point rounds. Then he shoved the three-pound pistol into a shoulder holster beneath his coat and went to work on the second gun. The automatic had a thick magazine that looked able to hold half a box of ammunition. The magazine was made of some kind of tough composite material. So were the handle grips and the frame of the gun itself.

The only plastic pistol in the world is the Glock. It slides right through metal detectors, but that's not why it's made. It's exceptionally accurate and it weighs half as much as the average 9-millimeter.

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