Pacific Poison Page 30
by David Liscio
When it was over the men said their goodbyes in English and Italian and somewhere a heavy door closed.
Decker’s new Motorola MicroTac cell phone beeped in his pocket. It was the mobile unit reporting four men were leaving the house and getting into a large, dark sedan, most likely a Lincoln Continental.
“Follow them. At least get the plate number,” Decker said. “Summers and I will stay here and listen a while longer.”
