by David Putnam
Payaso paused, using a wooden toothpick on his teeth working on a piece of chicken mole caught in an incisor. “Where we going?”
“Costa Rica, via Mexico. Let’s get moving.”
“Now you’re talkin’, mi jefe. So you’re not going to wait on finding Twyla?”
Borkow glared at Payaso. Who was he to goad? Chasing Lizzette and Twyla may have been a fool’s errand—with every cop in the state already looking for them—but Payaso just didn’t understand loyalty vs. deceit. Borkow had wanted those two women to answer for both violations. It was the principle of the matter after he had treated them so well for so many years. He’d half-succeeded—he’d taken care of Lizzette. When it cooled down, he’d come back for Twyla. He promised himself that.
Soon as they crossed into Mexico, he’d sic his Goliath on Payaso and enjoy the show.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
I MADE THE turn south on Wilmington from Imperial Highway with Sams in the back seat handcuffed to the headrest and Wicks sitting right next to him.
“Hey,” Wicks said. “What gives? We’re supposed to be going to HQ.”
“I’m going to get my truck so I can drive around and look for that RV. That’s the best bet right now, to catch it on the move.” I checked the rearview. Wicks nodded. His expression looked like someone who watched a family member at a funeral, a family member who couldn’t accept the painful reality fate had plopped down in his lap.
I pulled up and stopped in front of Dad’s house. “Page me if you get anything at all and I mean anything.”
Wicks got out, came around the front of the car, and offered his hand. “You got it, buddy boy. Good luck. Keep the faith. Trust me, that RV will pop. You’ll get her back safe and sound.” I shook his hand and he got in the driver’s seat.
I watched them drive off. When I turned to get in my truck, Dad stood close. He’d moved up on me silent as a mouse like only he knew how to do.
“You didn’t find her?”
“No. I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”
“Was that Derek in the car with your boss?”
“Yes, it was.”
“What are you doing with him?”
“Not now, Dad, please?” He didn’t need to know the part Derek had played. I started around the side of my truck. He followed along and stood at the passenger side, waiting.
I said over the top of the truck cab, “What are you doing?”
“I’m going with you. I won’t sit around anymore. I’m all done with waiting. Not with that look on your face.”
I nodded, got in, and unlocked his door. I started up and drove, not knowing where to go, where to look. Borkow and his RV could be anywhere. Derek had been right when he said it was the perfect hideout. At that very moment, it could be headed for the Mexican border. Borkow could disappear down south taking Olivia with him, never to return. The thought raised my blood pressure, and I fought the urge to head south.
Dad finally spoke. “Why did you have Derek in your car? It looked like he was handcuffed. What did he do?”
I looked over at him and knew that expression. He wouldn’t stop asking until he got the truth.
I nodded. “You sure you want to hear this?”
He said nothing and stared.
“Okay.” I pulled over and stopped to give him the bad news. “Derek owed those boys on Pearl money for some dope they fronted him and that he somehow pissed away. They were going to beat him bad for it. We talked about part of this before.”
“You’re sure about that? Olivia says different.”
“Dad, there’s a tape with Derek talking with Borkow setting it up. Borkow needed me out of that court so he could escape. Derek made it happen.”
Dad’s expression fell. “Oh, dear Lord.”
“That’s not the worst of it.”
He looked out the side window. “Tell me.”
“Derek is the one who turned Olivia over to Borkow. He also left two items so I’d know it was Borkow who took Olivia. Borkow was sending me a message.”
Dad’s voice came out in barely a whisper. “It was that wrench you found in her purse and the socket from your apartment?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
His eyes filled with tears. He shook his head in disbelief. I leaned over and took him into a hug. He positioned his head so he could speak closer to my ear. “Olivia, she came over to stay with me because she’s scared. More scared than I have ever seen her.”
I tried to pull away. He wouldn’t let me and held on tight.
I said, “Yeah, she’s scared of Derek as she should be. He’s a—”
He shook his head and clamped down even tighter. “No. Son, she’s afraid of you.”
“What? No. I’ve given her no reason at all to be afraid of me.”
He said nothing.
“Of me? No way, Dad. Why?” I tried to pull away to look into his eyes to see the truth. He was too strong and wouldn’t let me. “Why, Dad? Tell me, please.”
“She confided in me and made me promise not to tell you, not under any circumstances. But after what’s happened, I think you have a right to know.”
I went slack.
He spoke in a soft whisper. “Bruno, Olivia’s pregnant.”
The world stopped turning.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
MY DEAR LITTLE Olivia was pregnant with Derek Sams’ child.
Every muscle in my body went numb. I couldn’t move. Breath wouldn’t come without conscious effort.
I’d never been numbed by emotion before. Heard it talked about, read descriptions of it, and thought it nothing more than hyperbole.
Somebody please restart the world. More important, somebody tell me it wasn’t so. Please, tell me it wasn’t so.
Dad let me go. I sat back, my mouth sagging open. His eyes were filled with such pain for me, for Olivia.
Dad reached out, took my hand, and squeezed. “Listen, it’s not your fault. She’s a little misguided in love. That’s all. She didn’t know any better. What she felt for Derek, she believed to be the real thing. She made a mistake. One mistake.”
Words wouldn’t come. I nodded.
He spoke as if I’d be angry with Olivia. I wasn’t, not at all. More than anything else, I took responsibility for what happened. I hadn’t been there for her.
“I’m not mad, Dad, I’m not.”
I needed to move. To kick-start the world moving again. I fired up the truck, clutched, shifted the gears, and headed off. I didn’t know what else to do. My hands and feet and subconscious mind did the work while the rest of me lay off in the weeds trying to put right what had gone so severely off the tracks. But I knew where I was headed—to the only lead, no matter how far-fetched. It still needed to be checked out.
The truck moved in and out of streets.
“Son, maybe it would be better if we go home. We can sit on the couch and talk about this. Huh? Why don’t we do that? Come on, let’s go home.”
“I’ve got to find Olivia.”
I kept driving, my eyes not really seeing where we were going.
“Maybe you should call your boss and tell him not to charge Derek. You can do that, can’t you, Son?”
The world suddenly kicked back into gear. My head whipped around to look at him. “Are you for real? He needs to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. He needs to be put away for the rest of his pathetic little life. And you can damn sure know that’s exactly what I’m going to recommend. Getting him off for … for …” I couldn’t get those words out. For getting my little Olivia pregnant.
I slowed and pulled to the curb just down from the Grand Orchid massage parlor and Muscle Max.
My rage continued to do a slow burn that would need a vent soon or I’d burst into flame. I opened the truck door. I was angry with Dad, even though that didn’t make any sense. I leaned in. “I need to check something. You wait right here. You understand? Don’t you move from this truck. I’m not kidding, Dad. Don’t step one foot out of t
his truck.”
He nodded. His expression hurt. He was going through the same thing I was, only worse. He’d been keeping a secret that had to be gnawing on his soul, eating him from the inside out. I eased the door closed, took a step, and froze. I realized now why I had driven there.
Instinct. Experience.
I remembered the last time I’d been there, when we hit the Grand Orchid and found it empty. The feeling I had when standing in the parking lot after we’d searched the Orchid. The feeling that someone was watching, a feeling I couldn’t shake. I pulled the Smith and Wesson 9mm and wished I had my two .357s back. But those two guns went with the crime scenes on Slauson and 10th and the one at Mel’s. I’d get them back after the investigation was complete, after the DA had ruled the shooting justified. That would take a year or more. I’d have to buy two replacement guns in the meantime.
I adjusted the Bulldog .44 in my waistband and walked down the street in the gutter, headed toward the Muscle Max.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
THE MOON HAD moved from high overhead to low in the night sky. It would be dawn in a few hours. I wasn’t thinking clearly and had no right to be out chasing leads. My decision-making would be hindered, and in a violent confrontation, that could be catastrophic. But like Wicks said, the odds were that the Muscle Max would lead to a dead end. I trusted his opinion. I just needed to be doing something, anything. Why not rule it out as a lead and move on?
I played the game as if it were real and walked past the strip center not looking directly down the center between the two buildings with the parking area in between. I acted as if uninterested. Instead, I took several peeks at the parking lot checking for the RV as I continued to walk past.
It wasn’t there.
I’d kept the 9mm down by my leg and put it back in my waistband under my shirt next to the Bulldog. I moved around to the back of the corner gas station and into the alley. I peeked over the fence to see into the rear of the strip center.
In the moonlight the hulk of an RV cast a giant shadow. At first, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It couldn’t be that easy. Relief washed over me.
Could it be just that easy?
Could it be a different RV? There were thousands of them in Southern California. Wouldn’t that be too big of a coincidence for another one to be parked back here? I walked along the fence line to get a closer look. When I came to a spot I thought was parallel, I did another quick peek.
I froze when I saw the tire mounted on the back with the tattered cover. My heart jumped into my throat.
This was it. They were there in the Muscle Max. Olivia was there. For a fleeting moment, the right thing to do flitted across my thoughts. I should go back to the gas station and call it in. Get backup. Surround the place with forty or fifty cops all with long guns and then call them out of the building.
That thought lasted a microsecond. If I did that, it would turn the whole mess into a hostage situation, the hostage being Olivia. I nixed it and moved on to what any father would do under similar circumstances—bull my way in and rescue my daughter. I had the training. I had the experience.
I raised my Smith and Wesson and went over the fence as quietly as I could just as someone came out of the building. I crouched in the shadows next to the fence and held my breath.
A big dude—a huge dude about thirty years of age, wearing shorts and a tank top—carried an armload of shoeboxes out to the RV and climbed into the back. The RV canted one way then the other as the guy stepped inside. The suspension of the vehicle was shot. Derek had been right about one thing—no one would’ve looked twice at this rolling hideout. No wonder Borkow had successfully evaded the hundreds of cops looking for him.
After a few seconds, the muscle head came out of the RV, not bothering to look around, too intent on the task at hand. He disappeared into the building.
I moved up to the door he’d disappeared into and peeked inside. The lights were on and the place smelled of swimming pool chlorine. Quiet. No noise escaped outside. Farther down, along the outside of the building, it looked as if a large section of window had been knocked out.
I stopped suddenly and stood up straight. A random thought hit. My God, was that why Olivia kept saying she was sorry when Borkow put her on the phone? Was she apologizing for what she thought was her mistake of getting pregnant? My poor little girl; how blind I had been. I’d make it up to her. I had to make it up to her.
The sadness and grief of that thought quickly flashed to anger, an anger so pure and hot I wanted to tear down the entire building barehanded. I stuck my gun out and followed it inside through the open door, ready to gun Borkow as soon as he came into view.
Down at the end of the hall, the muscle head turned left and disappeared through an interior doorway. I hurried to the door, hesitated, and then peeked inside. It was a weight room with free weights and machines, lots of them everywhere. Off to the right against the wall sat a dead man, his head caved in. I recognized him. Frank Robbins, aka Stanky Frank. One of the escapees from the jailbreak.
Then I saw Olivia sitting on a chaise lounge, her mouth and hands taped with duct tape. Dried blood, some of it still wet, covered the bottoms of her naked feet.
My heart skipped. She was all right. She was safe. I wasn’t too late.
Borkow stood close to her, his back turned, watching the huge man gather up another armload of shoeboxes from a tall stack along an interior wall.
I stepped in and moved toward Borkow, my sights lined up on his head. I needed to get close enough for a clean shot. I wasn’t familiar with the gun, the accuracy of the sights.
I’d made it halfway. I still needed to be closer for an accurate pistol shot when a Hispanic male appeared through a doorway at the other end of the room. He didn’t startle, he simply said, “Boss?”
Borkow looked at him and followed where he was pointing. Borkow turned and looked at me. I froze. He didn’t look scared at all with a gun aimed at his forehead. Instead he smiled.
The man was a psycho.
A knife appeared in his hand from out of nowhere.
He moved quickly.
I fired, the sound loud and intrusive, a sound that banged around off the interior walls. White smoke billowed out.
I missed him. I couldn’t try again; he’d moved too close to Olivia. If I’d had my other guns, the .357s, I wouldn’t have missed.
He put the knife to Olivia’s throat. “Nice try, Bailiff. You fire again and I guess I’ll just have to fall on my sword, if you know what I mean? Don’t take another step.”
The muscled man dropped the shoeboxes and stood up.
Borkow said, “Careful with those, you idiot.”
The Hispanic, who had to be Cortez, the one called Payaso, didn’t move any farther into the room. He didn’t pull a gun either. He just watched. He’d been the one to kill Lizzette and Bleeker with a hammer. Frank Robbins had died in the same manner, head trauma—brutal, and unconscionable murders.
Borkow chuckled. “Looks like it’s a Mexican standoff.”
Olivia’s eyes pleaded with me.
“It’s okay, baby, I’ll get you out of this. Everything is going to be okay, I promise you.”
“Oh, how sentimental. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Bailiff. There are three of us and only one of you.”
I looked up at Borkow. “You’re right. I’ll wait here if you want to go get two more of your cronies—that should make it a fair fight.”
Borkow laughed. “You hearing this, Payaso, the balls on this guy? Get your ass in here.”
“I’m good right here, boss. I wanna see how this plays out.”
Borkow stopped laughing. He lowered his voice. “Chickenshit.” Then at me, “Drop the gun, Bailiff, or I draw blood.” He stuck the knifepoint to Olivia’s scalp.
“Okay, just hold it, don’t do anything you’re going to regret.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY
“I SAID DROP the gun, Bailiff. I won’t ask again.”
�
��Okay, take it easy.” I slowly went into a squat and set the gun on the floor. “See, we’re all cool here, just take it easy.” I stood.
Borkow lost his grin. “Payaso, we need to get out of here fast. There will be others coming right behind him.”
“I don’t think so,” Payaso said. “I told you this guy likes to hunt alone. If his backup isn’t in here by now, they’re not coming.”
“Oh, really?” Borkow said, his grin returning. “You’ve caused me a great deal of heartache, Bailiff. I’ve had to spend hours of my life rumbling around in that rattle-trap, hours I’ll never get back, mostly because of you. I think you need to pay for that. Harold?”
Harold came at me, walking fast. His quads were so big he was forced to waddle. Most muscle heads worked on their upper body more for show and they neglected their legs. Not this guy. He’d built his body from the floor up. An opponent with legs was the most dangerous kind. In a fight they stabilized his fighting platform, and up close, they turned into lethal weapons used to stomp, kick, and scissor. If I let him get a hold of me, I’d be through. I looked around for a weapon, anything to counter his overwhelming advantage. I needed to distract all of them long enough to get close where I could use the Bulldog .44. I had to figure a way to pull them together and away from Olivia. I had five rounds in the Bulldog.
Harold sped up. I dodged and ran around a multi-station weight machine. I grabbed up a discarded twenty-pound dumbbell and chucked it at him. It thumped off his chest with little effect. I stayed on the opposite side of the machine each time he tried to move around. In my peripheral vision, Payaso came closer and stopped ten feet from Borkow. That had to be close enough; I couldn’t keep dodging Harold. He only had to get lucky once and I’d be through.
I took the risk—now or never. I ran toward Borkow and Payaso and knew Harold would cut me off. There was nothing for it. I had to get closer, draw them in.
Harold wasn’t an experienced fighter. He should’ve used his legs to kick the bejesus out of me. Instead, he grabbed me in a bear hug, a move I’d hoped for. A second before impact, I stuck my hand under my shirt.
