False Witness by Randy Singer Page A

to bring an FBI agent.” He paused for a beat and glanced at Chin, who quieted down a little, his eyes glazing over. “And have an ambulance waiting nearby. I’ll need your cell number and your name.”
    The attorney sighed. “My name is Magdalena Sorensen. But this isn’t the movies, sir. In real life, you come to our offices and talk with me here. If you’d like, I can have my assistant give you directions.”
    â€œNo, wait. Listen, they’ve kidnapped my wife.” Clark raised his voice, trying to make this woman understand. “If they see me walk into your office, they’ll kill her.”
    â€œWho are you talking about? And what is your name?”
    Clark shook his head in frustration. “I can’t tell you that on the phone.”
    â€œThen I can’t help you.”
    Clark blew out a breath. “Wait!” What choice do I have? “My name is Clark Shealy. And there’s probably a state warrant out for my arrest already.” He paused for a beat.
    â€œI’m listening,” Magdalena said.

    Five minutes after hanging up with Magdalena, Clark’s cell buzzed with a number he didn’t recognize. His stomach clenched as he answered.
    â€œClark Shealy.”
    â€œMy name is Dennis Hargrove.” The name meant nothing to Clark. “You looking for a Indian man named Moses Kumari?”
    Clark’s heart leaped to his throat. When he spoke, he barely recognized his own breathless voice. “Yes. Do you know where he is?”
    â€œAs I understand it, Mr. Shealy, you’re offering a sizable reward.”
    â€œA million dollars. Where is he?”
    â€œIn the backseat of my car.”

16
    Cash flow. Being a bounty hunter was not about manhandling bad guys the way Dog the Bounty Hunter did on A&E. It’s about cash flow. Cash greased the palms of the bounty hunter’s stringers and inside sources at “partner” companies—banks, the DMV, plastic surgeons, casino security guards. Cash kept the cops from throwing your sorry carcass in jail when you overstepped your bounds on a pickup. If you got busted by a clean cop, cash posted the bond to bail you out that same night. Cash paid the overhead. Cash made the bounty hunter’s world go round.
    For that reason, Clark had his banker on speed dial.
    He called Harry and swore the man to secrecy before explaining what happened to Jessica.
    â€œDid you call the police?” Harry asked. He had the instincts of a banker—play it safe; trust authority.
    â€œI called the U.S. attorney, and I’m sure she called the FBI. They’re on it. But in the meantime, I’m going to need as much cash as I can get my hands on. Liquidate everything I’ve got, increase the credit line, and consolidate it all in one account. I’ll need at least three hundred thousand.”
    Clark’s request was met with silence by Harry. Even Chin had calmed down and was now barely conscious, staring straight ahead and emitting pitiful little groans only occasionally.
    â€œHarry, we’re talking about my wife here. You want it on your head if something happens to Jessica?”
    â€œThat’s not fair, Clark.” Harry hesitated as if hoping that Clark might apologize for going too far. Clark waited him out. “I’ll see what I can do,” Harry promised.
    â€œYou can’t let me down on this one, Harry. I’ll pay back every penny. You know that.”
    â€œI’ll try, Clark.”
    â€œYou’ve got to do better than try.”
    â€œCall me back in an hour.”
    â€œOh. And one other thing. If you get a check presented for a hundred and fifty thousand from an outfit named Quad-A Bail Bond Office, don’t pay it.”
    â€œYou mind telling me why?”
    â€œYou don’t wanna know.”
    Next, Clark called the company that had posted bail for Johnny Chin and told them he had Chin in custody. “I need the money