The Sentry

by Robert Crais

  “Stay there. Stay on the car.”

  Button cuffed his right wrist, then hooked up the left. When the fake Straw was secure, Button stepped back and checked him for a weapon.

  “Stay on the car, fucker. You’re under arrest. Do not turn around.”

  “What is this, Button? What are you doing?”

  “Jack Straw, my ass. I know you’re not Jack fuckin’ Straw. I just spoke to the sonofabitch.”

  Detective Jerry Button glimpsed movement between two nearby cars, but did not see the man in time even when a blowing horn drew his attention. It sounded like a long, anguished wail.

  Something hard punched him twice, so hard he staggered, which was when Kenny shot him again. Button fell to a knee, fumbling for the Snubbie as a tan Crown Victoria banged through oncoming traffic, spraying firefly sparks as it jumped the curb into the parking lot. Button saw Futardo, those black chocolate eyes all big in her head, coming to save him.

  Button said, “No, honey—”

  Kenny shot her through the windshield, then quickly walked to her window and shot her again.

  Button had the Snubbie by then, but the fake Jack Straw was shouting.

  “Button! Get Button!”

  Button got off one round, then Kenny shot him again, hit him so hard it felt like being speared with a javelin, and the Snubbie fell free.

  Straw said, “Get his key. Get me out of these things.”

  Kenny snatched up his gun and rolled Button onto his back as he searched for the keys.

  The sun was so goddamned bright and right in his eyes, but they were over him, Kenny uncuffing Straw.

  Button said, “Pieces of shit.”

  Straw glanced down, letting Button see the fear in his eyes.

  “They know, man. We’re done.”

  “Don’t panic. We’re close.”

  “We gotta go. We’re fucked.”

  “No, we’re not—”

  Kenny pointed the gun straight down, blocking the sun, and Button stared into the tight black sphincter of its barrel.

  “Fuck you.”

  Then a gun went off, and Button thought he was dead, but Kenny staggered sideways and fell. His falling gun hit Button on the nose.

  Button saw Futardo, face dripping red, leaning out her window as she struggled to fire again.

  The fake Jack Straw calmly picked up Kenny’s weapon, and shot her twice more through the glass.

  Button tried to grab the man’s legs, but his arms wouldn’t move. He tried to shout for help, but all he managed was a bubbly grunt.

  Then the fake Straw looked down at him again, aimed his weapon, and fired.

  42

  This is Bill Rainey. You know me as Wilson Smith.”

  Pike cranked the Jeep, ready to roll.

  “I know who you are. Where is she?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Where is she?”

  “You really know who I am?”

  “William Allan Rainey. Her name is Rose Platt. Where is she?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Is she alive?”

  “Yeah, I guess, but he’ll kill her.”

  Rainey hiccupped, but Pike realized it was a sob. Rainey was crying.

  “Don’t guess. Do you know if she’s alive?”

  “Are the police on me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Is she alive?”

  “Jesus FUCK!”

  Pike gave Rainey ten seconds of silence. Rainey was coming apart, but Pike needed him to calm down and think.

  “You want me to call you Bill or Wilson?”

  “I don’t give a shit. Whatever. He has her.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “I dunno. All these years, and I’ve never seen him. We’ve been runnin’, man. He killed Rose’s old boyfriend. He got my sister, my ex-wife—Jesus, he keeps coming.”

  “Why me?”

  “What?”

  “Why did you call me?”

  Now Rainey was silent, but the silence was good. The silence meant he was thinking.

  “I can’t call the police.”

  “Call them.”

  “I can’t. You see what these Bolivians are like? How long would I last in prison? How long would she? I call the police now, it’s killin’ both of us later.”

  Pike gave him more silence, so Rainey filled it.

  “You’re a mercenary, right? I’ll pay you.”

  “Twelve million dollars?”

  Rainey laughed.

  “Who told you that, the police? Is that what they think I got?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re full of shit. It was eight-point-two.”

  “All right. You’ll pay me eight-point-two?”

  “It’s gone. I’ll give you everything I have left. Three hundred forty-two thousand and change.”

  “Don’t want it.”

  “Cash. Tax free. It’s yours.”

  “Don’t want it.”

  Rainey fell into a deeper silence.

  “I can’t do it myself. I dunno. I had to ask.”

  “Why’d you kill Azzara and Eschuara?”

  “Hell, you do know it all.”

  “I saw you at Azzara’s. I followed you to the jet.”

  “She was right about you.”

  Pike wondered what he meant, but kept pressing forward.

  “Why’d you kill them? They wouldn’t help?”

  “They wanted me to leave. They were taking me to Mexico or some bullshit like that. I couldn’t leave without her. I love her, man.”

  Pike took a slow breath. Rainey was calm and controlled now, comfortable with the talking, so Pike asked again.

  “Do you know for sure that she is alive?”

  “She was alive as of, lessee, sixteen minutes ago. That’s when she left the last message.”

  Pike checked the time. It was 4:22 P.M.

  “She’s leaving messages?”

  “I guess he doesn’t want me to know what he sounds like. I don’t answer the damned phone, man. I’m scared to. This is the only way I can stall him. He doesn’t know if I’m getting the messages or not. But I gotta call soon—”

  “Why?”

  “She said I gotta call at six. He must be gettin’ pissed off, not being able to reach me. I don’t call at six, she says he’ll kill her.”

  One hour, thirty-eight minutes away.

  “If you call at six, what will happen?”

  “He’ll probably tell me what he wants.”

  Pike went through the call he received when Dru pretended she was talking to Rainey. She had begged Rainey to give up the money.

  “He wants the money.”

  “He’ll say he wants it, but that’s bullshit. The Bolivians want us dead. That’s all they care about.”

  Pike checked the time. One hour, thirty-seven minutes away.

  “How many messages has she left?”

  “Three. She’s called three times.”

  “You have them?”

  “Yeah.”

  Pike wanted to hear her voice.

  “Where are you?”

  “Ah, right now? I’m in Hollywood. I’m behind a restaurant here, what is it, Musso and Frank?”

  Pike thought he understood how the killer would play it, and began to develop a plan. He calced the drive time between where he was now and where he wanted to be, then told William Allan Rainey where to meet him at exactly 5:30. This would give Pike time to pick up a few things and call Elvis Cole. When they moved, they would have to move fast. They had to be ready.

  Rainey said, “You’re gonna help?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Sell you.”

  43

  Sixty-two minutes later, Pike slid out of his Jeep when Rainey got out of the Prius. They were in the parking lot behind a diner on Sunset Boulevard, trapped between a reinforced hillside and the restaurant, not five minutes from Miguel Azzara’s
house.

  Rainey looked shrunken and feeble, as if his body was collapsing along with his life.

  Pike twisted his arm behind his back and shouldered him hard against the Jeep.

  “Fingers laced behind your head. Feet out.”

  Rainey did as he was told and did not resist.

  “It’s in the car. Under the seat.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I hadda shoot them. I told you.”

  “Like you shot Michael Fourchet?”

  Pike found nothing except keys, a wallet, and a phone. He pulled open the Jeep’s passenger door, pushed Rainey inside, then went around to the driver’s side and climbed in behind the wheel. When Pike pulled the door, Cole leaned forward from the back seat and patted Rainey’s shoulder.

  “If Pike won’t take the money, I will.”

  Rainey jumped.

  “Who are you?”

  “Pike’s evil twin.”

  Pike held up Rainey’s phone.

  “This the phone she calls?”

  “Yeah.”

  Cole said, “So this is the number she’ll answer when we call?”

  “I guess. What are we gonna do? What was that shit about selling me?”

  Pike gave the phone to Rainey.

  “Play her messages. Put it on speaker.”

  Rainey fumbled with getting the phone’s voice mail to play back on speaker. The cheap phone made her difficult to hear, but they finally got it going.

  Her first message was almost identical with what she told Pike, Dru saying he had her, and pleading for Rainey to give him the money. Pike didn’t listen to Dru so much as he listened for background noises, but he heard nothing useful. The condenser mics built into cell phones were designed to reduce background sounds.

  The second message was much the same, but with small differences. Now Dru said he wanted all the money, and added a plea for Rainey to call back. This time she left her number.

  Cole stopped Rainey before he played the last message.

  “Does she know you only have three hundred left?”

  “Hell, yeah, she knows. She helped spend it.”

  “She’s making it sound like you have all eight million.”

  “She’s letting me know she hasn’t told him. I told this one—”

  He glanced toward Pike.

  “—these Bolivians don’t want the money. I know, ’cause I tried to pay’m, plus extra.”

  Pike said, “How can you pay them if you don’t have it?”

  Cole saw the deal first.

  “The Federales and La Eme. You cut a deal with them.”

  “You bet your ass I did. Those Federales, they work for a cartel down in Baja. They run dope up through your Mexicans here—”

  “They’re not my Mexicans.”

  “You know what I used to do, right?”

  “Yeah. You smuggled cash offshore on fishing boats.”

  “This oil spill mess created a lot of opportunity. People still can’t fish the way they used to. I got to thinkin’ about it.”

  He faced Pike again.

  “I talked to the Mexicans here and they talked to the Mexicans in Mexico, ’cause I can bring their shit in and their cash out, just like I was doin’ back home. The Mexico Mexicans liked it, and offered the New Orleans crew a deal. The fucking Bolivians pretended to go along, but it was all bullshit, so here we are. Fucked.”

  Pike glanced at Cole, then studied Rainey. Something about his story didn’t add up.

  “If you were in business with these people, why did Mendoza and Gomer beat you up?”

  “We weren’t in business, then. Those assholes were trying to rob me, just like you thought. Then Azzara came around to lean on me, making all these bullshit threats, La Eme this, La Eme that, and that’s when I got the idea.”

  “Azzara.”

  “Yeah. I was in business with drug traffickers for years, and all traffickers have the same problems. I laid it out for him. Here’s what I can do for you, but here’s what you gotta do for me.”

  “Make the Bolivians back off.”

  “Yeah.”

  Rainey took a moment, then shook his head.

  “That’s how bad they hate me, those fuckers. Now they got a war with this Baja cartel, and they don’t even give a shit.”

  Pike cut him off.

  “Play her last message.”

  Dru’s third and final message was more desperate. Her voice showed the mounting stress as she gulped shallow breaths, and Pike could hear her fear.

  “Stop it now, Willie, you hear? You must call me at six o’clock. I’m begging you. Please get this done. You know how to get it done. You don’t call, he says he’ll kill me.”

  Her call abruptly ended.

  None of them spoke for a moment, then Rainey stared at Pike.

  “You asked why I called you. When she says, get this done, you know how to get this done. She’s telling me to call you. That’s when I called.”

  Pike didn’t understand.

  Rainey frowned, showing a weakness in his eyes that told Pike he was embarrassed.

  “When this started with the bangers and you waded in, she told me you were the kind of guy who could get stuff done. She liked that.”

  Pike studied him until Rainey looked away, then Pike took the phone. He checked the time. Ten minutes before six. Time was running out.

  Pike said, “Does she have a sister?”

  “What?”

  “Rose. She has two brothers. Does she have a sister?”

  Rainey squinted like Pike was speaking in code.

  “No. What does that have to do with anything?”

  Cole said, “Where’s the cash?”

  “I got a storage space up in Van Nuys. You want it, it’s yours. All three-forty-two.”

  Cole glanced at Pike.

  “This time of day, that’s two hours, there and back. No good.”

  “We don’t need it.”

  Rainey shifted, looking from Cole to Pike.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “The Bolivian, the one who wants you dead. What’s his name?”

  “Jesus, it’s a cartel. It’s a whole bunch of guys.”

  Cole leaned forward and tapped Rainey’s head.

  “Think. Who did you rip off? Who’s the alpha male?”

  “It’s gotta be Hugo Joaquin. He was runnin’ it. Who gives a shit? What are we going to do?”

  Pike checked the time. Three minutes. He had what he needed.

  “I’m ready.”

  Rainey said, “Ready for what?”

  Cole tapped Rainey again.

  “Get out. We’re waiting outside.”

  “For what? What’s he going to do?”

  Pike checked the time again. One minute to go.

  “This is the part where I sell you.”

  Cole climbed out, pulled Rainey out the front, then closed the door, leaving Pike alone with the phone.

  On the other side of the parking lot, a family got out of an SUV and went into the diner. The father carried a curly-headed little girl on his shoulders. Fifty feet away, cars crept along Sunset Boulevard, jammed up by rush hour. Pike blocked all of it out and called Dru Rayne.

  44

  She answered on the third ring. Pike figured it took one ring for Gregg Daniel Vincent to show her the incoming number, one for her to confirm this was Rainey, and the third for Vincent to punch the answer button and hold the phone to her ear. Her voice sounded tentative.

  “Hello?”

  “Is he listening?”

  Saying it for Vincent.

  A full twenty seconds passed before she answered, which was probably Vincent figuring out what to do.

  “Yes, he’s listening. Where’s Willie? Willie was supposed to call.”

  “Willie can’t call. You good?”

  “Ah, yeah, I’m okay. He hasn’t hurt me.”

  “Give him the phone.”

  “He, ah, he doesn’t want to talk. If Willie doesn’t call
, he’s going to hurt me.”

  “No, he won’t. I have Rainey and the money, but mostly I have Rainey.”

  “Ah, he wants to know who you are.”

  “Tell him.”

  Pike heard her tell Vincent his name. Vincent said something, but too low for Pike to understand. They were still talking when Pike spoke again.

  “What’s his name?”

  “What?”

  “His name?”

  Another mumble in the background before she answered.

  “Ah, his name is David.”

  The corner of Pike’s mouth twitched.

  “You’re a liar, Mr. Vincent. Your name is Gregg Daniel Vincent. Knock off the bullshit, and get on the phone. If you don’t want Rainey, I’ll sell him to the Bolivians.”

  Thirty seconds of silence this time, edging to forty before a male voice came on the line.

  “What’s your deal, boy? How do you know my name?”

  “A friend told me.”

  “I’ll kill your fuckin’ friend, you, your family, any motherfucker you’ve ever met. Your friend tell you that?”

  “My friend told me you’re the guy the Bolivians send to scare people. I know who you are. None of it matters.”

  “I have friends, too. You work Nicaragua or Honduras? You work Ecuador or Colombia? You think maybe we faced off before?”

  The corner of Pike’s mouth twitched. He had not told Dru where he worked, so she couldn’t have told Vincent. His name, yes, and that he had been a military contractor, but no more than that. Vincent had checked him out, which meant he saw Pike as a threat.

  “All right. We both have friends. Maybe our friends are the same people.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have Rainey and the money. I’ll sell him to you.”

  “Sell’m, my ass. You need to walk, and hope I don’t come looking.”

  “If I walk, I’ll sell him to Hugo. They’ve already offered a million. Maybe I can get more.”

  The silence felt different this time, and when Vincent spoke, his voice was both thoughtful and wary.

  “Yet here you are, talking to me. I must have something you want.”

  “The girl.”

  “Ah.”

  “The girl, plus one half of the remaining money. You get Rainey and the other half.”

  “Walk away, boy. I’ll cut this bitch in half.”

  “I’ll still have Rainey.”