“Got aces up both sleeves. Best case scenario: Koenig hands us the one-hundred-sixty grand and Ninovich kills him while we’re getting away.”
“And the worst case is we’re ambushed, Ninovich arrives too late, and we’re fighting for our lives.”
“How about some positivity?”
“I’ll believe we’ve screwed him when we’ve screwed him.”
11
Running and Gunning
At 10:00 a.m., Max got a phone call from Raymond. “There’s a parking lot behind an empty storefront on Jennifer Street—used to be a Jumbo Records and CDs. Be there at four p.m.”
“Your boss going to be there?”
“He’ll be there.” Raymond ended the call.
Max turned to Kelly Jo. “We’re on for four p.m.”
“Let’s get ready,” she said.
They drove out of the motel parking lot and circled around the block. “Anyone following us?”
“Not yet.”
“Google up the storage place.”
They drove out to Security First Storage at the northern freeway interchange and drove up and down the aisles until they found the storage unit Anders had set up for them. Max picked the lock and rolled up the garage door. Four large duffels lay on the concrete floor. “Anders came through,” Kelly Jo said.
“I wasn’t worried he’d put them there. I was worried that he told Ninovich.”
They loaded the duffels into the back of the Honda. Then they drove downtown. They cruised up and down until they found a public parking ramp without an attendant. Across the street was Tony’s Pizza and Subs. They got a table by the window, shared a pepperoni pizza and a salad, and waited for the noon traffic to die down. Then Max crossed the street and walked the parking ramp until he found an old Ford Explorer. He picked the lock, hotwired it, and tapped the horn once as he exited the lot. Kelly Jo followed him in the Honda.
Meanwhile, up the coast at the vacation rental, Raymond, Hernandez, and their four remaining men were loading their vehicles. After they dealt with Max and Kelly Jo, there would be no time to waste. They were coming back here, getting paid off, and going their separate ways. Koenig was in the den in the walkout basement. He was taking no chances with his crew members. The two duffel bags of money were sitting on the sofa facing the big-screen TV. Koenig had transferred the entire two million into the right bag and placed one million counterfeit in the left bag. Then he rigged each bag with C-4 on a mercury switch detonator. A quart mason jar of ball bearings was duct-taped to the explosive. If anyone tried to move the bags, they would explode, killing everyone in the room and destroying the money. Unless they input the correct passcode on the remote control.
Koenig slipped the remote control under the seat cushion of the chair next to the sofa. He didn’t need to carry it. He just needed it conveniently at hand when he came back, preferably with fewer crew members. He went up the stairs to the main floor. Everyone was sitting in the living room. “Are we ready?”
“All set,” Raymond said.
“I’ve got a good feeling about this,” Koenig said. “I can’t wait to see the look on Max’s face.” He turned to Hernandez. “Who’s going after Kelly Jo?”
“Cortez,” Hernandez replied. “He’s already left.”
“He knows where to meet us afterward?”
“He’ll be there.”
Back at the Budget Inn, Max and Kelly Jo carried the duffels into their room. Kelly Jo took a sniper rifle out of one duffel, assembled it and checked the action. All good. Then she disassembled it back into the duffel and made sure both magazines were full. Meanwhile, Max pulled the assault rifles from their duffels, checked them over, and checked their magazines. Finally, they tried on their comms headsets and earpieces. Everything worked perfectly.
They packed their clothes and shower kits into their roller bags and loaded then into the Explorer. “Looks like we’ve got a new shadow,” Kelly Jo said.
Max nodded. “The red Taurus? So obvious. Must be courtesy of Gower and Johnson. Did you see the other one?”
“The Latino in the old white Saturn?”
“Uh-huh.”
Kelly Jo shook her head. “They’re going to be tripping over each other.”
“That’s exactly what we want.”
Kelly Jo carried the duffels containing the sniper rifle, her comms, and one of the assault rifles out to the Explorer, while Max carried his comms and the other assault rifle out to the Honda. Then they wiped down the motel room for prints, starting with the bathroom and then working methodically from the back of the room to the door. By 2:30 they were ready.
“See you on the other side,” Max said. They hugged and kissed.
“I’ll be watching you.” Kelly Jo drove away.
Max got in the Honda, unzipped the duffel containing the assault rifle so he’d be able to pull it out if he needed it, and waited. The Taurus was still there, but the Saturn was gone. He called Kelly Jo. “The Saturn is missing.”
“I think he’s on me,” she said.
“Be sure.”
“I will.”
He ended that call and then called Ninovich. “I’m about to bag up your trash.”
“I heard you met with one of his guys yesterday.”
“Raymond. Sorry about your women. I think he got them.”
“Where are you going?”
Max gave him the address. “Meeting in about an hour. If you hurry, you’ll be there in time to clean up the scene.”
Kelly Jo circled around a block, sped through a traffic light as it turned from yellow to red, cut down an alley, and turned right onto a boulevard. No Saturn. She kept on this route until she had to cut over two blocks to stay on course. That’s when she noticed the Saturn again. She called Max. “The Saturn? Thought I lost him, but he’s back. Seems like he knows where I’m going.”
“What street are you on?”
“Orion.”
“I’ll box him in.”
Max looked in his rearview mirror. The Taurus was two cars back, driving like he took the surveillance course, taking it easy, not jumping around attracting attention. Max didn’t have time to play it safe. The traffic light ahead was green. He stepped on the gas to gain some distance from the Nissan immediately behind him, then he hit the brakes, skidding for four or five feet. The Nissan braked hard. The Ford behind it did the same, and veered left to avoid a collision. Max stomped on the gas just before the Nissan slammed into him. Both lanes were blocked. The Taurus was trapped. Max shot through the intersection on the yellow light and took the next right.
He drove just above the speed limit, passing cars wherever he could. Three blocks down Orion Drive, he spotted Kelly Jo and the Saturn. He got out his phone. “I’m behind him. We’re not going to fool around. Find an alley.”
She took the second right down an alley behind a row of small shops. After she saw the Saturn and Max behind her, she stopped just beyond a dumpster and stepped out behind it with a pistol in her hand. A small man wearing dark clothes came out of the Saturn with a machine pistol. Max snatched up his assault rifle and rolled out of the Honda onto the pavement. “Cop?” he yelled.
The small man swung his pistol toward Max. Max fired twice. The man crumpled beside the Saturn. Kelly Jo stood lookout while Max went through his pockets. No money, no wallet, just a pay-as-you-go cell phone. “This is one of Koenig’s guys.”
There was one number in the address book. Max send a text message: It’s done. Then he put the phone in his pocket.
“We’re running out of time,” Kelly Jo said.
“It’s not going to start without us. You call me when you’re in place.”
Meanwhile, Sergeant Park had driven around the cars blocking Crenshaw Boulevard. He’d seen Barlow’s Honda CR-V take the right turn one block past the intersection. He followed. The Honda was nowhere in sight. Park sped up, glancing down the side streets as he shot by them. Just a simple surveillance job, and he’d botched it. Gower was going to ream h
im a new one. But there was nothing he could do about it now. He was going to have to report in. That’s when he heard the gunshots. They were close. He slowed down and started driving up and down the cross streets. A few minutes later, he spotted a man lying in an alley beside the open car door of a white Saturn. There was no one else in sight. He pulled up beside the Saturn and rushed over to the man. No pulse. His clothes were bloody, and a machine pistol lay on the pavement beside him. Park called for police response. Then he called Gower.
“So Barlow made you and lost you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And within eight blocks, you heard gunfire and found a dead man in an alley off of Orion Drive?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Near Jackson Street?”
“Yeah.”
“Stay at the crime scene. We’re coming to you.”
Gower and Johnson were driving down Mission Avenue, Johnson behind the wheel, when Sergeant Park called. “Head for Orion Drive,” Gower said.
Johnson took a left at the next intersection. Gower pulled up a city map on a tablet computer. “Orion and Jackson. That whole area is a warren of abandoned buildings.”
“That fire was pretty bad in there. Not much left. You think Barlow killed that guy?”
“I think Barlow’s up to something and it got that guy killed, so it must be happening now.”
“It’ll take a lot of manpower to search that area.” Johnson took a right onto Crenshaw Boulevard.
“But there’s not much legitimate reason for groups of people to be gathered there. And there’s been a killing. I’m radioing for the helicopter to sweep the area.”
Kelly Jo parked behind an abandoned three-story building one street behind the shuttered Jumbo Records and CDs. The street was deserted. She slung her assault rifle over her shoulder, put her comms headset into her jacket pocket, and grabbed the bag containing the sniper rifle out of the back of the Explorer. The windows on the building were boarded up, but the padlock on the exterior door had been forced open. The scratches on the metal were new. She gave the door a gentle push. The first-floor landing was dark. She pulled a penlight from her jacket pocket. The stairs were littered with fast-food trash and liquor bottles, but all the trash looked old, like it had accumulated before the padlock. She focused her light on the steps. A large boot print marked the dust. She crept up the steps, straining to hear any sounds as she went. The second floor seemed undisturbed, likewise the third floor. But the dust on the steep stairs to the roof showed definite smudges. She sneaked up the stairs and slowly lifted the hatch. A man with a sniper rifle was lying in position on the roof overlooking the parking lot behind the Jumbo Records and CD. She crept back down to the third floor and called Max. “There’s a guy in my spot,” she whispered. “Don’t want to spook Koenig by shooting him now. Put on your earpiece and microphone. When you tell me you’re in place, I’ll deal with him.”
“Got you.”
Max pulled over on Jennifer Street a block away from the shuttered Jumbo Records and CDs. He called Ninovich. “I’m at the meet. My girl’s on the roof.”
Ninovich chuckled. “We’ll try not to kill you in the crossfire.”
Max put in his comms earpiece and clipped the microphone inside his shirt. “Check. Check. Love you.”
“Love you more,” Kelly Jo replied.
He turned up the driveway between the buildings and into the parking lot. A Toyota Highlander sat across the parking lot, facing him. He had to admire Koenig’s choice of a meeting spot; it was the perfect place for an ambush. Only one way in and out. Deep shadow hid the doorways to the building behind the Highlander. He flashed his headlights. “We’re on,” he said into his microphone. He could hear the chop-chop-chop of helicopter blades in the distance. He wondered if that was Koenig’s ride out of here.
He stepped out behind the Honda’s door, the assault rifle in his hands. Raymond got out of the driver’s side of the Highlander, and then Koenig got out of the passenger’s side. “Well, my boy, you certainly know how to be a pain in the ass.”
“Thanks,” Max said. “But I’m not here to trade pleasantries. Have you got my money?”
Koenig nodded to Raymond, who opened the liftback and came back with a duffel bag, which he tossed toward Max. It landed with a thud about ten feet short of the Honda. Max squinted into the shadows behind the Highlander, but he couldn’t see any movement. He kept his rifle trained on Koenig as he stepped around the SUV’s door and crossed to the duffel. Money or old newspapers? Joy or murder. He squatted down and unzipped the bag. Rubber-banded bundles of old money.
Koenig watched him with his hands in his pockets. “Hard to believe you would leave your woman.”
“Why’s that?” Max shoved his hand into the bag to see if it was all money.
“Scuttlebutt says you’re soft on her.”
“Can’t believe everything you hear,” Max said. The sound of a gunshot reverberated off the surrounding buildings. He heard Kelly Jo in his ear. “Got him. I’m in place.” He zipped the duffel and hoisted it onto his left shoulder.
Koenig kept talking as if he hadn’t heard the shot. “No woman and no job. There’s nothing for you here but trouble. You might as well come with us. It’ll be like the old days.”
“I’m out of here,” Max said.
As he turned, three men rushed out of the shadows, pistols drawn. Max ran for the cover of the Honda as the men opened fire. Just then a police helicopter swooped down over them, swinging a spotlight across the parking lot. Max, squinting in the blowing dust, fired blind. One of the shooters fell to the ground. He heard Kelly Jo’s voice in his ear. “One down.”
The loudspeaker on the helicopter crackled. “Put your weapons down. You’re under arrest.”
Koenig and Raymond ran back toward the Highlander. Ninovich and four men wearing garage coveralls poured down the driveway into the parking lot, firing as they came. Raymond and Koenig’s other two men returned fire. Koenig climbed into the Highlander and sped straight into Ninovich’s men, scattering them as he escaped down the driveway. Max ran from behind the Honda to the nearest block of apartments, trying doors as he scurried along. A shooter was chasing him. He didn’t know if he was one of Koenig’s or one of Ninovich’s. He turned, fired a burst, and kicked in the next door he came to. He glanced back. The shooter was down. “You got him,” Kelly Jo said.
“Get down off there. I’m heading west.”
Ninovich ran out onto the street in front of the Jumbo Records and CDs, climbed into his Suburban and started after Koenig, who was about a block ahead of him. He heard sirens. In his rearview mirror he saw the police converging on the parking lot. He’d caught a break. He’d gotten out of there just in time. But if he screwed things up now, Smithson would probably kill him himself. He had to get the money back, and he had to get Koenig. He was slowly gaining on the Highlander as it meandered through the nearby streets. It seemed as if Koenig was trying to determine if he was being followed before he made his next move. Ninovich smiled. He wasn’t some greenhorn who would fall for such a simple stunt. In the next few minutes, Koenig would have to telegraph where he was actually going. At Crenshaw Boulevard, the Highlander took a left. Coast Road. He had to be headed for the Coast Road. That was the only artery out of the city in that direction. Ninovich got out his phone. Who was closest?
He called his garage at Sea Side Place. “Freddy? I need a loaded semitruck up at the intersection with the Coast Road, and I need it now.”
“It’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Call me when it’s there.”
When Koenig left in the Highlander, Raymond and Hernandez fell back toward the apartment to their right, laying down cover fire for each other as they moved. Both of their men were down and shooters—they assumed they must be part of Smithson’s crew—were slowly advancing on them.
“Where’s the car?” Raymond yelled.
“On the street behind us,” Hernandez replied.
An unmar
ked police car, blue light pulsing and sirens wailing, screeched to a stop in the driveway to the parking lot. Two cops in plain clothes crouched behind their open car doors, weapons drawn.
“Put your weapons down,” the helicopter loudspeakers said.
Raymond and Hernandez ran through the apartment, through the fire damage and abandoned furniture, and out onto the next street over, where a pickup truck sat parked on the street. Hernandez pressed the unlock button on the key fob as they rushed toward it.
“Think we can beat Koenig back to the money?” Raymond asked.
“We’re going to try.”
Max could still hear shooting and the chop-chop of the helicopter blades in the distance. He was three blocks from the parking lot, creeping along the side of a row of burned-out houses, the duffel over his shoulder and his rifle down along his leg. He saw headlights flash in his peripheral vision. He glanced over his shoulder. It was the Ford Explorer. Kelly Jo waved from the driver’s seat. She pulled up on the street beside him. He tossed the duffel and the rifle into the back and climbed into the front. “How did it end back there?”
She grinned. “Clusterfuck. The cops, Koenig’s guys, Smithson’s guys, everybody shooting everybody.”
“That was some good work back there.”
She shrugged. “How did we do?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t have time to count.”
“I’m surprised there was money in the bag.”
“I guess he thought I’d shoot him right then if the bag was empty. He was going to take it back after he sprung his trap anyway.”
She put the Explorer in Drive. “Koenig got away.”
“We’ll see about that. Let’s go get our escape packet.”
Koenig felt pretty good about his prospects. Most all his guys were dead, and he’d had to leave Raymond behind, but he still had all of the two million. One stop at the vacation rental for the money and his escape packet, and he would be gone, never to be seen again. A citizen of a small Caribbean nation with no extradition treaties. Two more blocks of warehouses, and he’d be on the open road. Two hands on the steering wheel, watch the speed limit, every mile getting him farther into the clear. Sea Side Place was on his right.
The Casino Switcheroo Page 16
