Powder Burn

by Ty Patterson

  He went to the bathroom and showered. Crushed the fake glasses he had been wearing and dumped the remains into the trash can. He inserted dark contacts into his eyes and applied a goatee. Darkened his hair with dye and applied silvery streaks. Stuck a tattoo—a large, red cross—on his neck, above his collar, and inspected himself in the mirror. He would pass random scrutiny.

  LAPD will have facial recognition. They have Difiore and Quindica, who know how I operate.

  He shrugged and grinned at himself. I’ll have to keep my face away from public cameras.

  He donned shades, grabbed his backpack and exited the hotel. Went to his Tahoe to check his phone. No missed calls or messages from Covarra.

  He’ll wait. He’s driven by his ego. He won’t want to show that he’s being dictated to by me.

  He drove to Little Armenia, aware that cameras would be capturing the Tahoe and ALPR would be running its plates against a suspect list. He wasn’t worried, however. Wyatt and Chuck paid enough city employees off to ensure their license plates were never flagged.

  He parked in the same vacant space he had occupied during his previous visit and carried out a swift recon. No cruisers, no one else idling in their vehicles, no men or women lounging on benches, leaning against poles, or hanging around food trucks.

  Nope. There was no LAPD surveillance at Arek Davidian’s office. No bangers, either.

  Cutter waited for another hour. A couple exited the broker’s office, escorted to the door by the beaming man himself.

  He waited a beat and got out of his vehicle.

  ‘Mr. Davidian,’ he called out before the man closed the door.

  ‘Yeah?’ the broker’s smile flashed automatically.

  ‘You were referred to me, sir, by one of your customers.’

  The grin grew wider. Cutter could feel the man’s interest.

  ‘Why don’t you come inside?’

  That’s what I want.

  ‘Neat office,’ he said appreciatively when he entered its cool interior. ‘I thought you would be bigger.’ He frowned as he gestured at the empty cubicles.

  ‘Don’t be taken in by fancy offices and lots of staff,’ Davidian said, dismissing his competition. ‘You, sir, came to me because of a recommendation. That’s the service I deliver to my customers—’

  He shrieked in surprise and alarm when Cutter caught his shirt and dragged him to his office.

  ‘WHAT? WHO ARE YOU—’

  ‘It’s me. Same dude who assaulted you last time.’

  The real estate agent froze. He hurried behind his desk when Cutter released him. His mouth worked several times before sound emerged.

  ‘YOU—’

  ‘Stop talking. Listen. I will not beat you up this time.’ He tossed a phone on the desk. ‘Get this to Janikyan. There’s one number on it. He has to call me. As soon as he can.’

  ‘I TOLD YOU THEN AND I AM TELLING YOU NOW.’ Davidian’s face turned red with fury. ‘I HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH HIM.’

  ‘I know. But the Armenian community is tight-knit. I’m sure you can find a way to pass that phone and my message across.’

  He left before the broker could protest.

  * * *

  ‘That place on Jesse Street,’ Salazar said, briefing his boss. ‘That empty warehouse. You remember we used to cook meth there.’

  ‘Si.’ Covarra snapped his fingers. ‘We still own it?’

  ‘We’ve gone legal.’ His deputy smiled craftily. ‘We rent it out for movie and music video shoots. You’d be surprised how much money it makes. People like that look.’

  ‘Show me.’

  Salazar brought up several pictures of it and showed it to the bangers’ boss. ‘It’s on a street corner. We will have sentries on Rio Street and Jesse. Industrial area. No one around at night.’

  ‘What is it?’ he snapped when his deputy hesitated.

  ‘It’s safest to call him and tell him what we know. That we had nothing to do with that killing.’

  Covarra controlled the burst of fury inside him. He jabbed his friend in the chest with his forefinger. ‘Safe? Francisco Covarra does not do safe. I would have become an accountant if I wanted to live safely. No. We have had this discussion before. Don’t bring it up again. This man dies at my hands. I don’t want to listen to anything else. How much time do you need to make that place secure?’

  ‘It’s ours, Snake. We can set up the meeting tonight.’

  ‘No, not so fast. Let’s do it tomorrow. At night.’

  * * *

  Cutter tracked down Isaiah Limon at LAX-it and waved at him.

  ‘Yes, sir, you need a ride?’ The driver straightened.

  ‘Why is it that you are idling whenever I come to you? Any other cab driver would be picking rides up, dropping them off. You? You look like you don’t need the business.’

  Limon stared at him cautiously. ‘Do I know you, sir?’

  Cutter waited for him to make the connection and then slapped himself mentally on the forehead. I am in a different disguise! How would he recognize me?

  ‘You got away cleanly from that crash on Sadler?’

  Limon’s eyes widened. He looked around fearfully. ‘It’s you! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Relax, Isaiah. There are no cops around. No one knows what you did but me.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I need your car.’

  ‘No.’ Limon backed off. ‘That was a one-time deal. I’m not doing any crazy stunt again.’

  ‘Isaiah, you didn’t hear me. I need to borrow your car. I don’t need you to do anything else.’

  ‘Don’t you have a ride of your own? Why do you—’

  Cutter sighed and thrust a big bundle of bills at him. He wasn’t going to go into the reasons why he needed to switch rides frequently, even if he had fake number plates. ‘That’s three grand there. More than you’ll make today. I’ll return your vehicle here. Intact. It won’t be used for any criminal activity.’

  ‘How can I be sure of that?’

  ‘You’ll know if you don’t get arrested by evening.’

  He laughed when the driver swallowed. ‘Nothing like that will happen.’

  He took the key from Limon’s unresisting fingers and climbed into the car.

  ‘Dude! I don’t even know your name.’

  ‘It’s best that way.’

  Cutter drove out and headed to LAPD headquarters. Parked on Main Street in front of a long line of cars that had a row of traffic cones by their side.

  It’s not an official parking space, but that’s where cops park when their lot is full.

  He climbed out of his car, dumped his backpack in the trunk and went to the corner of Main and First, from where he could watch the building’s entrance.

  He was counting on Difiore and Quindica coming out to the nearest eating place for a bite. They won’t go to cafes in the building. Both of them like to get out, get some air. Which left only two possibilities: one was a convenience store in the building, on Main Street; the other, Times Mirror Square.

  Both of them are into architecture. They’ll go to the LA Times building.

  His hunch proved right when he spotted the couple at three pm, striding out of the main entrance. He turned away from them and spoke into his phone. Watched them from the corner of his eye and fell behind them at a safe distance.

  No other cops with them, but then he hadn’t expected any.

  The women went to a coffee shop, ordered their food and drinks and settled on the low marble wall that ran around a thick, sculpted tree.

  Cutter positioned himself behind the decorative foliage and waited patiently. He got his break when Difiore wiped her hands on a paper towel, dropped their food wrappings in a trashcan, went to a newsstand and browsed through a magazine.

  She’s left her bag with Quindica. Which was to the FBI agent’s left, a couple of feet away from her.

  He needed to create a distraction.

  Using the cover of the tree, he yelled loudly
. ‘HEY, THAT MAN JUST SNATCHED A LITTLE GIRL FROM THAT STORE! SOMEBODY STOP HIM! HE’S GETTING AWAY.’ That got everyone’s attention.

  ‘WHO WAS IT?’ Several young men sprang off their chairs outside a café.

  ‘He’s wearing a white hoodie. She’s in a pink dress.’

  He sensed Difiore and Quindica were trying to place him from where they were, but he was well hidden by the conical topiary. The NYPD detective burst into a sprint and gave him a sideways look as she came into view. She didn’t falter, however, as he kept pointing and joined the chase.

  Cutter moved immediately once she was away. He went around the tree and glimpsed Quindica following Difiore. Their bags lay where they’d abandoned them on the marble surface.

  He seized the opening. No one was looking at him. Several patrons in the massive hall were bunched together, excitedly discussing the incident. Many had gone into the store he had pointed at to seek out the parents of the girl.

  He reached Difiore’s bag and thanked his luck it was secured by magnetic clasps. He fished out a burner phone from his pocket and thrust it deep inside. Covered it with her neatly folded scarf and closed it. He hurried away just as voices approached, keeping the tree between him and them.

  ‘There was no one there,’ he heard the detective. ‘No girl, either. He must have been mistaken.’

  ‘Or drunk.’ Quindica laughed. ‘Did you see who it was?’

  ‘Some dude. Greying hair. Wasn’t paying attention to him.’

  Cutter joined a throng of shoppers and merged with them as he exited the building. He hurried to his cab and fired it up.

  Stopped at the red light at Main and First just as Quindica and Difiore stepped out on the pedestrian walkway.

  He froze. Tracked them through the corner of his eyes but didn’t look at them directly. Experienced operators and cops could sense the weight of a gaze. He saw Difiore’s shades flash as she glanced his way. Held his breath, ready to punch through the light, but her steps didn’t break as she crossed the street with her partner.

  He chuckled, imagining her face when she discovered the phone.

  She’ll curse until the air is blue at how she was suckered.

  His smile faded as he drove deeper downtown and then to East LA. Planting the device was necessary. It offered a secure comms channel to the cop.

  He knew he would need it, given what he was planning.

  51

  ‘You’re out and about, still?’ Beth Petersen mocked Cutter when he called.

  He was their verbal punching bag.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ he growled.

  ‘We’re following the news. We aren’t dumb. What do you need?’

  ‘GPS trackers. Soluble ones as well as small, colorless ones that can be stuck to the body.’

  ‘When do you need them?’ No surprise or shock in her voice.

  ‘As soon as—’

  ‘Go to West Sixth Street in two hours. It’s a storage place. We’ll message you the locker details.’

  He stared at his phone. ‘Two hours? That fast? You’re in New York. Don’t you have to organize—’

  ‘We’ve got our caches in every major city in the country.’

  He heard the murmur of voices in the background, and a man came on—Zeb Carter.

  ‘Cutter? You need help?’

  ‘I’m good.’

  ‘Stay safe,’ Beth piped up.

  ‘I knew you cared for me.’

  ‘We don’t,’ Meghan came on, ‘but who would we mock if you got killed or arrested?’

  * * *

  Cutter logged into Werner and got it to search for the Street Front’s known or suspected hangouts. Several addresses came up, all of them residential.

  No, Covarra won’t set up the meeting in a house. It won’t be secure enough. He’ll want more space. Like a warehouse or some kind of office space.

  There was a building in East Hollywood, on the border with Little Armenia. The AI program had flagged it since it had come up in gang chatter on the darknet.

  He brought it up on a maps and street view program and checked it out. It was a drab, two-story concrete building that showed signs of pending redevelopment: a developer’s signboard planted in its yard, a digger and earthmoving truck in its drive.

  That could work. From what he could see, the ground floor was empty. It will have several exits, and it’s located where bangers can protect it.

  A recon run was necessary.

  * * *

  Cutter joined the line at a food truck in downtown LA and ordered arepas with a filling of avocados, black beans and plantains. He ate them in his cab and wiped his hands on a paper towel. A cruiser rolled up as he was drinking from a bottle of water. A pair of cops emerged, appearing to be an experienced officer and a rookie. The woman, the senior cop, cut flat eyes in his direction but didn’t break stride as she went to the counter and placed her order.

  Cutter didn’t linger. He didn’t know if Dade had authorized a warrant for him, but he wasn’t going to hang around to find out. LAPD will be searching for me, that’s for sure. There had been several missed calls from Matteo and Cruz, calls he hadn’t bothered to return.

  He drove to the self-storage place that Beth referred to in her message. Circled once to find a parking space and squeezed behind a truck.

  He bent his head when he spotted the cameras over the door and went inside to the locker room. Slipped his hands into flesh-colored gloves discreetly and punched the keys on the security pad.

  He grabbed the backpack inside and left.

  It was four pm when he went to the office building in East Hollywood and surveyed it.

  Nope, he decided when he spotted the building equipment on the sidewalks. They narrowed the street and increased the risk to a clean getaway. He wouldn’t set up the rendezvous in that building.

  But will Covarra?

  52

  Matt Lasko drove his unmarked car to a car wash in Boyle Heights. He waited in the small coffee shop on the premises while two attendants hosed and waxed his ride.

  He gave no sign of recognition when Cesar entered the store, went to the counter and ordered a latte. The banger returned with his drink and settled heavily into the chair next to him. There was a third customer, a woman, who left shortly when her car was ready.

  ‘What’s up? We met earlier today. Did something happen?’

  ‘Be in this hood, tomorrow,’ the thug whispered from the corner of his mouth.

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Will let you know as soon as I find out.’

  ‘What’s going down?’

  ‘Fuse isn’t saying. He wants the best hitters in the neighborhoods tomorrow. Snake … I haven’t seen him in some time.’

  ‘Where’s he holed up?’

  ‘I would tell you if I knew. Both of them are on calls. Snake’s in a safe house somewhere. But,’ he added, shrugging his shoulders, ‘I’m not senior enough. No one’s told me where it is.’

  ‘Could you find out?’

  Cesar glared at him. ‘Yeah. And then, Snake would cut me to pieces. Dude—’

  ‘I get it.’ Lasko motioned with his hand to get the thug to lower his voice. He got to his feet when an attendant waved at him.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ the banger reminded him as he left. ‘Stay close.’

  * * *

  Cutter returned to Pacific Palisades and sat on the bluff to watch the sun go down. He opened the backpack when dusk was settling in and hefted the packet of GPS trackers. The soluble tag could be added to any liquid, which, after ingestion, remained active for thirty-six hours. The flesh-colored adhesive ones had the same lifespan.

  Chad would love to get his hands on these, but even he doesn’t sell them. The ingestible ones were based on trackers that healthcare professionals used to isolate cancerous cells. Secretive intelligence agencies around the world had adapted the technology to develop them for surveillance.

  Cutter knew Zeb’s Agency had access to cutting-edge devices the co
mmercial market wasn’t even aware of.

  I merely asked and they delivered. No questions asked. Such was his relationship with them.

  His brow furrowed when he delved deeper into the bag and brought out more gear. He whistled softly when he recognized the collapsible yagi antenna and the SMA connectors and realized what he was looking at.

  A portable cell phone tower that would disguise where he was calling from.

  Thank you, he messaged Beth.

  Stay alive, she replied. We would have to pick on Zeb if you disappeared, and he’s no fun.

  * * *

  The call came as he was searching for hotels to spend the night in.

  ‘Mr. Grogan,’ Panig Janikyan said softly. ‘You are a man of many disguises.’

  Cutter thought of denying it was him, then shrugged in the dark.

  He’s smart. He made the connection to Davidian.

  ‘We need to meet.’

  ‘The last time we met, you ordered me to leave.’

  ‘I’ll do that again if you come to my house uninvited.’

  ‘Why should I agree?’

  ‘We have a common enemy.’

  53

  Cutter drove to Little Armenia, took a left on Fountain Avenue and entered an unmarked alley that paralleled Serrano Avenue and Hobart Boulevard.

  Narrow, just over the width of a pickup truck. Houses on each side, all of them behind metal fences. He saw heads peer out of windows when his lights lit up the neighborhood. Shadows moved in the yards; he caught the flash of cell phone screens as they were held to ears.

  This is Janikyan’s territory. Everyone here’s likely to be in the Armenian Bros. All the occupants are like an early warning system to him.

  A man came out of the alley and blocked his way when he approached a pink building to his left. He was heavily tattooed and seemed unarmed, but there was a noticeable bulge at his waist.