Trent stayed professional. “You part of a task force now?”
“A task force was set up,” Collins acknowledged. “Headed by the FBI, but deferring to local for now. Rosenthal and his partner, your friend Susie Brewster, are part of the main team.”
Silk shook his head. “This just gets fucking worse by the minute.”
Trent frowned. “Why do you say this Susie Brewster is our friend?”
“She rang. Checked you guys out. You particularly.” She nodded at Silk. “Little girlie crush, I think.”
“Is she . . . a good cop?”
Collins smiled. “My thoughts exactly. You’re asking so you can use her, right? Well don’t. She would have to be good in order to make up for that waste of space, Rosenthal. But she’s been hurt recently, and badly. Don’t know the details. I’ll let you know. I haven’t had time to properly vet her yet.”
“This impression,” Radford spoke up. “What’s it like, Claire?”
“Don’t call me Claire and I won’t call you a womanizing asshole. How’s that sound? Look, so far it’s an impression in her forehead. Could be a million things. If it’s distinctive I’ll try to let you guys have a look.”
“And the other three victims?” Trent wondered. “Any connection?”
Collins shook her head slowly. “No. No connection. Heroin dealer called Jimmy Hansson was the infamous one of the bunch.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Low-key stain of the earth from Vegas. No one will miss him.”
“But you’re no further forward even after Tanya’s death?” Trent thought aloud. “Do you think the killings are random?”
“We’re no further forward yet. Fourth victim—sorry, I mean Tanya, was only found yesterday. We’ll investigate.”
“You mean Rosenthal will investigate,” Silk said bitterly. “To the best of his ability.”
“He’s not the only cop on the force. Stop with the guilt trip, Adam, and focus. What else can you tell me about Tanya Jassman?”
“That she didn’t deserve an end like this,” Silk said. “And I could mention the names of a hundred other gang members who did. I’ve never heard of a Jimmy Hansson and I don’t think Tanya did either.”
“To your knowledge.”
“Yes, to my knowledge.”
Collins took a note out of her pocket. “How about the other vics? Doper named Rydell Price and a special-needs kid named Glenn Finch. Ever—”
But Collins never got to finish her sentence.
Because at that moment, Adam Silk’s agonized cry froze the very marrow in her bones.
10
1994:
Silk followed the Hollywood Walk of Fame, not only almost bumping into the many tourists who stopped suddenly in front of him, but almost tripping headlong over the backs of those who quickly bent down to study the inlaid star of their favorite immortalized artist. The Walk of Fame, always busy, was considered easy pickings by the gang and generally a pretty lame area of operation, but everyone had to start somewhere, right?
The newest member of the gang, the Sunseteers, Silk now faced the task all new recruits were handed—to fill a fairly steep quota of ‘acquisitions’. This could be done in any way imaginable, but Silk thought the least confrontational and safest way for all parties concerned would be to go light-fingered on a few tourist pockets. Spending the morning lifting a few wallets here and there would give him the afternoon to plan his escape. The gang was a means to an end, necessary for now but, like everything in his young and so-far disposable life, nothing more than an incidental stone leading to the next expectant step.
As he made his way up Hollywood Boulevard, surrounded by noise and laughter and life, at first he was a little intimidated by the upbeat energy of it all—he had never known so many people could be so spontaneously happy—but he took it all in his stride and began to wish he could share in a little of the fun.
As always it was the delighted families that twisted the dagger through his heart, made him put his head down, draw his features tight, and plough on. The sight of them made him long for better days.
Further up Hollywood, beyond the buskers, the well-tended palm trees, Capitol Records and Vine Street, there are quieter places with less famous names. Here, the less fortunate, the wretched and the brokenhearted tended to wile away their days. It was to one of these streets, with hidden pockets full, that Silk came in the early afternoon. The sun was just passing its zenith, the Los Angelian traffic thick and dirty, but down here the narrow streets sometimes acted as quiet, untrodden suntraps, affording a homeless man like Silk the chance to bask in peace for a while.
It was the best part of his day: quota filled and time on his hands. Hours to go before he had to return to the abandoned building the Sunseteers called home. How anyone could call a place like that home, Silk was finding it hard to understand. It was riddled with more than just brick and mortar death traps. Of course, he hadn’t yet learned the hopelessness and dependency of some of its occupants.
Halfway down, thoughts halfway up the green hills and heading to the dizzy heights of the famous sign, Silk heard a tiny cry coming from a nearby alley. He stopped and stared before he really knew what he was doing. What he saw up there made him stare some more, and then frown.
What the . . .?
Silk ambled up, taking care not to appear threatening. The girl saw him first. The one they called Tanya Jazz. She gave him a wild look, and then an air of speculation came over her features and a tiny curl raised her lips into a slight smile.
“The new guy.”
Silk saw how calm she seemed. That was good. Her three compatriots, particularly one he knew was named Freddie Knott, more than made up for her tranquility.
Knott was terrorizing a mother and child with a stubby knife. Knott was a big man, alright.
Silk stopped when the group noticed him.
“Get the fuck outta here,” Knott growled. “We got our quota to make and we ain’t splittin’ it with the likes of you.”
“Please.” The terrified mother pushed her little girl behind her.
“Can’t you see?” Silk addressed Knott. “They’re locals, not tourists. They’re just tryin’ to survive this jungle with the rest of us.”
“Not exactly,” Knott waved the point of his knife toward the mother’s shopping bag. “Watcha got in there?”
“It’s just food. Please, I had to run to the shop. We gotta eat.”
Silk glanced at the other two members of Knott’s little group. He didn’t know their names; one of the guys looked spaced out, eyes like shiny mirrors as if he’d been hitting the cheap powder which was always in plentiful supply back at the house; the other guy squinted as if trying to follow what was being said. Silk saw his lips trying to form words. Both men were no doubt barely aware of their surroundings and wouldn’t even be able to help themselves right now.
Silk walked up to them. “It’s a knife, Freddie. You use it for anything other than self-defense then you’re in hell.”
Tanya Jazz pursed her lips. “Freddie’s always been a violent little fucker.”
“You’ve used it before?” Silk looked surprised.
“No!” Freddie exclaimed. “But the quota’s just got raised, man. On account of fucks like you. The more mouths we gotta feed the more greenbacks we need. Get it?”
“Don’t panic,” Silk said, more for the benefit of the mother and child than Knott. But it was Knott who rounded on him.
“Who d’you think you are? Don’t panic? Have you seen the boss? I mean Coleman, the real boss. Yeah? Well, have ya ever been on the receiving end of a beatin’ from him?”
Silk glanced behind him. All was clear. “No. But threatening these two is more than madness. It’s cowardly.”
The accusation had its desired effect. Knott squared up to him, the mother and child forgotten. Tanya quickly jerked her head at them, telling them to make the best of it and get the hell out. Knott only had eyes for Silk. “Coward?”
“Hey, sorry. Came out wrong. Look—” Silk patted his pockets, revealing hidden bulges. “This should go some way toward the quota.”
Knott stared. “Coleman,” he whispered. “Breaks your bones.”
Tanya came up and gave him a look. “You got all of that on Hollywood?”
“Rich pickings.” Silk shrugged. “It’s simple—tourists got money. Tourists get distracted. They got pictures to take, diner menus to check out, and little kids to keep an eye on. They ain’t giving their wallets and their goddamn bumbags much priority.”
“More cops on Hollywood,” Knott said with a nasty smirk.
“Then we get better,” Silk said before really thinking about what he was saying.
“We?” Knott echoed.
“You mean work as a team?” Tanya’s intelligent eyes held him. “The five of us?”
Silk mentally kicked himself. “I’ve been alone since—” He caught his words at the last second, like a fisherman reeling in an overlong cast. He’d almost said, “Since she left me—the girl with no name. The girl of wonder.” “—forever,” he finished lamely.
“We could do it.” Tanya nudged Knott hard. “Use Rydell and Glenn to distract and disgust ‘em. Us three swoop in from other angles.”
“They don’t need distracting,” Silk said. “That’s—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Tanya rolled her eyes toward Knott as if indicating she was saying the words for his benefit. Silk understood a second later.
“Could work, could work,” Knott repeated again and again as if it might even have been his own idea. “Been done before, but we got no rules here. ‘Cept filling our quota.”
“But once we’re a team, we gotta stick to it. We have to look out for each other,” Silk said firmly. “And that means back at the house too.”
“You mean sleep together?” Tanya smiled.
“Well, not exactly—”
“Good. ‘Cause any of you dirty bastards get within eight feet of my bed I’ll cut your balls off with the side of a brick.”
Silk cringed and watched Knott involuntarily do the same. Both Rydell and Glenn looked oblivious. Rydell’s eyes were so glassy they reflected nothing but the bright yellow light of the sun. Silk spread his hands. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant,” Tanya cut in. “Sheesh, you men and your tiny coconuts. Can’t take a joke without flinching.”
“I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a joke,” Silk pointed out.
Tanya smiled cunningly. “Then you’d be right. My bed and my body are sacred items, as is my diary. A fact that—” She stopped suddenly, as if realizing she’d said too much.
Knott finally lowered his knife. Amazingly, he was grinning. “Yeah, little Tanya Jazz here, she upset one o’ the big bosses. Bit part o’ his ear off and the dude wasn’t even tryin’ to rape her.” The youth laughed as if he’d said the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
“Dude was rifling my stash,” Tanya said with some embarrassment.
“’Cept you thought he was reading your precious diary.” Knott guffawed and Rydell suddenly barked out a laugh too, startling Silk.
“Some things,” Silk said, regarding Tanya, “are more precious than just living.” He remembered one of those things every single day. And every single day, he wondered . . .
Tanya evaluated him with a raised brow. “You’re deeper than you look, new guy. Maybe there is more to a man than a set of balls and a six-inch brain.”
Silk appraised her at the same time. During his young and lonely life he’d had to learn how to quickly assess a person and a situation. The values of a man offering salvation can often be veiled behind a big smile and constant chatter. Silk had learned that he had to look soul deep by the age of ten.
The monsters of his fairy tales were, in fact, real. They were the parents’ way of slowly introducing their children to the real world. The troll hiding under the bridge becomes the school bully.
Don’t talk to strangers . . .
Silk had shrugged at that one. Everyone in his life was a stranger.
In Tanya Jazz, Silk saw the necessary tough exterior that overlaid some kind of heartbreaking pain. He saw damage, fear, hate, but also a kind of carefree hope that reminded him a little of . . .
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said in answer to her statement. “But I’ll show you that there’s certainly a lot more to me.”
11
The diner went deathly quiet.
Silk slammed the table with his forehead. When he looked up a red mark blossomed along worry lines that were suddenly five years deeper.
“Rydell Price and Glenn Finch?” he asked Collins through a mouth as dry as a fossil in the desert. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
Both Trent and Radford turned their gaze upon Agent Collins. Their FBI liaison officer actually blinked and looked unsure of herself. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Silk held her gaze. “You don’t know?”
Collins’ face said that she did not.
“Price and Finch were part of our little cell,” Silk whispered. “Along with Tanya, Freddie Knott and me. How could you not have connected that?”
“Are you kidding me? These ex-gang rats change their fuckin’ names more often than a B-lister flashes her panties in this town. We’re not even sure those are their real names. Are you?”
“Were they all killed the same way?”
“Uh huh. And this Jimmy Hansson? He an old playmate of yours too?”
Silk racked his brains but couldn’t place the name. “Got a picture?”
Collins produced a fresh looking file from her bag and rustled through the pages. “Just this. As I mentioned, Hansson was a low-key dealer out of Vegas. Small-time feces the cops would normally keep under observation in case he led them to bigger shit.”
Silk studied the clear but distant head shot. Jimmy Hansson looked no different to any other petty drug dealer operating out of North America—shifty, tough, confident and watchful. Dangerous in the way of a man who thinks he’s seen it all and done it all, but naive if he came up against anything other than a civilian or a thug.
“Don’t know the guy.”
“So where does that leave us?” Collins took back the photograph. “Four closely related murders, three from the same gang, one a drug dealer from a different city. We’re still stuck with a goddamn serial killer.”
“But the killings aren’t random anymore,” Trent told her.
“Noted. What else?”
“Three members of the same gang might be coincidence,” Silk allowed. “It was a big outfit. But three members of the same inner cell? No way.”
“Could be the gang itself,” Collins said. “Neutralizing members. Or someone with a grudge against the gang. The Sunseteers got a lot of enemies. Rival gangs. The mob. Politicians. Big business.”
“Cops,” Silk added in an undertone.
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing.” Silk looked away, any thoughts of food long forgotten by now. “There’s only one thing to do.”
“Pay a visit,” Collins nodded, “to Eddie Coleman.”
Silk had known the old boss still ran the gang but feigned surprise. “No one’s killed that old bone-breaker off yet?”
“As if you didn’t know,” Collins rasped, then suddenly softened. “He’s a tough master I hear.”
“Hard but fair doesn’t cut it,” Silk said, trying not to remember. “But how else would you survive? Despite the hype and the advertisements these streets were never paved with gold, and the only stars that glitter in LA were made or laid by greedy businessmen.”
Trent leaned towards Collins, catching her attention. “We need some time with Eddie Coleman. Can you arrange that?”
Collins stared as if he’d just slapped her in the face. �
�Not a virgin’s chance in hell, Aaron. The FBI will handle this. Not the Razor’s Edge. Count yourself lucky I’m even allowing you to buy me breakfast.”
Trent just nodded. Radford was not so professional. “Fuck that. Silk here just gave you the goddamn lead!”
Collins nodded astutely. “I thought he’d be worth a shot. C’mon, Dan. You really think I’d be breakfasting with you guys if I didn’t want something? Get real.”
“Guess I was under the false impression you cared about something,” Radford grumbled.
Collins laughed loudly. “Dick by reputation and by nature. Aww.” She pouted. “Does that mean you don’t wanna bed me no more?”
Silk sighed. “How about giving us a head start?”
“Sorry, Adam. We’ll get what we need our way. But I’ll let you know what we find out. Alright?”
Collins slipped out of the booth without another word. When she didn’t look back Trent waved for the bill. “I think we just got ballbusted.”
“Yeah,” Radford complained. “And not in a good way.”
“There’s a good way?”
“Ah, well, I wouldn’t know.” Radford coughed. “But what the hell do we do now?”
“What we’ve always done,” Trent said firmly. “We investigate.”
“Guys,” Silk began. “This is my problem. I don’t want to drag you any further down—”
Trent stared as if his friend’s head had fallen off. “We’re a team, Adam. You don’t walk away from your friends.”
Silk looked down. Strange choice of words. Silk himself had walked away once—he had walked away to join the CIA, leaving Tanya to fend for herself.
Not exactly, an inner voice protested. You looked out for her first.
But was that enough?
You couldn’t have known what would happen.
No.
Up close and personal.
No.
Don’t talk to strangers . . .
Don’t . . . Silk ran through the old, twisted byways of his mind, venturing through his discontented past. Every person the five of them had ever met, helped, cajoled or threatened. They were all strangers to him.
The Disavowed Book 2 - In Harm's Way Page 5
