The Kill Clause Part 52

Try doing research on the U.S. Marshal Service. There's not much material. I managed to find only four books that even dealt with the Service, three of them out of print. The first thing I did was to go back and review the entire history of the Service, starting with Stuart Lake's biography of Wyatt Earp (1931)-recounted to him in Earp's own words. I got my hands on a few doc.u.mentaries, and delved heavily into the Service's role in the civil rights movement, most significantly during James Meredith's enrollment at Ole Miss-a second Civil War for this country about which very few people are knowledgeable. While this didn't directly influence my story, it gave me a great background and understanding of the Service.

From there, I did what I normally do-I called a buddy of mine (the former agent whose brain I picked for Ed Pinkerton's character in Do No Harm Do No Harm ) and asked him if he ever overlapped with any deputy U.S. Marshals he could put me in touch with. I talked to his good friend, a deputy out of East St. Louis, and we got along great. He was coming to L.A. on some business and promised to set a few meetings for me in the California Central District office (there are ninety-four U.S. districts, and ninety-four appointed U.S. Marshals, one corresponding to each judicial district). So he flew in, we grabbed breakfast and headed over. ) and asked him if he ever overlapped with any deputy U.S. Marshals he could put me in touch with. I talked to his good friend, a deputy out of East St. Louis, and we got along great. He was coming to L.A. on some business and promised to set a few meetings for me in the California Central District office (there are ninety-four U.S. districts, and ninety-four appointed U.S. Marshals, one corresponding to each judicial district). So he flew in, we grabbed breakfast and headed over.

I figured I'd meet a deputy or two and get shown a couple of cubicles. Awaiting us was the legend himself: U.S. Marshal Tony Perez; his Deputy U.S. Marshal Supervisor; the Supervisory Deputy for the Arrest Response Team; and the Explosive Detection Canine Team; as well as a few other key lieutenants. The Marshal had them all waiting to answer any questions I might have, and promised me a tour of the facilities later. He even offered to suit up his men and run through tactical scenarios for me. When I asked Marshal Perez whether it was fact or fiction that he'd once allowed his beloved dog, Gus, to execute an arrest (long story), I knew I'd won him over. He called off his lunch and took me to Cuban food.

I was completely blown away by the reception I received. It turned out that Marshal Perez was trying to expand public awareness of the Service, and so I was benefiting from precisely the information shortfall that had proven such a research obstacle to begin with. I was in on the ground floor, able to ask questions and get answers at the highest level, a privilege I continue to enjoy as I work on my Tim Rackley sequel.

From there, I needed a few more guys on my contact list, so I kindled a friends.h.i.+p with a brilliant Los Angeles Public Defender, and struck up a relations.h.i.+p with a dynamo of a D.A. I'd have one guy holding while I was on the line with the other, playing their legal arguments off each other as I clicked back and forth. A lot of lunches and dinners and bar tabs helped me fill in the blanks about their views of the law and its frustrations.

The locksmiths were, maybe unsurprisingly, the toughest contacts to make open up. They were incredibly tight-lipped. I followed a few guys around, asking questions, but they refused to answer most of them. I watched them burn keys. I read pamphlets and called lock companies. I tore through the Yellow Pages, calling up randoms and asking questions about lock picking. When they got too suspicious, I hung up. They wouldn't give me information on lock picking as a novelist, because they were worried crooks would read my book and pick up new techniques. So I posed as a reporter, a customer, a victim of a home robbery. It took a while, but I finally managed to piece together a convincing world view of a forensic locksmith. In the finished book, by the way, I've altered at least one piece of information, or left out a key fact, so the bad guys can't, in fact, use The Kill Clause The Kill Clause to break into your apartment. to break into your apartment.

Next, I needed to get the feel of a .357 down, as it would be Tim Rackley's prize weapon. Fortunately, one of my Navy SEAL buddies was in town, teaching an explosives course to California SWAT teams. He's one of the leading demolitions experts in the world, having come up on the SEALs counterterrorist group, and he's had more trigger time than whole platoons put together. He's also built like a brick s.h.i.+thouse-huge comic book lats, barrel chest, and a Fu-Man-Chu mustache. I've been out with him places where he's shot his patented don't-f.u.c.k-with-me look and gotten whole groups of guys to leave a bar.

We headed up to a range he used on occasion with a bevy of handguns in tow. He told me not to ask any questions or say anything at the guard booth. He bulls.h.i.+tted us through (I had no clearance, which I didn't realize was required until I was being eyeballed by the deputy on duty) and got us to the range. I practiced with a Beretta, a Colt .45, and the .357 (a wheel gun from Smith & Wesson), so I could compare their operational differences. At one point, I was grouping high and right on the paper targets. My friend asked to borrow my gun to make sure the sites were appropriately lined. He turned and fired, not in a Weaver firing stance, not bothering to site correctly or even hold the weapon with both hands. He hit the dead center of the critical ma.s.s-and I mean dead center dead center. Five bullets, one hole. I couldn't believe it. It was like something from an old-school Western. He returned the .357 to me, wisely surmising that there was no problem with the gun and that I was merely antic.i.p.ating recoil. He then hunkered down with the .45. Each time he fired, the muscles in his back contracted, bulging out through his T-s.h.i.+rt. Watching him, I thought, this is probably the last guy in the world I'd ever want to p.i.s.s off.

Which got me to thinking about The Kill Clause The Kill Clause.

The only thing I could imagine more intimidating than my buddy was two of him. And so I created the Mastersons-twin brothers, built to crush skulls.

I wanted to put Rackley and the Commission up against some of the worst offenders in order to drive home the imperative for vigilante action. For these horrific crimes and for the a.s.sa.s.sinations of the criminals, I had to proceed with a shadier group of contacts. I asked some of my darker off-the-record boys about the worst things they've ever seen, and I was told a few stories and shown a few video clips that kept me up nights. These trickled down from my memory onto the pages, finding expression in the refrigerator scene and Lane's dispatchment.

The most dangerous research move I pulled for this book (or any before it) I didn't even end up using. I was debating having a small plane figure in the ending of The Kill Clause The Kill Clause, so I talked to a friend of a friend who flew a lot. I met him at the Santa Monica airport to ask some questions, but he threw me a parachute and told me to put it on. I was belted in before he informed me he was a stunt pilot. Now, I'm not the best flier as is (and here, I'm referring to subdued Friendly Skies kind of flying), so being up in the great blue open doing barrel rolls and flips was not my idea of a relaxing Sunday. But I landed in one piece, went home, and wrote down many of the sensations I'd experienced. But the d.a.m.n plane scene never found its way into the book. I kept trying to hammer it in one place or the other. I didn't want to believe I'd gone through all that for nothing. Killing your babies, as writers call editing out material, is hard enough normally. When you've paid for the scene by losing all the blood to your head for an hour, it makes it next to impossible. But, if it doesn't serve the plot, it doesn't serve the plot. Tim gets up to a lot of trouble in The Kill Clause The Kill Clause, but he doesn't get stuck on a stunt plane. That we left to his idiotic creator.

-Gregg Hurwitz Los Angeles July 2003

Acknowledgments.

I wish to express my grat.i.tude to: Michael Morrison, my patron, for his continued faith and focus; Richard Pine, from whose expertise I have benefitted enormously; the Guma, for buying two and selling two; Marc H. Glick and Stephen F. Breimer, my from-the-gates back-watchers, who are the soothing white noise to all foreground static; Jess Taylor, my Reader, who lends me (fervidly insists upon?) brilliant editorial suggestions between close encounters of a Third World kind; Meaghan Dowling, my editor, for not just inheriting me, but adopting me; that whirlwind of competence I have come to know as Lisa Gallagher; Libby Jordan, for her energy and support; Tom Strickler, Adriana Alberghetti, Brian Lipson, and Dawn Saltzman at Endeavor; Lori Andiman, for representing me around the world; Carol Topping, for launching me on the web; Suzanne Balaban, for her enormous enthusiasm; Debbie Stier, for overseeing my publicity; Rome Quezada, for keeping everything rolling; and my entire team at William Morrow, from the dedicated sales reps to the brilliant marketeers.

I benefitted immensely from the generous contributions of my expert consultants, including: Sean Newlin, Deputy U.S. Marshal, Southern District of Illinois; Richard Kim, Los Angeles County Deputy Public Defender; Tony Perez, former U.S. Marshal for Central District, California-an absolute inspiration; Pat Espinoza, Deputy District Attorney; Tim Miller, Supervisory Deputy Arrest Reponse Team and Explosive Detection Canine Team; Brian Salt, Deputy U.S. Marshal Supervisor; Scott Badgley, former U.S. Army Ranger; Morrie the locksmith; Mike Goldsmith, former Customs Senior Field Agent, current Executive Director of the National Wilderness Training Center; Eric Hintz, criminal defense attorney; Matthew Collins, Special Agent, ATF, former Deputy U.S. Marshal; Steve Petillo, Palo Alto Police, retired; Deputy Phil w.a.n.g of the Los Angeles County Sheriff Department; and Tim Tofaute, former member of SEAL Teams FIVE and EIGHT, and of the Naval Strike Warfare Center, who always takes the time to expound on bullets and bar brawls.

Always and of course I appreciate the booksellers and librarians, as well as Pam Pfeifer, my parents, and Gary and Karen Messing-great supporters and readers, the whole lot of them.

Above all else, I'm thankful for Delinah Raya Blake, who makes all bad things good and all good things magnificent.

About the Author.

Gregg Andrew Hurwitz is the author of The Tower, Minutes to Burn The Tower, Minutes to Burn and and Do No Harm Do No Harm. He lives in Los Angeles, where he's currently working on his fourth novel.

Also by Gregg Hurwitz

THE TOWER.

MINUTES TO BURN.

DO NO HARM.