Powder Burn

by Ty Patterson

  He lunged forward, caught the falling man, kicked away his gun and was hauling him up when he felt the breath of air against his neck, and then he knew why the hoods had come up so blatantly.

  They had more people on the street.

  Who had come up from behind in an ambush.

  28

  Cutter dived to the side, but not before he caught a wicked blow to his shoulder.

  That wasn’t a shot! They want me alive, he thought dimly as he fell, turned and fired blindly.

  Three more shapes, one of whom had hit him and who took one of his rounds and shrieked, and then the living room exploded in sound as the other two hoods opened fire, joined by the men who hurried from upstairs.

  Cutter wasn’t in the living room, however. He had rolled to the kitchen immediately on landing. He crashed through the rear door and ran the other way, around the back of the longer side of the rear wall, jumping over flower pots and plants, racing to come up to the front from its left.

  He threw himself down at the crunch of a footstep. A hood loomed around the side and shot at him. The bullet whizzed over his head, but before he could shoot again, Cutter dove at his feet and brought him down and clubbed him with his gun until the hitter went still.

  ‘Julio!’ a voice called from the front.

  He peered around the corner of the house and saw four men hustling down the driveway, one of them hobbling as fast as he could.

  He fired at them, cursed when he missed and ducked back when a barrage of shots slammed into the wall. Felt movement behind him and rolled desperately to a side as Julio reared on his elbow and brought his gun up.

  Cutter triggered as fast as he could in the shooter’s direction as dirt and stone chips flew into his face and a slug smashed into his chest.

  He crawled forward cautiously when the hitter groaned and fell back. Cutter snatched his rifle away, ready to fire, but it wasn’t necessary. The shooter was dead.

  He slithered to the corner and swore loud and long when he saw the drive was empty. He raced across the lawn and leapt over the wall and landed on the sidewalk, ready to fire.

  All he saw were the tail lights of the hoods’ car, fading into the distance.

  The cops arrived by the time he made it back to the front door.

  29

  Cutter checked the thug at the kitchen doorway, the first man he had shot. Dead.

  He threw himself into a chair and wiped his sweat.

  ‘Throw down your gun,’ Matteo ordered as he came up the driveway, flanked by Cruz, Estrada and several officers, all of them with weapons trained on him. Police snipers were at the wall at the front, alert for any hostile activity. Lights had turned on in several neighboring houses, their residents awakened by the shooting. He thought he saw Naysha’s head bob over their common wall, but realized he could be mistaken, since the police had trained their lights on him.

  ‘You have any more weapons?’ Matteo picked his Glock by the barrel, between thumb and forefinger, and dropped it into the plastic baggie Cruz held open.

  ‘Not on me.’

  ‘What happened here?’

  He told them briefly, while several officers fanned through the house and around it and confirmed his count of two dead.

  ‘Who were they?’ Estrada returned from the inside of the house and joined Matteo and Cruz.

  ‘I didn’t stop to ask. I heard the escaping thugs call out a name. Julio. That was the hood with me, who’s dead. You checked their bodies?’

  ‘Street Front tats on them.’ The detective looked at his partners.

  ‘They’re bangers?’ Cutter put on an astonished expression as he shot out of his chair. ‘I thought they were a home invasion crew.’

  ‘You didn’t search them?’ Cruz asked in disbelief.

  ‘I told you. I didn’t have time. Why would that gang be after me?’

  ‘You tell us.’

  ‘You’re the cops! Has your investigation turned up anything? Why were Vienna and Arnedra at that house? You said Street Front was responsible—’

  ‘We said their guns were at the scene.’

  ‘Have you made any progress?’

  ‘Not much,’ Matteo admitted. ‘We questioned some of the Bro’s hitters too, but as expected, they have denied any involvement. We are trying to set up a meeting with Janikyan, but I’m not very hopeful. You might have heard of that attack on Covarra. Motorcycle rider—’

  ‘Yeah, you think that’s why he sent his men here? Why?’

  ‘He might have assumed that attacker was someone close to the women, seeking vengeance …’

  ‘You think that man was me?’ Cutter laughed scornfully. ‘Matteo, are you the best the LAPD has?’ he asked sneeringly. ‘You’ve got two women dead, an attack on a drug gang’s boss on the street, this shootout tonight, and all you’re doing is spouting speculation. Arrest me if you’ve got something concrete that links me to that rider. Otherwise, get off your asses and investigate my friends’ murders and these thugs. Find out why they were here.’

  ‘Why were you here?’ Cruz looked at him impassively. ‘Aren’t you staying on Sycamore Avenue?’

  ‘Looks like you folks aren’t doing much investigation. If you had, you’d have known I’ve inherited this house.’

  ‘We heard about it.’ The detective sucked a breath through his teeth and looked speculatively at the house. ‘Vienna and Arnedra both decide to leave the house to you. They die. Someone might say you had a hand in their—’

  Cutter lunged at him and grabbed him by his shirt. The force of his slam carried the two of them over the porch and to the ground. Blood and white noise roared in his ears, as a killing rage filled him. He slammed the detective’s head repeatedly on the ground, shook off the hands on his shoulders, was dimly aware he was snarling, and then several men hauled him away and the fury died down slowly and the night returned and the earth started spinning again and he could hear and see normally.

  ‘STOP IT!’ Matteo roared in his face.

  ‘Next time you make such an insinuation,’ Cutter said, pinning Cruz with laser eyes, ‘you’d better arrest me. Because I will rip you apart and nothing will save you, not even your being a cop.’

  No one moved for several moments, as if his words were hanging in the air, visible.

  ‘Cruz.’ Matteo looked at his partner, who was dusting his suit. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You assaulted him,’ the task force leader glowered at Cutter. ‘We can take you in.’

  ‘Go ahead. Do something. The way I figure, you’ve been sitting on your butts, twiddling your thumbs all along.’

  Matteo’s face darkened, but before he could speak, Naysha Sutton spoke over the fence.

  ‘Cutter, Jonas and I heard what that cop said. You need witnesses, we’ll come forward.’

  ‘Ms. Sutton.’ The lead detective turned to the couple and, in a tone meant to defuse the situation, said, ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  ‘Accusing Cutter of killing Vienna and Arnedra … that’s disgusting.’

  ‘Ma’am, we didn’t—’

  ‘Do you know why no one trusts LAPD? This is why.’

  Cutter concealed his grin as Naysha Sutton steamrollered onwards, speaking over Matteo, her anger bludgeoning him and the rest of the cops into awkward silence.

  ‘And,’ she signed off with a flourish of her finger, ‘we’ve got security cameras. Two of those look over Vienna’s house. You can take a copy of the recording. You’ll see Cutter acted in self-defense. Just so you know,’ her voice rose in triumph, ‘they are still recording. They would have gotten what happened just now. Get this, we’ve got those fancy kinds that don’t have just video but audio, too. in high definition. Everything you’ve said and done is on tape.’

  The cops had no comeback to that.

  30

  Cutter went to the LAPD’s headquarters during the day and repeated his statement to Matteo and Cruz, who acted as if the previous night’s confrontat
ion hadn’t happened.

  He was heading out of the building when he felt eyes on him. Looked up to see Lisa Dade watching him from inside an open elevator. She didn’t smile, didn’t approach him; all he saw before the door closed was her inscrutable expression.

  Looks like I’m a suspect. She figures that biker was me.

  It wasn’t a surprise to him. They know I’m not just an idle spectator. They don’t have anything more than suspicion. No evidence.

  He knew he was playing a dangerous game. What choice do I have? They haven’t made any progress in their investigations.

  * * *

  ‘Grogan’s statement checks out. The neighbor’s security cameras had a good view of the outside of the house. They showed the thugs entering the house. He acted to protect himself.’

  Matteo, the speaker, Cruz and Estrada in Lisa Dade’s office. Difiore and Quindica in side chairs, in what was fast becoming a usual configuration for their daily briefing.

  ‘I saw it myself,’ Dade said coldly. ‘Everything. I’m more interested in your conduct. We set high standards here. I didn’t see you stick to those at Grogan’s. I am disappointed. Diego,’ she lashed out at Cruz, ‘what were you thinking when you said that?’

  ‘It’s an ongoing investigation, ma’am. Everyone is a suspect. Grogan, too—’

  ‘Tell me you didn’t check him out. Matteo?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. He’s clean. No connection to the sisters’ killings. Diego was just riling him, to see if he would say something inadvertently, implicate himself in the Sadler Avenue attack.’

  ‘LAPD will play by the book. We will stick to the rules. We will not resort to underhanded tactics, not under my watch. Is. That. Clear?’ she glared at them.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ the officers chorused.

  The harsh lines on her face softened. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked Cruz.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He let a rueful smile slip. ‘Grogan hits hard.’

  ‘Any idea who those hoods were?’

  ‘Street Front ink on the dead men, ma’am,’ Matteo responded. ‘They don’t match any of the thugs we have on file, so we haven’t been able to identify them. They had nothing in their pockets. No one’s come forward to claim the bodies. We’ve circulated all their photographs to our informants. So far, no bites.’

  ‘Why were they there?’

  ‘Our theory is that Grogan was that bike rider. Covarra connected him to the house and sent those men. However, we don’t have any proof. If they weren’t Covarra’s men, they could be just about anyone. A home invasion crew, like Grogan said.’

  Dade gave no indication that she had had a conversation about the rider with Difiore and Quindica. ‘You don’t believe that?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘I’ve read your report. That drone in Covarra’s house had no markings; serial number was filed off. Control screen crushed beyond recognition. Some of the brass at the Sadler Avenue shooting were nine mil. No connection to any guns in our system. Those drivers and cars and the bike … you’ve got zilch.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Matteo replied. ‘But we still think Grogan’s good for that attack. Nothing else makes sense.’

  ‘You’ve got someone following him?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘He’ll make them.’

  ‘My people are good, ma’am. They’ll put a tracker on his vehicle.’

  ‘You don’t know who you’re up against.’

  ‘Chief.’ Estrada straightened his legs. ‘Grogan is taking on one of the most dangerous gangs in Los Angeles. He’s alone. This will end in one of only two ways. The Street Front kills him or we arrest him.’

  ‘Cutter Grogan is the most dangerous man I know, and I have known several. He’ll make our officers and evade them.’

  ‘Which will prove that he’s got something to hide.’

  ‘No.’ Dade cracked a tired smile. ‘It’ll just show that he doesn’t like to be followed. And, he doesn’t. Believe me. I know him.’

  ‘We have some experience with him,’ Difiore said, breaking the short silence. ‘We agree with the chief. If I was Francisco Covarra and I knew about Grogan, I would be fearful.’

  The BHPD detective ignored her intervention. ‘You sound as if you admire him, chief.’

  ‘I like him; he’s a friend. I’m sure you know that. But if he breaks the law—’

  ‘He has. We just need to prove it.’

  ‘Get evidence and bring him in. You won’t find me stopping you. But don’t lose sight of your task force. It’s not solely about Grogan.’

  * * *

  Cutter was in El Abajeno, a Mexican hole-in-the-wall joint in Del Rey that he had discovered several years ago.

  He chewed on his vegetarian tostada and soaked in the atmosphere in the small restaurant. Yellow walls with brick arches. Brown tiles. Wooden tables with ceramic inlays. Photographs on the wall. Light music in the background, and warmth and cheer.

  He closed his eyes in bliss as he swallowed and washed down the food with a sip of his juice.

  When he opened them, Difiore and Quindica were in front of him.

  He gaped in amazement. Blinked. Nope, they were not figments of his imagination.

  ‘You? Here?’ he blurted.

  ‘Yeah,’ Difiore said expressionlessly.

  ‘You missed me,’ he chortled. ‘You missed me so much you followed me from New York.’

  ‘We didn’t miss you,’ she snarled, grabbed a chair and plopped herself in it.

  ‘I know what it’s like.’ He patted her hand. ‘That empty feeling inside you when your best friend goes missing. She must have been hard to live with.’ He addressed Quindica sympathetically.

  Difiore jabbed his hand with a fork. ‘You’re not my best friend.’

  He grinned and winked when he caught the FBI agent hiding a smile.

  ‘What can I do for you, didn’t-miss-best-friend-but-followed-him-across-the-country, Detective Gina Difiore?’

  ‘Don’t use my first name.’

  ‘You gave me permission. Back in New York.’

  ‘That was then.’

  Difiore was like that. She put on this tough, uncaring, hostile front, but inside she was soft as jelly.

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘We’re cops,’ she snorted.

  He caught her eyeing the menu on the blackboards hung over the counter. ‘Everything is good,’ he announced. ‘I can vouch for the dishes.’

  ‘You’re a vegetarian. What would you know?’

  ‘I’ve brought friends here.’

  He waved his hand to signal the server, who took their order and disappeared. He looked at them expectantly when they were alone, but neither of his visitors broke the silence.

  Quindica checked out the restaurant with curious eyes while Difiore continued to gaze at him with flat eyes. Like a lizard eyeing its prey.

  ‘Don’t talk,’ she barked when he made to speak.

  Their food arrived just then, which saved him a reply.

  They ate in silence and, from their expressions, he could see it was as he had advertised.

  ‘That was good,’ the detective admitted grudgingly and glared at him when he fist-pumped.

  ‘Cutter.’ Quindica wiped her lips with a paper towel. ‘Go back to New York. Drop whatever you’re doing.’

  ‘I’m enjoying the company of my friends, that’s what I am doing.’

  ‘Don’t. Act. Innocent.’ Difiore punctuated her words with finger jabs in the air. ‘You’re that bike rider.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t see how it’s your business.’

  ‘We’re working with the LAPD,’ Quindica explained. ‘Similar scope and investigation to what we did with the NYPD. Rolando released Gina and assigned her to my task force.’

  ‘You’re investigating those killings? Matteo and Lisa didn’t mention the FBI’s involvement.’

  ‘No. That’s Matteo’s. You know what we look into. But we’re r
ead into the gang investigations.’

  ‘You’re here officially?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Grogan.’ there was something in Difiore’s eyes that he couldn’t place. ‘We told Matteo that the rider could be you. You’re a suspect.’

  He speared a remaining piece of tostada and ate it. Looked at her with his game face in place. ‘I saw that clip on the news. That man was good, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Did you hear what I said? The cops think you’re good for that shooting.’

  ‘That’s not news to me. Matteo accused me of that last night. He’s even got cops trailing me. I lost them on the way here.’ He shook his head in disappointment. ‘I thought LAPD had better officers. I made those two easily.’

  ‘You’re out and about because they don’t have any proof.’

  ‘Are you going to be my snitch, Difiore? You’ll tell me if Matteo finds anything?’

  Her eyes blazed at that. ‘Walk away,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘I can’t,’ he said, deliberately misconstruing her words. 'I haven’t ordered dessert yet.’

  She swore softly and got to her feet. Reached into her back pocket, drew out her wallet and flung several bills on the table. She walked out of the restaurant without another word.

  Quindica lingered for a moment and eyed him speculatively. ‘You’re not going to back off.’

  ‘I told you, I’m going for the pastries—’

  She cut him off with a hand wave, thought of saying something, changed her mind and went out.

  Cutter watched them leave bleakly and wondered if he had lost them as friends.

  I hope not.

  He waved his hand for the server and placed his order.

  There was no way he was going to miss El Abajeno’s sweet treats.

  * * *

  ‘He won’t stop,’ Quindica said as she settled in their car and buckled up.

  ‘Is that what he told you?’ Difiore fired up the engine and rolled out of their parking space.

  ‘No, he pretended we were talking about food.’