The First Rule

by Robert Crais

  Stone hesitated, and Pike listened to the N.W.A tracks behind him, back in the day before Ice Cube went legit.

  “C’mon, Jon. You have ins with those guys.”

  Stone cleared his throat, sounding uncomfortable.

  “I might have a friend who has a friend. I’m just saying, is all.”

  “I need this information before they make an arrest.”

  Stone lapsed into another silence, and now seemed thoughtful when he spoke.

  “I guess you would, then, Joseph.”

  “Frank was one of my guys.”

  “Listen, that business about Frank, I have an idea. Ask Lonny. Lonny might know.”

  Lonny Tang. The man who had taken the picture in El Salvador. Thirteen days later, on a job in Kuwait, Frank Meyer would save Lonny Tang’s life on what would turn out to be Lonny’s last job.

  Pike said, “Why would Lonny know?”

  “Frank kept in touch with him. You didn’t know? He sent Lonny Christmas cards, stuff like that. I’ll bet you ten bucks his wife never knew.”

  Pike didn’t respond because Pike hadn’t known, either. He hadn’t spoken with Lonny in years, and Frank even longer. Stone went on, finishing his idea.

  “If Frank was mixed up in something, he’d tell Lonny if he was gonna tell anyone.”

  “That’s a good idea, asking Lonny. I will.”

  “You gotta set it up through his lawyer. You want the number?”

  “I have it.”

  “I’ll let you know about the other thing after I talk to my guys.”

  “Thanks, Jon. How much do I owe you?”

  Stone cranked up the N.W.A. Something about guns in Compton. Something about making a muthuhfucka pay.

  “Forget it. Frank was one of my guys, too.”

  Pike lowered the phone, thought over what he needed to do, then raised the phone again. Pike owned a small gun shop not far from his condo. He had five employees who were expecting him that afternoon.

  “Gun shop. This is Sheila. May I help you?”

  Sheila Lambert was a retired FBI agent who worked part-time at the store.

  “Me. Everything good?”

  “Yeah, we’re groovy. What’s up?”

  “I won’t be in this afternoon. That okay?”

  “Not a problem. You wanna speak with Ronnie?”

  Ronnie managed Pike’s store.

  “Just pass the word. If he needs me, I’m on the cell.”

  “Roger that.”

  Pike hung up, cleared two other appointments he had that afternoon, then called Lonny Tang’s attorney, a man named Carson Epp.

  Pike said, “I need to speak with him. Can you set it up?”

  “How soon?”

  “Soon. It’s a family emergency.”

  “May I tell him what this is about?”

  Pike decided Lonny should hear about Frank from him, and not Epp or someone else. Lonny had been one of Pike’s guys, too.

  “Frank the Tank.”

  “Frank the Tank?”

  “He’ll know. Let me give you my cell.”

  Pike gave him his number, then lowered the phone, thinking he couldn’t wait for Stone to come up with something Terrio might or might not have developed. He wondered if Ana Markovic was still alive, and if she had managed to speak. Chen said she hadn’t, but Chen was only repeating what he had heard from the cops, and the cops would have left as soon as a doctor told them she was not going to wake up. Pike wanted to talk to the nurses. Even unconscious, she might have mumbled something after the cops were gone. A word or a name could give him an edge. Pike wanted the edge.

  Pike changed into a pale blue dress shirt to make himself presentable, then bought a bouquet of daisies and drove to the hospital.

  5

  THE INTENSIVE CARE UNIT was on the sixth floor of the UCLA Medical Center. Pike stepped out of the elevator and followed signs to an octagonal command post at the end of a hall lined by glass-walled rooms. Curtains could be pulled for privacy, but most of the rooms were open so the staff could see the patients from the hall.

  Pike walked the length of the hall checking for officers, but any officers who had been present were gone. He returned to the nurses’ station, and waited until a harried female nurse turned to him. Her name tag read BARBARA FARNHAM.

  “May I help you?”

  Pike and his dress shirt held out the flowers.

  “Ana Markovic.”

  The nurse’s expression softened when she saw the daisies.

  “I’m sorry. Are you a relative?”

  “I know the family.”

  “We limit our visitors in ICU, only one person at a time, and then only for a few minutes. Her sister’s here now, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

  Pike nodded.

  “Room twelve, but you can’t leave the flowers. If a patient has an allergic reaction, it could weaken their immune system.”

  Pike had expected this, and handed over the flowers. The nurse admired them as she placed them on the counter.

  “Pretty. I like daisies. You can pick them up when you leave or we can send them to another part of the hospital. We usually send them to Maternity.”

  “Before I see her, I’d like to speak with her primary nurse. Is that possible?”

  “Well, that’s all of us, really. We work as a team.”

  “The police told me she wasn’t able to make a statement when they found her. I was wondering if she came around after surgery.”

  “No, I’m sorry, she hasn’t.”

  “I don’t mean a conversation. Maybe she mumbled a name. Said something that might help the police.”

  The nurse looked sympathetic.

  “You’ll understand when you see her. She’s unconscious and completely uncommunicative.”

  “Would you ask the other nurses?”

  “I’ll ask, but I’m sure she hasn’t spoken.”

  A light mounted outside a nearby door came on, drawing the nurse’s attention.

  “Room twelve. Only for a few minutes, all right?”

  The nurse hurried away, so Pike went down the hall to room twelve. Like the other rooms, the door was open and the drape pulled back so the nurses could see the patient. Pike expected to find the sister, but room twelve was empty except for the bandaged figure in the bed.

  Pike hesitated at the door, wondering how far he should take this, then went to the bed. The left side of Ana’s face and head were hidden beneath heavy bandages, but the right half of her face was visible. She seemed to be trying to open her eye. Her eyelid would lift, the eye beneath would drift and roll, then the eyelid would close.

  Pike knew she had not spoken as soon as he saw her, and thought it unlikely she would regain consciousness. The shape of the bandage on her head suggested a bullet had entered beneath her left eye, angling away from the midline. The way the visible part of her face was swollen and discolored suggested bone fragments from the maxilla had exploded into her sinuses, mouth, and eye like shrapnel. The pain would have been excruciating. Pike lifted the sheet enough to see the incisions taped across her chest and abdomen, which were still orange from the Betadine solution used to clean the area. He lowered the sheet, and tucked it beneath her. The upper chest wound had done the most damage. The bullet had likely deflected off her ribs or clavicle, and punched down through the diaphragm into her abdomen. Between the time she was shot and the time she was wheeled into surgery, her left lung had collapsed, the chest cavity had filled with blood, and the blood had drained through the diaphragm into her abdomen. As she lost blood, her blood pressure dropped until it was so low her organs began shutting down, like a car engine without enough oil. A car engine without oil will run, but the engine will damage itself. Let it run long enough, you can replenish the oil all you want, but the damage will have been done, and the engine will die. Ana Markovic had bled out internally, and now she was dying.

  Pike had seen men die this way before, and knew if this young woman was ever going to offer what
she had seen, she would have to offer it soon.

  Pike said, “Ana?”

  Her visible eye flagged, rolled, drooped.

  Pike touched her cheek.

  “Ana, we need your help.”

  The eye rolled, then drooped again, an autonomic move without conscious thought.

  Pike took her hand. He stroked it, then pinched the soft flesh between her thumb and index finger.

  “What did they look like?”

  She did not respond.

  “Who shot you?”

  A rigid female voice cut him from behind.

  “Move away from her.”

  Pike calmly turned. A woman in her late twenties who was probably the sister stood framed in the door. Eyes like flint chips, black hair pulled tight, and a pronounced East European accent.

  Pike said, “I was trying to wake her.”

  “Leave go her hand, and move away.”

  She wore a suede jacket over designer jeans and cradled an oversized leather shoulder bag with one hand. The other hand was inside the bag, and ominously still.

  Pike placed Ana’s hand on the bed.

  “I’m sorry. I came to see if she was awake. The Meyers were friends of mine.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “The people she worked for?”

  “Frank and Cindy. Ana cared for their boys.”

  “You know Ana?”

  “We never met, no.”

  The woman didn’t soften in any way Pike could see. Her eyes charted his face, his build, his shades, and cropped warrior hair. She didn’t like what she saw. Not even the shirt.

  She stepped aside to clear the door.

  “You should leave now. They don’t like the visitors.”

  Her hand stayed in the purse.

  Pike said, “Has she said anything that could help us?”

  “Us. Now you are the police?”

  “I misspoke. A name. A word. Something that could identify the people who did this.”

  “I think you go. She tells us who did this thing, I will tell the police.”

  Pike considered her for a moment, then went to the door.

  “I understand. I’m sorry about your sister.”

  The woman edged further to the side as Pike left. He glanced back, and saw her watching from the door as if sizing him for a coffin. He glanced again when he reached the nurses’ station, but this time she was gone.

  Pike waited at the station until Barbara Farnham returned, then asked if she had checked with the other nurses. She had, but all of them had responded the same. Ana Markovic had made no sounds, nor shown any signs of recovery.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ve seen her. I wish I could be more optimistic for you.”

  “Thanks for checking.”

  When Pike reached the elevator, Ana’s sister was waiting. He nodded, but she looked away. The elevator arrived with three other people aboard, so they rode down in silence, Pike on one side, Ana’s sister on the other.

  The sister exited the elevator first, but stopped at a lobby newsstand as Pike continued to the parking structure. He saw her watching as he passed, and caught her reflection in a wall of glass when she followed him.

  Pike crossed to the parking garage, then stopped on the ground floor for the elevator. Pike always took the stairs no matter how many flights he had to climb, but now he waited for the elevator. He was not surprised when Ana’s sister stepped up beside him.

  This time, she made a tight smile.

  “We are destined to see each other.”

  Pike said, “Yes.”

  The elevator was empty when it opened. No one else waited to board. Pike held the door, letting her go first. The woman stepped aboard, and moved to the back corner. Pike followed her, as certain of what she was about to do as if he could see it on a Sunset Boulevard billboard. Her hand was still in her purse.

  Pike said, “Which level?”

  “Three.”

  As the doors closed, her hand came out of the purse with a small black gun that Pike twisted away even before she raised it. She swung at him, trying to hit, but Pike caught her arm, careful not to break it. She tried to knee him, but he leaned in just enough to pin her with his hip. He pulled the button to stop the elevator. A loud buzzer went off, but not for long.

  “I didn’t come here to hurt her.”

  She was trapped. Breathing hard, eyes cut to slits, she looked like she wanted to rip his throat with her teeth.

  Pike said, “Calm down. Look.”

  Keeping her pinned, he one-handed the clip from the pistol, and jacked the slide to clear the chamber. A nice little Ruger .380.

  Pike kept his voice calm and measured.

  “You see? I wasn’t one of the men who killed them.”

  He stepped away, raising his hands.

  “Frank Meyer was my friend.”

  Pike held out the unloaded gun.

  “You see?”

  She straightened herself, maybe embarrassed, but maybe not altogether convinced. She clutched the gun with both hands, her back pressed to the wall.

  “How did you find her?”

  “The police told me.”

  “Those bastards might find her, too. What if they come to kill her?”

  “So you’re standing guard?”

  “They leave her here with no one! I do what I have to do.”

  Pike’s phone vibrated, so loud in the closed space she glanced toward his pocket. Pike would have ignored it, but he was expecting Carson Epp, and that’s who it was. Pike took the call, staring at her as he spoke.

  “Pike.”

  “I will have Lonny on the line in twenty minutes. Will you be able to take it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Twenty.”

  Pike returned the phone to his pocket, then tipped his head at her pistol.

  “Put it away.”

  She put the Ruger into her purse. Pike added the clip and the loose cartridge, then offered his hand.

  “My name is Pike.”

  She stared at him, the dark eyes remaining suspicious. Her cheekbones were high and prominent, her cheeks were lean, and a small scar capped the bridge of her nose where she had been cut as a child. Pike’s hand had been cooked dark by the sun, but her skin was pale as milk.

  She gripped his hand quickly.

  Pale and warm, but hard underneath.

  She said, “Rina.”

  “Karina.”

  “Yes.”

  “Russian?”

  “Serbian.”

  “Leave the gun home. They won’t come here. Their risk would be larger than the chance she could identify them. They know that, so they won’t take the chance. The police know the same thing, which is why they didn’t post a guard.”

  Her eyes narrowed again, mapping him like before.

  “You are not a policeman?”

  “Frank was my friend.”

  The elevator buzzed again, anxious to move.

  Pike said, “Which floor?”

  “Here. I am not parked in this building.”

  Pike reached for the button to open the door.

  “When we got on, what were you going to do, shoot me?”

  “I thought you might be one of them. If you were, then, yes, I would have shot you.”

  Pike opened the door. A round man got on as Rina Markovic stepped off.

  She said, “Perhaps someone will find these bastards, yes?”

  “Someone will find them. Yes.”

  She studied him for a moment as if taking his measure, and Pike thought her eyes were haunted.

  “I am sorry for your friend. I think many families have been lost by this.”

  She walked away as the door closed. Pike took the elevator up to his Jeep. He took off the blue dress shirt, slipped on the sleeveless gray sweatshirt, then wound his way down to the exit.

  Eight minutes later, he was in a Best Buy parking lot when Lonny Tang called.

  6

  PIKE WAS WATCHING UC
LA students cut between cars on their way home from campus, not far from Frank Meyer’s home, when his phone finally vibrated, three minutes late.

  Pike said, “I’m here.”

  Carson Epp said, “Lonny, can you hear him okay?”

  Lonny’s voice was high-pitched and soft.

  “Yeah, I hear him fine. Hey, Joe.”

  Epp said, “I’m going to hang up now. That will leave the two of you on the line. Lonny, when you’re finished, just hang up. I’ll check back with you to make sure everything is all right.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Carson.”

  “Righto, then.”

  Pike heard a click as Epp left the line, then the hush of Lonny Tang’s voice.

  “Must be bad, you calling like this.”

  Pike didn’t know how else to say it, so he gave it to Lonny head-on.

  “Frank’s dead. He was murdered two nights ago. Frank and his family.”

  Lonny was silent on the other end, but then Pike heard a gentle sobbing. Pike let him cry. If any of them had a right to cry, it was Lonny.

  Lonny said, “Sorry. I don’t mean to carry on.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Lonny got himself together and cleared his throat.

  “Thanks for letting me know. I appreciate it, Joe. The bastard who did it, they get him?”

  “Not yet. The police think it’s a home invasion crew. Frank’s house was the seventh home they’ve hit.”

  Lonny cleared his throat again.

  “Okay, well, I don’t know what to say. When they get these pricks, will you let me know?”

  “I have to ask you something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “This crew, they work on good intelligence. Their first six targets were all people like dope dealers and money cleaners. You see where I’m going?”

  “Frank had an import business. He imported clothes.”

  “If Frank was importing something else, he was in business with someone who gave him up. That person knows who killed him.”

  “You think I’m holding out on you, Joe?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “This is Frank, man. Are you serious?”

  “Did he tell you something I should know?”

  Lonny was quiet for a while, breathing, and his voice was calm.