Powder Burn

by Ty Patterson

  No sign of any bangers. I’ve been here all morning.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ he said, bowing elaborately to a woman who complimented him on his singing. That could be an alternate career path for him if the Fixing business collapsed.

  He went to a food truck and had just placed his order for a bowl of chili and nachos when his skin prickled. He turned around slowly, nodding his head, mouthing the lyrics, and spotted them.

  Quindica and Difiore, leaning against the side of their unmarked car, parked on Dittmar, just in front of the bench he had occupied during his recon.

  He turned his gaze away swiftly, took his bowl and went deeper into the park.

  Why are they here?

  He brought out his phone and checked his calls. Nothing from either of them. A message from Russ Meehan that he had to sign a few papers. It could wait.

  He had finished his food when it came to him.

  They’re here for the same reason I am. They’re checking out whether I return.

  The difference was, he was hoping Covarra would show up. He wanted to see how well-protected the bangers’ boss would be.

  Cutter took cover behind a palm tree and observed them carefully. They made no move to cross the street and go to the house; they kept waiting, speaking occasionally to each other.

  A grin tugged his lips as he imagined what Difiore would be thinking. I bet she’s telling Peyton, we should have shot him in New York.

  The detective looked around searchingly as if she felt the weight of his gaze, scanned the park, shrugged and said something to Quindica. The SAC nodded, and the two of them got into the car and drove away.

  The man he was waiting for arrived at six pm.

  Cutter had changed his disguise by then. He was still sporting the fake tattoos, but the bright shirt had been replaced with a businesslike one, and the hair was shaped differently.

  He looked up from the book he was reading when he felt a vibration in the air.

  A Hummer slowed to a crawl as it came up Dittmar and started turning onto Verona. The rear passenger window was open a crack—and there was Francisco Covarra.

  The Street Front boss looked out arrogantly through his shades until a shadow beside him pointed at the house.

  Why’s he parading in plain sight? LAPD’s got an arrest warrant for him.

  It came to him when the Hummer returned for a second pass.

  He thinks I might be here, too. He wants me to see he isn’t hiding. That I didn’t hurt his gang.

  It was posturing, but it fit the profile in the gangster’s file.

  Cutter counted the shadows he could see in the vehicle. Six men, and that car behind it seems to be a gang vehicle, too.

  He couldn’t pull off another bike stunt again. He would have to try another way to get to Covarra.

  Which left him with just one option.

  The house on Forest Avenue.

  37

  Cutter slowed as he approached Vienna’s house. Now, mine, he thought to himself, but it was hard to get used to. He would have to decide what to do with it, but that could wait.

  His eyes sharpened when he spotted the two SUVs parked in front of the gate. He got out of the Durango and went up either of the walkway. A man sat on the porch, drinking from a bottle of water. Dark hair cut short. Clean-shaven face. Brown eyes that he could see no expression in as he got closer. Lean, wiry, a short-sleeved shirt that hung loose over his blue jeans. Eight men ranged around him, all of them hard-faced and, judging by the bulges at their waists, armed.

  Who’s this?

  He was unarmed; his Glock was in his SUV. He had no armor, since he was still in the plain shirt that he had changed into at the park.

  ‘You’re trespassing,’ he said shortly as he climbed the steps and leaned against a pillar.

  The man in the chair was obviously the boss. I can reach him, grab him by the throat and use him as a shield. He was confident he could execute the move before the guards could shoot.

  ‘I come peacefully,’ Bossman smiled, his brilliant white teeth contrasting with his deep tan.

  His accent isn’t American.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘You don’t know me?’ His eyebrows drew together in astonishment. ‘I heard you were asking a real estate broker about me. I am Panig Janikyan.’

  Cutter put on his game face. Didn’t let his surprise show. What does he want?

  ‘Yeah. I’m no longer looking for you,’ he replied flatly. ‘But you’re here. Why?’

  ‘I was curious to see who was bringing up my name. You might have heard some people call me Pain. I don’t know why. I’m just a businessman. No one has any reason to be frightened of me. Anyhow.’ He got to his feet and smiled again. ‘I just wanted to see who you were.’

  ‘Davidian works for you.’

  ‘Who? That broker? No, no, you misunderstand what this is about. He has no connection to me. I wanted to check you out. No other reason.’

  ‘Do you go to people’s houses whenever they mention your name?’

  Janikyan gave him a surprised look. ‘Of course, if I hear they are violent. I have my reputation to protect. I need to know why they are talking about me.’

  ‘Your reputation! You run a criminal gang. You brought your goons with you just to look me up. No wonder people talk about you.’

  The Armenian took no offense. He laughed and waved airily. ‘I’ve heard that, too. I buy and sell properties, I import and export, I make investments; all of that is legitimate. My rivals spread these rumors about me, and they have stuck. You know how people are … they like to think the worst of others.’

  ‘You saw me. Get going.’ Cutter pointed at the gate. ‘Take your thugs with you.’

  ‘Sure, Mr. Grogan.’ Janikyan smiled politely. ‘I am sorry for your loss. I heard you were close to these women.’

  He’s done his research. He wants me to know that.

  ‘Did you think I was in some way responsible for their deaths? Is that why you asked the broker?’

  ‘If you know who I am, you must have connected the dots already. What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t kill people, Mr. Grogan.’

  Cutter almost believed him.

  Janikyan climbed down the steps and went out to the gate, waving as he did so. His men formed a protective ring around him, several of them walking backwards, alert for any move.

  Cutter was impressed despite himself. These heavies aren’t like the Street Front bangers. They’re good. They haven’t left any inch of him exposed.

  He waited till his visitors climbed into their vehicles and drove away. Dropped into the chair that Janikyan had vacated and thought back to what had happened.

  It made no sense. Why had the Armenian come? Nothing indicated that the Bros were involved in any killing.

  Did he come to size me up? If so, why? Maybe what he said was true. He heard about my conversation with Davidian and wanted to see me for himself.

  It was when he was showering that two thoughts struck him.

  One was that Panig Janikyan was one of the most dangerous men he had come across. He had been in control, utterly confident, hadn’t made any threats, and yet, Cutter had sensed the man was capable of inflicting tremendous violence.

  The other thought made him frown.

  Janikyan didn’t say he had no involvement in Vienna and Arnedra’s killing.

  38

  Cutter came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. Still frowning, thinking of his visitor.

  Do I add him as a suspect? Do I go after him, too?

  He dressed in his armor with a Tee over the top and tucked into his jeans, and fastened a belt around his waist. Applied the cheek pads and the false nose and put on the transparent glasses. Fastened the shoulder holster and inserted his Glock in it. Shrugged into his lightweight jacket. LAPD doesn’t know who the two gangs were that night. They knew about the rifle, nothing more.

  No, he would stick to his plan. Find the rifle’
s shooter and go up the chain. Which meant he had to carry out his next move without getting killed.

  * * *

  He took a cab to a children’s hospital in Boyle Heights and watched from the back window. No tails. There had been no shadowing the previous night, either. Looks like the cops have given up following me.

  He paid the driver and waited till the vehicle turned a corner. Walked through the building’s parking lot, past anxious, hurrying parents, injured kids, paramedics and ambulances.

  He went to the rear of the building, where the deliveries arrived. Spotted a line of ambulances parked against a wall. Their drivers are off-duty.

  He checked each of them and got lucky with the third one. Its door opened and its keys were dangling from the rearview mirror. A paramedic’s coveralls were hanging from a hook in the cab.

  He checked that there was no one around him, grabbed the uniform and went to the rear of the vehicle. Under its cover, he dressed in the coveralls. He tried the zip and left it partly open to allow for fast access to his gun.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat, fired up the ambulance and rolled out of the hospital.

  * * *

  Forest Avenue was a residential street in Boyle Heights. Single-family homes, quiet roads, a few palm trees on the sidewalks, electric cables strung high on posts. Nothing to distinguish it from the thousands of family neighborhoods in the country. Nothing to show that the house on the corner of Forest and Malabar Street was a Street Front stash for drugs.

  Nothing, except the men sitting in several cars on the street.

  Cutter spotted them immediately. They aren’t hiding. They’re making their presence felt. Deterrence.

  Looks like Ernesto’s told Covarra that he confessed.

  He counted ten men on the street, all of them alone in their vehicles. Three of them on Forest, two on Malabar.

  The house was a two-story one. Painted light brown. Lightly sloping roof, on which were two skylights. Chest-high fence around it. Brick pillars with iron railings running between them. A rolling metal gate on Forest Avenue that opened to a short driveway, in which were parked a Mazda and a Beemer. White entrance door facing that street. Lights turned up inside the residence.

  Cutter drove to the end of Malabar, turned around and returned.

  Yeah, there were two more upward-facing windows on the rear slope of the roof. A getaway gate on that street as well. An escape route. It looked like Street Front took over corner houses that had such exits, or built them on acquiring the properties.

  Ten men on the street. Ernesto didn’t know how many would be inside. Covarra will expect me to hit the house. He’ll have flooded it with hitters. Will he move the drugs?

  He debated that with himself as he parked and checked his phone. Covarra’s got an ego. He doesn’t like to back down. Another gang leader would have called me by now and suckered me into a trap. He doesn’t work like that. He won’t move the drugs. They’ll be there, inside.

  But he couldn’t enter the house.

  There was no way he could take on that many shooters.

  He frowned as he checked out the house from a distance. I can’t pass up on this house. I have nothing else on Covarra. I’ve got to keep pressure on him—wait, what’s that?

  It was a crane that had caught his attention. On a construction plot at the far end of Malabar. He had seen it but hadn’t given it any thought.

  He turned his ambulance and drove back to the construction site. The developer seemed to have acquired three houses and was in the process of demolishing them to build something larger.

  That boom is fifty feet high. Looks over all the houses in the neighborhood. It’s got to be telescopic, since the cab is at ground level.

  He brought up a maps app on his phone and checked out distances. Calculated that the top of the boom was about three hundred and ninety feet from the target house. That residence was taller than surrounding houses.

  A smile twisted his lips as he fired up the ambulance and headed back to the children’s hospital. Made a spare key before parking the vehicle in its bay.

  He had his ride, means of entry as well as exfil.

  39

  ‘Anything?’ Covarra growled at Salazar.

  ‘No, Snake. We’ve got men at the house. No one came near it yesterday.’

  ‘That man will not give up. He will have checked out the house.’

  ‘Snake,’ his deputy said patiently. ‘We’ve got ten men on the street, like you ordered. They rotate in shifts and have been watching for cars, trucks, any vehicle that drives on Forest and Malabar. Almost every car has been local, from one of the neighbors. No strange vehicle slowed down. No one got out and took pictures.’

  ‘We shouldn’t underestimate him.’

  ‘We aren’t. We have ten more men inside.’

  ‘He can launch tear gas grenades from a distance. That’s how he got us at Hubbard. We thought it was a big attack coming; that’s why we escaped. If we had stayed inside, nothing would have happened,’ Covarra ranted angrily.

  ‘Our men have masks. They are prepared. Relax.’

  ‘DON’T TELL ME TO RELAX,’ he roared and glared at a hitter who popped his head into the bedroom. He took a deep breath when the heavy disappeared. ‘This man is smart. He is determined. He—’

  ‘He can’t get inside that house,’ his deputy interrupted. ‘And he can’t attack from outside.’

  Covarra nodded, unconvinced. ‘We have that other house as well, don’t we? On Forest Avenue, diagonally opposite, across the intersection with Malabar.’

  ‘Yeah, Snake. It’s empty—’

  ‘I know that. I wanted a backup.’

  ‘You want us to move the drugs there?’

  ‘No. Our stock is too large. It might get noticed. I don’t want our people to show themselves.’

  ‘Moving our stash is the safest—’

  ‘NO! THIS MAN IS NOT GOING TO DICTATE HOW WE WORK.’

  ‘What do you suggest then, Snake?’

  Covarra’s smile was cold. ‘Put a sniper in that empty house.’

  40

  ‘You want what?’ Chad looked up from his food.

  ‘Zip lines, rollers and incendiary grenades,’ Cutter repeated.

  ‘Jeez.’ His friend looked around him. No one in El Abajeno was paying them any attention. Everyone was focused on their lunch and on the conversation with their dining partners. ‘You planning to start a war?’

  ‘If I have to.’

  ‘No.’ His friend raised his palm. ‘Don’t tell me anything more. I’m following the news. I can put together the pieces. I can guess what you’re doing.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning to. Can you provide that gear?’

  ‘That?’ Chad snorted. ‘I could get you an aircraft carrier if you wanted—’ He squinted his eyes. ‘You don’t need one, do you?’

  ‘Nope. Nor do I want an Abrams tank or anything of that sort. Just what I asked. And yeah, more drones.’

  ‘I got a payment in my offshore bank,’ Chad said suspiciously. ‘From some company I’ve never heard of. Was that you?’

  ‘There’s not enough love in the world,’ Cutter told his friend solemnly, ‘that you should turn it down when you get it.’

  He got a curse in return.

  * * *

  He lingered when his friend had left and called Meghan.

  ‘Can you get access to the LAPD’s system?’

  He bit his lip as soon as the words were out.

  I shouldn’t have led with that.

  He got a long silence, and then the younger sister spoke.

  ‘He’s old. He’s forgetting what I said.’

  They said they can do just about anything, he groaned inwardly.

  ‘Senility.’ There was a smirk in Beth’s voice. ‘It comes to everyone, though it seems to have hit him earlier.’

  ‘What do you want, Cutter?’ Meghan asked him.

  ‘What’s LAPD got on Vienna and Arnedra’s investigation?’


  ‘Hang on.’

  ‘Nothing much,’ she said after a while. ‘The detectives have made contact with snitches, who got no information.’

  ‘They still think Street Front is responsible?’

  ‘The gang’s a suspect. They’ve made contact with the Mexican federal police to get a list of Covarra’s known contacts, safe houses in LA. No reply so far.’

  ‘Armenian Bros? Is that gang a suspect, too?’

  ‘Matteo got some intel from an informant who denied the gang’s involvement. Street Front’s their main suspect.’

  ‘You want to know what they have on you?’ Beth chortled. ‘Tell him, sis.’

  ‘They suspect you were that rider.’ There was a smile in the elder sister’s voice. ‘They’ve made no progress with that drone or the bike, however. They’re still looking for those two drivers. That was smart, Cutter. That was a move we would have pulled off.’

  ‘It wasn’t me—’

  ‘Save it,’ she scoffed. ‘We’re on a secure line. Your secrets are safe with us.’

  ‘Can you show me how you got that? Getting into their system?’

  ‘Nope,’ she said flatly. ‘You don’t need to add hacker to the list of your criminal activities.’

  I’m not one, he wanted to retort, but she was right. He had crossed the line when he had carried out the attack on Sadler Avenue.

  He thanked them and hung up. Went to his ride and drove back to his house on Sycamore.

  He brought out his Glock in its stillness, broke it down and cleaned it. The sisters had confirmed what he had guessed: that Matteo’s task force hadn’t made much progress. There would have been arrests by now if they had, reported in the media. As for his being a suspect, that wasn’t a surprise either.

  He assembled the Glock and sighted it against the blank wall. Went to the bedroom and came out with all his gear and dumped it into his SUV.