by K R Hill
Nick grabbed onto the safety strap hanging at the top of the window, put his hand through it, and lifted up on the seat and repositioned himself. “Well, yeah, most of it. I had to know who I was working for.”
“I need to go somewhere tonight. But I need to know that Sophie Devonshire is safe. Can you stay with her?”
“Of course. You’re going to see that Jax woman, right?”
Dalton turned. “Yeah, if my past is exposed, she’s in danger. I need to make sure she’s safe too.”
“If she’s so terrific like you said, why don’t you just forget about all this and run away with her?”
“For one, Sophie Devonshire’s life is in danger. And besides, I don’t know if Jax still wants me.”
“There’s one way to find out.”
“This isn’t the best time to bring a woman onboard. There’s so much going on, it makes me crazy.”
“Makes you crazy? Ha! I’m a computer guy, and I find out my boss is being chased by a military hit squad. He’s been relocated by the DOD, and the fricking Israeli government is trying to shoot him. I’m carrying a cannon around like a gangster rapper. Hell, any person on the street might jump me and slit my throat. And talking about some girl makes you nervous?”
“You ever met a woman that just looked in your eyes and knew everything about you?”
“You’re still in love with her. Go and get her and make a life.”
Dalton looked up at the Uber driver. “Watch the road, driver. Keep your ears closed and drive.”
The driver leaned toward the steering wheel, reached up, and jerked on his shoulder harness, and said: “Yes, sir. Yes, I can do that. I am not listening to one word you say, not about the hit squad or the people that want to slit your throat. Nothing. Me, Abdul, he hears nothing because you tip him very well.”
Dalton tapped Nick on the leg. “I’m bringing in someone to help.”
“Okay.” Nick shoved his hair back.
“Wait a minute. You already know about my buddy from the military. You found the e-mails where I asked him for information about Jax. That’s why you have that dog-ate-the-cookies look on your face.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Nick thumped the head-rest of the seat in front of him. “Computers. Everything you do on a computer is recorded. I’m a computer guy. I can’t not look at that stuff. When I came to work for you, I didn’t know who you were. I had to find out, all right?”
“So why do you let me explain everything, if you already know? I hate computers.”
“Good. Of course you do. Cross the bridge to LA. See your buddy and get an update on Jax.” Nick rolled down the window and his hair flew about.
***
Rain had fallen earlier in the day for all of five minutes, and the radio weather was filled with storm reports. Dalton smiled because whenever it rained in LA, it was a storm, and people spoke about it as though some illegal action had taken place.
He accelerated up onto the Vincent Thomas Bridge. In the distance, Palos Verdes Peninsula stuck out into the Pacific, dark and rough and specked with lights. Halfway over the bridge, he had to slow down as wisps of fog came in off the ocean and drifted across the bridge. This route made him feel good, as though he was out of the city.
Dalton pulled off the bridge, drove along some residential streets to the 110 Freeway, and headed straight into downtown LA. The off-ramp dropped him into the warehouses of the arts district. This had once been a hustling industrial section where semis pulled up to loading docks, their trailers filled with textiles, paper products, coffee, and food. Now the neighborhood was filled with chic art galleries, clothing boutiques that played loud music, artist lofts, cafés and street musicians.
The wide streets that once accommodated hundreds of trucks now seemed nearly empty, even during rush hour. Street murals added bright color to some buildings. Loud music blared from a few warehouse stores. Manikins posed on the sidewalks before clothing boutiques. Geraniums filled window pots.
Dalton searched for a corner warehouse he remembered. He smiled when he found it. A few blocks away, he waited for a car to pull out of its spot, then backed in and turned off the engine.
Outside the door, he thumped a brass tapper against the door and pressed his thumb over the spy hole. There were some noises inside the building, followed by silence.
“You got no business here, homie,” someone shouted from behind the door. “I got a .357 pushed against this door that’s gunna blow a hole right through it. You best move along.”
Dalton chuckled. “I believe this is the rainy season in Honduras.”
“Fuck me. Dalton? Is that you?”
Dalton heard keys rattling, and the four deadbolts started clicking this way and that, and after a minute the door opened, and Ted pulled him inside.
“Oh, man, it’s good to see you. I’ll never forget that mission in Honduras. We were bad men.”
They hugged, and Dalton backed away quickly, holding his friend at arm’s length. “Ted, I’m coming in hot. I got trouble coming at me from all directions. I’ll understand if you don’t want any part of this. Just say so, and I’ll disappear.”
Ted pushed him aside, picked up his door-side shotgun, and looked through the spy hole. “Who’s after you? Police? Let the fuckers come. They better have a tank, because that’s the only way they’re getting into my crib.”
“I don’t think I was followed. Can you help with this case?”
Ted walked across the warehouse to an area where the concrete floor was covered with wood planks. A picnic table stood in the center of the wood area. He sat the shotgun on the table and took a couple bottles of beer from an old fridge.
“Thanks.” Dalton drank.
“So, we’re not going to check on Jax like usual? She’s doing really well with that district attorney job. Investigator. She’s following your lead.”
“I’m glad she’s safe. I owe you for looking after her. But I can’t check on her tonight.”
Dalton dropped a file on the table. “You better look at this.”
Ted flipped through the papers. He got to a photograph of Solomon’s Key and stared at it.
“That’s the whole case right there. Mrs. Devonshire’s husband had it slipped into his belongings in Germany. Someone with major money is tracking it.”
“How much green we talking?” Ted drank.
“Hey, you need to know what you’re getting into. Those guys are killers.”
“Oh hell, Dalton, I grew up in Compton. I been dealing with gang bangers my whole life.”
“Oh, and there’s—”
“There’s more?” Ted shouted and climbed to his feet. “Who else is looking for you?”
“Israelis.”
“Is who?” Ted picked up the shotgun and looked around. “Brother, you are coming in hot. You make me nervous just talking to you.”
“I want you to know what you’re getting into if you’re signing on.”
Ted sat down, tapped the photo, and looked up. “How long we been tight?”
Dalton smiled and nodded. “We have to do this again? Why do we have to go through this every time?”
“Come on, brother, tell me now.”
“I don’t want to tell you again. What’s wrong with you? You were there too. How come I have to tell the story every time?”
“How long we been homies?”
Dalton threw his head back and sighed. “Okay! Ever since that day in seventh grade.”
“That kid was two years older and must have had thirty pounds on you. But that didn’t stop you, no sir. Before that, I was always knocking your ass around on the football field. You were the smallest linebacker I ever saw, and I was having fun knocking your white ass all over the field. But every time I’d knock you down, you get back up and come at me again. Hell, I didn’t even know we were friends, until that big bully called me a nigger, and you hit him in the mouth so hard he was spitting blood for a week. And then his whole crew jumped on you like they was ghetto pits
tearing you apart. Ha!”
Ted slapped the table and laughed. “I think we found his whole crew that day. I didn’t even know you busted a knuckle on that guy’s head until the next football practice you had a cast on your hand."
Dalton held up his right hand and made a fist. “That fracture almost kept me out of the Army."
“Man, I had to guard you all the way home every day for a month.”
“I know we’re good, Ted, but don’t take this case lightly.”
“How much green we talking?”
“You still have a license?”
“My PI license is my bread and butter. And I’m getting really tired of doing divorce cases. It’s enough to make you think that no woman in the world was ever faithful.”
“I’ll give you five large now, and five more if we find that thing. You good with that?”
Ted held his arms out to each side and danced.
“Oh, no, not the Ted dance.”
“Oh, yeah, brother. Ten grand for big Ted. I’m feeling it.”
“Remember how you used to drive the coach crazy when you’d Ted dance at football practice?” Dalton laughed.
“I’ll bet you’re dying to ask about Jax. I know you’re thinking about it, Dalton. I know you want to tickle that up.” Ted’s whole face lit up as he smiled.
“How is she?”
“Well, she graduated and started working for the county as a social worker. But she couldn’t keep her mouth shut and ended up hitting some guy when he put his hand on her leg. He got two stitches in his lip. You two have the same temper.”
Dalton laughed. “I miss her.”
“I know you do. She’s a hell of a woman.”
“Maybe we could just go over there so I can see her. Is she still writing those letters and stuff?”
Ted tapped the knuckle on the table and looked over a shoulder, and then turned and looked over the other. “Man, you hear that window rattling back there? I got a replacement from the Home Depot. It was marked down like forty percent off. All I have to do is get my tools—”
“Why are you changing the subject?”
Ted set his hands on the table and looked at his guest. “Because you’re both out of your mind. All that cartel business is behind you. They forgot you. But you gotta go on refusing to be with this woman that you love. It’s tearing you both apart.”
“Is she still writing those letters?”
“Yes, to Congressmen and your commanding officer. She won’t accept that you’re gone.”
“You think cartel men ever forget?”
Ted sat silent for a short while. “Maybe you should leave her alone. She was in therapy for two years, Dalton.”
“I’m trying to do the right thing. Can you take me to see her?”
They went out to the van and Ted drove. After a short drive he pulled the van to the curb in a neighborhood that bordered East LA. Two-bedroom tract homes lined the streets. The gangs made this section of the city a no-man’s-land in the eighties, but an influx of Latinos created the need for inexpensive housing. New families moved in and gave the area new life. Many of the homes were now painted bright colors: turquoise, and shades of pink. Gone were the bars that had once decorated windows and doors. Neighbors sat on porches and played with children.
“What happened to her old place?”
“I helped her move into this place about six months ago. She said she was working on some new projects with the DA, and needed more room. She got a really good deal here.”
“Which place?”
Ted pointed to a long, rectangular building a few houses up the street. It looked like it had once been a store, with high concrete walls that had no windows.
Just as they were getting ready to climb out of the van, a man walked out the front door of Jax’s building. He was an older man with gray hair. He walked twenty feet and paused, set a black brief case between his feet, placed a gray stingy brim hat on his head, and pulled a coat over his gray suit. A black town car pulled away from the curb and met him in the center of the street. A huge Samoan driver climbed out and walked around the back of the vehicle and opened the door.
“I got the license.” Dalton scribbled on a piece of paper.
“That guy gives me the creeps.”
“He’s ex-military. I can smell it. You think Jax is working with him?”
“Maybe they’re seeing each other. You know some people still do that.”
Dalton pulled his seatbelt across him and latched it, wiped his hands up and down on his pants. “Well, maybe she has moved on. I guess every step away from me is one in the right direction. But that’s not what my gut tells me.”
Ted reached out and took hold of Dalton’s arm. “Brother, either you have to find a new city and just let her go, or jump back in that boat and be in a thousand percent.”
Dalton started to speak, but Ted interrupted. “In or out, do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, sir, I got it loud and clear.”
Chapter 13
The next morning Dalton was at the office two hours before Nick. He started pulling chairs from other rooms, shoving plastic tables against the wall, and pulled his desk into a corner. He was sweeping dust from the mosaic floor tiles when Nick showed up with a Starbuck’s tray.
“What’s going on, boss?” Nick pushed open the door and stepped into the office.
Dalton smelled the coffee and his stomach growled. “I’m making room. We have a new person coming in. You can set your computer on this table.” Dalton tapped the plastic table and pulled a coffee from the tray.
“This is still the Devonshire case, right?” Nick tore open a sugar packet.
“Yeah, Ted’s coming down to do some footwork. I want you to set up as fast as possible, and get going on that stack of paperwork.” He pointed to several files.
“What is it?”
“Tax records. All the properties, trips, expenses, everything a computer whiz like you needs to find a missing piece. Mr. Devonshire stirred up some bad people. To do that he had to be playing in some dark places. Find out.”
Nick sipped his coffee, removed the stir stick and dropped it onto the carrier. “Oh, by the looks of all this paperwork, this is going to take a while. You mind if I farm this out?”
“To who?”
“Guys from the university, members of my computer group.”
“This is sensitive client–”
“We could have it finished by tomorrow morning.”
“Are you serious? Do it. Oh, I need you to run down this license plate.”
“Okay, but that means I have–”
“It means you have to pay the help. Take the cash from the account.”
Loud pounding came from the glass door, and Ted banged through the doorway carrying a rolled-up rug. He walked halfway across the office and looked the place over. “Yeah, this place isn’t much, about what I expected in this neighborhood.” He set the rug on a table and put his hands on his hips.
“You bring a rug every time you work a case?” Nick poked the rug and raised a corner, then sniffed his hand.
“That’s not a rug. That’s the carrying case for my ladies.” Ted introduced himself.
“What’d you bring?” Dalton asked.
“Just a few girls to keep me company.” He unrolled the rug. Inside were several rifles, a street sweeper shotgun with a huge magazine attachment, a couple revolvers, and a derringer.
Nick laughed and pointed with his coffee cup. “Looks like you’re preparing for war.”
The chair creaked as Dalton sat down. “Ted, Sophie Devonshire was attacked coming down the steps of her bank. The guy went after her purse.” He walked to the white board and tapped it with a marker. “That’s the bank address. I need you to get out there and work your magic, convince the person in charge that you need to take a look at the surveillance tape. I think it was a stakeout. I want to know who was involved and how we can get at them. Can you do that?”
Ted lif
ted the derby hat from his head and pointed to the board. “Of course, I can do that. I know the guard in that bank.”
“Hey guys, we got company,” called Nick. He rushed from the window, dropped his coffee cup, and picked up his .45. “I got five men coming up the stairs fast!” He pulled back the action on the pistol and ran to the door.”
“Are they armed?” asked Dalton.
“I didn’t see any weapons.”
“If they’re unarmed, then everybody needs to calm down.”
There was movement outside the front door. The opaque glass of the door distorted the figures on the landing. Then came a knock.
“This is Commander Rossi with the Vatican’s Rapid Response Unit. I am unarmed.”
Dalton pulled on his shoulder holster and sat down, then wave for Nick to let the guy in.
“I’m Jason Dalton.”
“I am pleased to meet you.” The commander walked to the chair in front of the desk, and nodded.
Dalton stood up and shook his hand. “What can I do for you, commander?”
From his polished black shoes, to the stylish cut of his over-coat, the old guy was military. All that was missing were the stripes on his arms. “I came to appeal to your sense of fairness. Maybe we can work together to return the artifact to its rightful owners.”
“I work for Mrs. Devonshire.”
“I am willing to offer men, intelligence reports, equipment, if we work together.”
“I will be returning the item to Mrs. Devonshire. You know the FBI is tracking it too.”
The commander jumped to his feet and threw his arms out. “That fat Lowenthal, is he here?”
Dalton nodded. “Yes, and that bald guy you have working for you. I don’t think diplomatic immunity is going to help when Lowenthal captures him.”
“So, you refuse my offer?”
“I refuse.”
“You are a fool.” The commander knocked over the chair. “I could have my men burst in here at any minute.”
Ted lifted the streetsweeper shotgun and pointed it at the commander. “Say the word.”
“I offer cooperation and a way to recover the artifact quickly, but you refuse. You are a fool.”
