The sentry jp-3

by Robert Crais

  Pike said, "That his car?"

  "His girlfriend. This is her place. He lives with her."

  "What's her name?"

  "Carla Fuentes."

  "Kids?"

  "No, but that bitch is tryin'. I tell him he better watch out."

  The house showed no life, but the same was true for most of the surrounding houses. An older woman pruned dusty roses in a yard farther down the street, and a mongrel dog that had probably dug its way to freedom sniffed at a street sign, then burst away at a sprint. Pike would have preferred to watch the house until Mendoza emerged or returned, but felt he didn't have time. Pike's nature was to drive the play, and driving the play meant moving forward.

  Pike holstered his gun, took the keys from the ignition, then reached under the dash at the base of the steering column. He disconnected the wires that controlled the turn signals and horn, then got out of the car. When he pulled Hector across the seat, Hector looked hopeful.

  "You lettin' me go?"

  "No."

  Pike clipped the plasticuffs off Hector's wrists, but immediately tied his right wrist to the top of the steering wheel and his left to the bottom. He pulled the plasticuffs tight.

  "Damn, bro, that cuts."

  Pike closed the door.

  "Start screaming, you won't like how it ends."

  Pike walked directly to Mendoza's house, then cut down the drive and picked up his pace. The drive led to a detached one-car garage, but Pike broke hard to the side of the house. He stayed low, rising only long enough to glance in each window as he circled the house. He slipped past a screenless back door, then across a small patio. The next two windows were blocked by drawn shades, but he could see into a bathroom and bedroom on the opposite side of the house. Both were empty, but the bathroom allowed a narrow view across a hall into the living room. He saw a TV playing, but not who was watching. There were at least three rooms that Pike could not see into. Mendoza and Gomer could be in any of them, but Pike would not know this until he entered the home.

  Pike was still watching the living room when a young woman carried a large bundle past the bathroom. Mendoza's girlfriend, Carla. She went into the living room, then disappeared as she turned toward the kitchen.

  Pike ran to the backyard and reached the corner of the house as the screen door kicked open. Carla Fuentes came out, carrying her bundle to the garage. She wore a thin tank top that was too tight for her bulges, bright purple shorts, and was barefoot. She elbowed open a door on the side of the garage, and went in. Laundry.

  Pike waited a five-count to see if anyone would follow her out, then crossed the yard fast. He slipped in behind her as she pushed sheets into a top-loading washer. She didn't know he was there until he wrapped his arms around her, one hand over her mouth, the other pinning her arms. Her body went stiff with an electric jolt of fear. She was strong. She arched her back, trying to twist away, kicking and stomping his legs. Pike held her close, trapping her, and made his voice calm.

  "You're safe. I want Mendoza."

  She tried to bite him.

  "Is Mendoza inside?"

  She finally stopped fighting, but her body was rigid. He took his hand from her mouth, but stayed ready to clamp down if she screamed. She didn't.

  "You motherfucker. Who the fuck are you?"

  "Is Mendoza inside?"

  "Lemme go, you bastard. You the police? Who are you?"

  "Yeah, I'm the police. Is Mendoza inside?"

  "Ain't nobody here. I don't know where that bastard is."

  "Let's see."

  Pike walked her to the house, keeping her in front of him as he drew his weapon. He let her open the door, but listened hard before they entered. The kitchen smelled of bacon and marijuana. Pike heard the television, but no living voices or movement. He whispered in her ear.

  "Slow."

  As they stepped inside, the girl suddenly called out.

  "Loo-cee, I hoannn!"

  Pike gripped her tighter, but she barked out a laugh.

  "Homes, he ain't here. You gotta relax."

  Pike walked her into the living room first. A large glass hash pipe sat on a coffee table opposite the television as if it were watching. He pushed her through the living room to the hall, then through the rest of the house. He checked the closets, the bathtub, and under the beds. He didn't release her until they were back in the kitchen, where he pulled a chair from the table and told her to sit.

  "Fuck you, you bitch. I ain't gotta sit in my own fuckin' house."

  "Sit, or I'll make you."

  Pike saw a fading bruise high on her left cheek as Carla Fuentes looked him over. Her eyes held on his tattoos as if seeing something familiar, and then she sat.

  "You ain't five-oh. You're the dude broke his arm."

  "Where is he?"

  "You find him, you tell me. I hope you kicked his ass good."

  Pike circled the kitchen, looking for something that would give him leverage over the girlfriend or help him find Mendoza.

  "If you know about me, it means you've seen him."

  "Bullshit it does. Means he called when they were processing him. Said he would be home last night, but that bitch never showed. I got stress in my life."

  Pike found a pink cell phone on the counter by a pack of cigarettes. He opened it, and scrolled through the directory.

  "Was he here this morning?"

  "You listenin' to me? I got no call, no nothing, so fuck him and fuck you. I signed off this house to guarantee that bond. That bitch runs off, I'm losing my home."

  Pike glanced over. Azzara had told him he covered Mendoza's bond, but now the girlfriend was telling a different story. Pike believed the girl. Her eyes were red and the corners of her mouth were dimpled with tension. The bond on Mendoza's assault wouldn't have been more than fifty thousand dollars, and would likely be less. The bondsman was ripping her off.

  Pike returned to the phone and found a speed-dial listing for REUBEN. He memorized the number, then held out the phone.

  "Call him. Let's see where he is."

  "He ain't gonna answer. I been callin' all day."

  Pike checked the outgoing call list, and saw she was telling the truth. Mendoza's number had been dialed fourteen consecutive times. Pike dialed the number again. Mendoza's phone immediately went to voice mail, so Pike killed the call.

  "He tell you what he was doing when I broke his arm?"

  "Said you were fighting. Said he was gonna fuck you up real good, he catch you again."

  "Is he looking for me?"

  "Said he was, but seein' you now, that was just him spinnin' shit."

  Pike wondered if this meant the harassment toward Wilson was directed at him. Hurting Wilson and Dru to get back at Pike. He put the phone with the cigarettes, then stood in front of her.

  "Is that why he wasn't going to be home until last night, he was looking for me?"

  "That was just mouth. He said he had business."

  "Business like what?"

  "He hadda go help some friends. Thass what he says when it's Trece."

  "Gang business?"

  "Thass what it means, helpin' some friends. He was callin' from jail, homes, the Sheriffs right there, you can't just say what you're sayin'. He said he hadda help some friends, and tol' me he would be home, only he never showed up and he ain't callin' back, and now I got you in my house. I signed off my home for that fuckin' bitch, and for all I know he jumped bail and left."

  Pike believed she didn't know anything more, but he still didn't have anything that would help him find Mendoza.

  "Where else does he stay when he's not here with you?"

  "This is his home. I let him move in here. We're gonna get married."

  "What kind of car does he drive?"

  "An eighty-six El Camino. It's brown. Like a turd."

  "Where does he keep his paperwork? Car registration, bills, things like that."

  Pike followed her back to the bedroom where she pulled a cardboard shoe box from the
top drawer of a scarred and faded cabinet. It contained a few family photos, birth information, and miscellaneous warranties and receipts. Pike found the bill of sale and registration information for the El Camino along with the tag and VIN numbers. He didn't waste time copying the numbers. He tucked the box under his arm.

  "What you doin', man, thass his things!"

  Pike noticed a large blue purse on the dresser. He went through it and found Carla's wallet.

  "I ain't got no money in there."

  Pike wasn't looking for money. Seeing Mendoza's family photos gave him an idea. Her wallet held a vinyl picture holder, and the first picture was Reuben Mendoza. Mendoza was smiling so wide he looked like a pumpkin. Pike took the picture, then placed the purse back on the dresser.

  "You fuckin' thief. I'm call in' five-oh."

  Pike decided there was nothing more to be had, and walked out of the room. Carla Fuentes trailed after him, anxiously pulling his arm.

  "Let me ask you somethin'. If he skips on the bond, they really gonna take my house?"

  "Yes."

  "But it's not my fault if he runs."

  "You signed the bond."

  "Waitaminute. Wait, now, what about this? If he gets himself killed, will I still lose the house? If he's dead, they can't blame me for that, can they? They won't take the house?"

  Pike stopped when he reached the door.

  "No. You'll lose the bond fee and application, but the court will release the bond back to the bondsman."

  "What does that mean?"

  "You won't lose the house."

  She thought it through, and some of the terror left her eyes.

  "What you gonna do if you find him?"

  "What would you like me to do?"

  "Break his other damned arm. Break it real good, then beat him to death."

  Pike stepped into the sun and headed back to the Monte Carlo.

  14

  Pike climbed into the Monte Carlo, but this time into the passenger seat, leaving Hector tied to the wheel. Hector once more scrunched as far from Pike as possible.

  "Look at my hands, homes. Look at'm! They're turnin' blue!"

  Pike fingered through the papers in the box, wanting to see what he had.

  "You gonna let me go? You gotta let me go, bro, this shit here is kidnap-pin'. That's a federal offense."

  "Shut up."

  Hector fell silent, but grumbled under his breath.

  Pike found cash receipts and instructions for three disposable phones Mendoza purchased from Best Buy. Pike wondered if his friend Elvis Cole could use the information to locate Mendoza or identify who he was calling. Cole was a private investigator, and had relationships with most of the cell service providers. He might also be able to help find Alberto Gomer.

  Pike studied Reuben Mendoza's picture last, then dropped it into the box. A plan to flush Mendoza out of the weeds was forming, and the picture would help.

  Pike said, "Hold still."

  Hector's eyes bulged when Pike drew his knife. Pike clipped the ties, cutting him free.

  "Get out."

  "What get out? This is my car."

  "Out."

  "Bro, what, you takin' my car?"

  "I won't tell you again."

  Hector shoved open the door, and got out in a sullen funk. He slammed the door as Pike slid behind the wheel.

  "This ain't right, stealin' my car. You takin' my wallet, too? You takin' my phone?"

  Pike drove back to his Jeep. He left Hector's wallet in the Monte Carlo, but added his phone to Mendoza's box. Pike didn't take time to examine these things because he wanted to keep pressing.

  Pike drove directly to Lily Palmer's house, parked in Wilson's carport, and rang the bell. She answered the second ring.

  "I knew you'd be back. Did you find Wilson and Dru?"

  "Not yet. Is Jared here?"

  She sighed.

  "Jared's always here."

  She called into the house, and Jared's flip-flops announced his approach. He was freshly slathered with sunblock and carried a bottle of beer. He frowned when he saw Pike and tugged the iPod buds from his ears.

  "Dude, you got it all. I don't know anything else."

  "The man with the cast-"

  Pike showed him the picture of Reuben Mendoza.

  "Was this him?"

  Jared glanced at the picture, then brightened with a surprised smile that made him look proud of himself.

  "Dude! That's him! The Cast Man!"

  "You're sure?"

  "Fuckin' A."

  Jared beamed, and continued to vomit up memories.

  "Dude had khaki baggies and a gray plaid shirt, but it was open. Shirt was huge, dude, like fifty sizes too big, and a white T-shirt underneath. And he was bald."

  Pike had seen witnesses have similar explosions of memories when he was an officer. If a witness was given a visual trigger, a memory that had been vague would often snap into focus. Psychologists called these memory cues, and the resulting cascade of recollections were memory chains.

  "You remember anything about the second man?"

  Jared thought for a moment, but his lips peeled from his teeth in frustrated effort.

  "Not really getting him. He was in front, kinda already through the gate. The Cast Man was behind him. I remember black hair. And shades. He might've been wearing shades."

  Jared finally ran out of gas.

  "Sorry, bro. That's all I got."

  Pike could now tie Mendoza to the scene with a picture ID. The second man was almost certainly Gomer, but Mendoza would be enough.

  Pike went back to his Jeep to decide on his next play, but knew he would ultimately have to return to Button. Button was the last person to have contact with Smith. Pike wanted to know exactly what Smith said, how he had said it, and when. These things could be crucial, and so could having Button back in the game. The police would increase the pressure on Mendoza, but timing their entry was a trade-off. Once the police reinserted themselves they would block Pike's moves and kill his momentum. He had to cover the primary plays before they came in, and keep himself ahead of the curve.

  Pike fished Hector's phone from the box, spent a few seconds figuring it out, then scrolled through the directory. He found Mendoza's number under R MENDOZA, but nothing for GOMER or ALBERTO. No numbers were listed for AZZARA, but he found a number for MIGUEL.

  Pike pressed the send button, heard two rings, and Mikie Azzara answered.

  "Don't bother me with crap at that body shop."

  Answering this way because the caller ID told him it was Hector.

  Pike said, "I am here."

  Mikie hesitated.

  "Who is this?"

  "One of your boys wrote it on their wall."

  Azzara hesitated again, but this time he recognized Pike's voice.

  "How'd you get this phone?"

  "I want Mendoza and Gomer."

  Azzara lowered his voice, as if he was someplace where he didn't want to be overheard.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Mendoza was at their home this morning. Now they're missing."

  Azzara cleared his throat. Pike heard something in the background, but couldn't make out what it was. Then Azzara tried to sound reassuring, which left Pike wondering why Azzara wanted to reassure him.

  "Listen, I don't know anything about this, but I will find out. I promise you-you don't have to worry. I'm sure these people are fine."

  "You're a liar, Miguel. You told me you covered Mendoza's bond. You didn't. What else are you lying about?"

  "Would you listen? I'm in the middle of something now, but I will help you here, homes. Just relax. Kick back, give me a few hours, and-"

  "Time's up."

  Azzara fell silent. It was several seconds before he spoke again. Then his voice was softer, but not reassuring.

  "You are making a mistake. You think you're talking to some pretty-boy Mexican, but you are talking to La Eme. We are two hundred thousand strong. You should wai
t like I say. You don't want to go to war with us."

  Pike waited him out, letting the pressure of his silence build. When Azzara finally spoke again his voice showed a strain Pike found curious.

  "Are we clear on this? Do you get it?"

  Pike said nothing.

  "Do. You. Get. It?"

  "You don't understand."

  "What? What don't I understand?"

  "War is what I do."

  Pike hung up, then called a friend named Elvis Cole.

  15

  Experienced investigators referred to the site where an abduction took place as ground zero. It was the intersection where the paths of the victim and perpetrator converged, and merged into one. It was an ambush zone of abrupt furious violence or quiet threat where two paths led in and only one path led out, but these paths weren't made in a vacuum. The physical world was disturbed-a fish rippled the water; a gliding bird cast a shadow. Pike knew this better than most because he spent most of his life trying to move without being heard or seen, or leaving a trail that others could follow. It was difficult. Jared Palmer had seen Reuben Mendoza. This was the first ripple, but Pike knew there would be others. The problem was time. Pike was building a pressure wave and riding it like a surfer shooting the green tunnel. But returning to Smith's house to develop the trail could take hours and would diminish the pressure. The wave would collapse. Pike needed help to maintain the pressure, and believed no one was better at finding and recovering missing persons than his partner, Elvis Cole.

  Cole was a licensed private investigator Pike met back in the day when Pike still wore the badge. Not the likeliest of pairings, Pike being so quiet and remote, Cole being one of those people who thought he was funny, but they were more alike than most people knew. Cole was an apprentice then, working for an old-school L.A. dick named George Feider to pile up the three thousand hours of experience the state required for a license. When Cole clocked the three-thousandth hour, Feider was ready to retire and Cole wanted to buy his agency. Pike had resigned from LAPD by then, and was making fat cash on military and security contracts. They bought the agency together, though Pike stayed in the background. He preferred it that way. Unheard and unseen.