by Robert Crais
When Pike reached the corner and turned toward the house, he saw two guards, so he casually turned back to the corner. Azzara's house was hidden by the wall, but the Monte Carlo was parked at the curb, and Hector was in the Monte Carlo. A second man loitered in the alley's mouth, leaning against the wall. Dru's silver Tercel was behind the Monte Carlo.
Pike crossed the street with a crowd of pedestrians when the light changed, and walked along Sunset to the next street. He figured to approach Azzara's from the rear, but when he turned toward the alley, he stopped again. Two men sat in a Chevy pickup, parked to face the alley. More guards, covering the back of the house.
Pike returned to the first corner, and studied Azzara's street from a position behind a cigar shop. Pike felt a dull but steady ping as if he was about to be hit by an incoming missile, but neither guard acted as if they had seen him.
The wall killed his view of Azzara's house, and he saw no good way to approach without being recognized. Pike knew he could work closer once it got dark, but he didn't want to wait. The Tercel promised that Dru and Wilson were inside and alive. Pike didn't want to risk losing them.
Pike studied the buildings along Sunset, and noticed that the building immediately above Azzara's house was an older, two-story commercial space with a huge Regency billboard on the roof. The billboard faced Sunset so oncoming drivers saw its ad, but the back of the billboard cast a shadow over Azzara's home.
Sixteen minutes later, Pike climbed a service stair and crawled to the edge of the roof overlooking the alley. The far side of Azzara's roof was visible through the ficus trees, but nothing more.
Pike backed away, and considered the billboard again. Its back was a frame of steel I-beams supported by three enormous legs made of heavy steel pipe. A caged ladder climbed the center leg to a catwalk that extended from one end of the billboard to the other and wrapped around to the front.
Pike climbed to the frame, then edged along the catwalk. He used the billboard for cover until he found the best view, then wedged himself between the I-beams. Pike now saw most of the backyard and the rear of the house, but the yard was all he needed.
Floor-to-ceiling glass doors along the back of the house looked out at the clean lines of a rectangular swimming pool and patio. Dru Rayne lay on a chaise lounge facing the pool, with oversized sunglasses masking her face. A few feet behind her, Wilson Smith stood with Azzara and three other Latin men, one of whom was the cowboy Pike had seen at the body shop. All five men were laughing. Another cowboy was seated by himself on a deck chair on the other side of the patio, and another was inside on a couch in the living room.
Ping.
Pike stiffened with the feeling, but none of the men shouted or ran.
Ping.
He checked the roof below the billboard, but saw no one. He checked what he could see of the alley and the street in front of Azzara's, but the guards had not seen him.
Pike forced himself to relax. A burly man with a face like a pineapple and hard-time ink came out of the house with a bottle of beer, and Azzara immediately left the circle to make room for the man. Azzara's deference was obvious. He went into the house, and soon returned with three brown bottles. He gave one to an older, squat cowboy, one to Smith, and took the third to Dru. She gave him a very nice smile when she thanked him, and Azzara returned to the others. The congenial host.
No one looked abducted.
Pike felt hollow, like a bubble floating on water. He drifted like the bubble would drift; an emptiness confined by a delicate skin, having no weight or substance. Pike concentrated on the bubble. He forced it to grow smaller until it was gone. The emptiness remained, but could not be seen without its skin. Without the bubble, there was only nothingness, and now Pike felt nothing.
Ping.
The burly man with the ink shook the squat cowboy's hand. They smiled at each other, and laughed again, and related to each other as equals. Pike decided the burly man was a La Eme veterano of high station, but he wondered about the cowboys.
It was obvious that Dru and Wilson were where they wanted to be and in no immediate danger. Pike considered calling Straw, Button, and Elvis, but he decided to see what developed.
Twenty-two minutes later, a black stretch limo turned into Azzara's drive. Wilson, the squat cowboy, and the burly man followed Azzara into the house, but Dru and the cowboy who sat by himself remained outside. Pike now had to decide whether to stay with the house or follow the limo, and he had to decide before he knew what Wilson and Dru would do. Reaching his Jeep would take several minutes, so if he was going to follow, he had to leave now. If he waited to see them leave, he would never reach his Jeep until after the limo was gone.
Pike decided to follow.
He spidered back through the girders, and ran hard along Sunset to his Jeep, thinking the limo might already be gone, but when he nosed up to Azzara's street, the tail of the limo was still in Azzara's drive. Pike backed away, parking in a red zone in front of the cigar shop. Five minutes later, the limo backed out and rolled uphill toward him. Pike lowered the visor and slumped down behind the wheel. The limo stopped directly in front of him. Pike could make out the dim shape of the driver, but the dark rear windows hid whoever was in back. When a hole appeared in the traffic, the limo turned. Pike let two cars pass, then pulled out behind them.
The limo dropped through the city on La Cienega Boulevard, cruising slow and steady the way limos do. Pike followed them down to the I-10 Freeway, then west toward Santa Monica. When they crossed the 405, Pike thought they were heading to Venice, but they dropped off at Bundy and turned onto Ocean Park. Three minutes later, they pulled into the north side of Santa Monica Airport, and Pike was forced to drop farther behind. The limo drove to a gate that rolled aside to let them enter the hangar area, then stopped alongside a white Citation business jet. The jet's door was open, its stair down and waiting.
Pike pulled over to watch.
The limo driver popped out to open the doors, but the people inside didn't wait. Wilson, Miguel Azzara, the burly man, and the squat cowboy climbed out of the stretch. Dru had stayed at the house.
The four men gathered near the jet, and once more shook hands. The cowboy clapped Wilson on the shoulder like they were the best friends in the world, then climbed aboard. He pulled the steps up himself and closed the door as if he had done it a hundred times while the rest of them returned to the limo.
Pike noted the tail number. XB-CCL. The XB prefix meant the plane was registered in Mexico.
Azzara, the burly man, and Wilson stood by the limo as the jet spooled up its engines. Pike could see the pilot and copilot reaching for switches as they went through the start-up procedure. It took several minutes, but Azzara, the burly man, and Wilson waited. When the jet finally taxied away, they waved like flunkies, telling Pike the squat cowboy was a very important man.
Once the jet was gone, the burly man threw his arm around Azzara's shoulders and hugged him as if he had done a good thing. Azzara beamed his movie-star smile, then held the door as the burly man got into the limo.
Pike had seen enough. He made a slow U-turn as he drove away, and phoned Elvis Cole.
34
Daniel
Daniel glanced at the turd in the Monte Carlo as he walked past the house, dumb fuck so stupid he was falling asleep. Daniel loved fuckin' amateurs, them being so easy to kill, but the bangers had so many people around the house, they were cramping his style.
He continued downhill to the next street, then climbed into his van. Sign on the van was for something called Hero-Rooter-CALL A HERO TO SAVE THE DAY! DRAINS CLEANED AROUND THE CLOCK! Daniel had picked the van because there were no windows in the side panels and the vehicle would blend in anywhere. He had left the driver in a Dumpster behind a Nigerian restaurant in Long Beach.
Tobey was irritated.
"Why're we wastin' time?"
Cleo was annoyed.
"Fuckin' around, around?"
Daniel said, "Shut up. I'm tryin'
to think."
Daniel had followed the Mexican and his dumb-ass banger entourage from the airport, so he knew the Mexican was inside with the cook and the waitress. The Bolivians had come through big-time with their tip about the Mexican, but reaching his targets had turned out to be a problem.
Daniel circled the block up to Sunset, planning to cruise through the alley beside Azzara's house, but that's when he saw the tall dude sliding out of a red Jeep Cherokee.
Tobey, suspicious.
"Lookit those arrows."
Cleo, alarmed.
"Dude on the bridge, bridge."
This made twice, and twice was bad. Daniel had seen him at the canal, and now here he was again, a block from the cook and the waitress.
Daniel let the van slow to catch the light. The man reached Azzara's street, rounded the corner, then did a fast one-eighty to blend in with a crowd of pedestrians.
"He must be a cop. Gang unit, maybe. How else would he know?"
Tobey whispered, "Looks like a cop."
Cleo hissed, "Smells like a cop, cop."
When the light changed, the arrow dude crossed with the crowd, walking along Sunset like he was normal. Daniel clocked the dude as he passed. Big guy, hard, but he moved as if he was floating. Nasty hands, though, with big, coarse knuckles and veins wrapped under his skin like vines.
Daniel turned at the first cross street, then powered around the block back to Sunset, looking for the Jeep. He found it quickly, copied the tag number, then maneuvered into a parking lot to call the Bolivian.
First thing the Bolivian asked was whether he had bagged the targets.
"No, sir, not yet, but I have them located. The Mexican led me right to them."
Cursing, screaming, the usual Bolivian bullshit. Daniel rolled his eyes.
"Sir, the situation is under control, but I do need your help with a matter. We have a man on the scene who may be a police officer or a federal agent."
More blah blah yadda yadda.
"No, sir, it won't affect the outcome, but I would like to know who he is. I have his license plate here."
Daniel read off the tag, then hung up before the sonofabitch could go on with more bullshit. Daniel was now officially concerned about the arrow dude, and didn't like not knowing where he was and what he was doing. The arrow dude was a wild card and wild cards could bite you on the ass. Daniel decided he would kill the fucker if he saw him again, even if he was a cop, so long as it wouldn't fuck up his shot at grabbing the cook and the waitress. Daniel didn't want to kill them. He needed to take them alive, and save the killing for later.
Tobey said, "Kill'm."
Cleo said, "Cut off their heads, heads."
That was the plan. Cut off their heads, and ship'm to the Bolivians. The Bolivians liked creepy shit.
Daniel circled back to Azzara's street and parked below the house, looking north toward Sunset so he could keep an eye on things. Daniel studied the surrounding houses and the traffic up on Sunset. The guards ignored his van. Stupid. Daniel checked the pedestrians crossing on Sunset, thinking he might spot the arrow dude again. He wondered where the big fucker was, and whether he was watching Azzara's, or if the whole thing was just a coincidence and the dude was up there on Sunset getting another tattoo. Daniel stared at the billboard for a long time. Much of it was hidden by trees, but Daniel had considered using it earlier, and now he thought about using it again.
Daniel was watching the idiot in the Monte Carlo when a black limo passed and eased into Azzara's drive. Daniel remembered the tag. The same car had brought the Mexican from the airport, which meant it was now going to take him back.
Daniel thought, "Adios, muchacho."
Daniel was watching the limo when he caught a movement on the billboard through the trees. Someone was climbing down, and Daniel knew it was the dude with the arrows.
"MotherFUCK! He was watching the house!"
"Fuck, -uck, -uck."
Thirty seconds later, the tall dude ran across the street at the light, heading toward his Jeep. He must have seen the limo, too, and now he was going to follow.
Tobey boomed, "Kill'm, kill'm."
Cleo shrieked, "Get'm, get'm."
"We can't! We gotta stay on the house!"
Daniel smelled blood in the water, and knew he was close.
The Mexican, Azzara, a fat banger, and the cook came out and got into the limo. Daniel sat higher in the seat, and clenched the wheel until he thought his bones would pop through his skin. The cook and the waitress were separating, the cook going with the Mexican, the waitress staying at the house. Daniel was FUCKED!
Tobey murmured, "Mellow out, Daniel."
Cleo cooed, "Easy, dude, easy."
The limo backed out of the drive, then rolled up to Sunset.
"Easy, my ass! What about the cop? What if he bags the limo?"
Tobey said, "Let'm. He's after the Mexican."
Cleo said, "Take the waitress, Daniel. We'll figure it out, out."
Daniel felt as if his arms and legs were being yanked off at the joints, the cook ripping him in one direction, the waitress ripping him in another, but the voices were soothing. The voices helped him think.
Tobey whispered, "The waitress is here, get the waitress."
Cleo hissed, "The waitress will give you the cook."
Daniel knew they were right. He watched the limo disappear as it turned onto Sunset.
First he would take the waitress, then he would get the cook, and then he would have everything.
35
Elvis Cole
Cole wedged his phone under his ear, trying to reconcile what Pike was telling him. It felt as if Pike was describing one reality while Cole had been working to understand another.
"What you're telling me is these people are not being treated like prisoners."
"Four guards were outside the house, and at least two more were inside. You put guards on the outside, you're not keeping someone in, you're keeping someone out."
"I don't get it. How did a Trece crew go from shaking down Smith to being his host in three days?"
Pike didn't respond.
Cole said, "Feel free not to answer."
"The way they were shaking hands tells me it's business. The private jet tells me it's big business."
"You get the tail number?"
Cole copied the number as Pike recited it.
"Okay. I'll try to find out who owns it. Where are you going?"
"Back to Azzara's."
"Come here first. I want to go with you."
Cole thought for a moment, trying to sort out the new facts.
"Someone is hunting these people. We know that for sure. We thought it was Mendoza and Gomer, but it wasn't, and now Miguel Azzara is their best friend."
"Yes."
"Protecting them?"
"You go into business with people, you take care of them."
"I can't help wondering why a Trece street gang and Mexican cowboys with their own jet need to be in business with a man who fries oysters."
"I'll be there soon. We'll find out."
Cole spent the next ten minutes trying to identify the owners of Citation Jet XB-CCL, but had no luck. He was still on hold with the FAA when his call waiting told him Lucy Chenier was calling. He dropped the FAA and took Lucy's call.
Her voice was in full-on professional mode.
"Can you talk?"
"Absolutely. What did you find out?"
"I'm going to put you on speaker. Terry's here."
The sound qual ity went from crisp to hollow when she put him on speaker.
"Hey, Terry. Thanks for helping on this."
"Hey, man, no problem. You hear me okay?"
"Hear you fine."
Terry had a mellow voice with a woodsy Louisiana accent. He'd grown up in a family of police officers, and had been an officer himself before retiring to work as an investigator for Lucy's firm.
Lucy said, "So you know, we're in my office and we're alone. No one ca
n hear what we say except you, me, and Terry."
"Okay."
"Are you by yourself?"
"Yeah. It's just us."
"Joe isn't there?"
"Not yet. He's on his way."
Cole wondered why she was being so legal.
"Okay. I'm emailing two pictures. Are you at your computer?"
"Will be. I'm going there now."
"Tell me if they're the people you know as Dru Rayne and Wilson Smith."
Her email was waiting when Cole reached his computer.
"Hang on. I'm opening it."
Cole wasn't surprised when the picture of Wilson Smith turned out to be a booking photo, but still felt a vague disappointment. The picture of Dru Rayne was a snapshot, showing her behind a bar, with her hair up, a crooked smile, and rainbows of cheap bracelets on her wrists. She was wearing a tight black T-shirt that read: Tip the Waitress or She'll Spit in Your Drink.
"Yeah. This is them."
Terry came back sounding pleased.
"Damn, boy."
Lucy said, "What we're about to tell you comes from a senior investigator with the Louisiana DOJ. Remember what I said about not being able to put the genie back in the bottle?"
"Are they going to call me?"
Terry spoke up again.
"He pressed me, buddy. I didn't give him your name or location, but five will get you six he's on the phone with the FBI. They're tracking a string of murders tied to this case, and the number is growing."
Cole felt a leaden I-knew-this-would-get-worse feeling as he stared at Smith's mug shot.
"Smith's a murderer?"
"Yeah, he probably is, but I'm not talking about him. At least eight and possibly nine murders have been committed by a person or persons trying to find the man you know as Wilson Smith."
Cole felt a cold tingle in the center of his chest. Pike was right-something way more dangerous than street-corner bangers had been in the Venice Canals.
"He found them. He's here."
Lucy and Terry spoke over each other, garbling each other's words before Lucy won out.
"How do you know he's found them?"
