Powder Burn

by Ty Patterson

  He turned on his heel and sprinted toward the cover. The ground was uneven, rocky, patches of grass. He was used to that kind of terrain, however. He neared the safety of the vegetation, expecting choppers to appear in the sky and bullhorns to sound, urging his surrender.

  No helicopter arrived, and neither did any patrol cars.

  He went deep into the thicket and stopped. Breathed shallowly to hear above his pounding heartbeat.

  The sirens were still wailing, and when he peered cautiously, he caught the shine of several police vehicles on Tibbetts Street. They’ll discover the abandoned cruiser soon enough, will find I’m not in the neighborhood. They’ll organize a manhunt, but not quickly.

  Word would have gotten out that he was former Delta Forces, a sniper of some repute, in addition to his other deadly skills.

  They’ll know I can take out several cops with a long gun. They’ll organize dogs, choppers with thermal imaging, cut off my re-entry into Sylmar and hunt me.

  I got lucky, he thought bitterly. That dog warned me. That cop must have been at the forefront on Gavina. I got out before they could trap me in the house, before they positioned more officers on Tibbets.

  But how had they found him? He had disabled the Durango’s LoJack. His phones were untraceable.

  Phone! He dug into his pocket and came out with Lasko’s device. Turned it on and sighed in relief when it showed no signal.

  That’s how they found me. I had removed its battery at night, but had powered it on in the morning.

  The rental house had poor network coverage and a signal had registered only when he brought the device to the living room, earlier in the day.

  He set up a Bluetooth connection between his phone and Lasko’s and transferred all its contacts. Removed the SIM card and pocketed it.

  Cesar. That’s either a person or a place name. Cutter hoped the phone would offer a clue. And that helps me, he thought grimly.

  But first, he had to get away.

  66

  ‘How did you let him get away?’ Dade exploded at Matteo, as she surveyed the house. ‘You had his location when he turned Lasko’s phone on. You had SWAT, you had cops, this isn’t a big neighborhood for him to escape through … it should have been dead easy to capture Cutter.’

  ‘We didn’t know it was him, ma’am. Anyone could have taken his phone. It was only when we called the rental company,’ the detective nodded at the house, ‘that we figured it was Grogan.’

  ‘We think the neighbor’s dog gave us away.’ Greg Wells, the SWAT commander, tall and hulking in his combat outfit, said, grimacing. ‘My officers were approaching; we were not in position. He reacted instantly.’

  He would. He was Delta! Difiore kept the thought to herself as she and Quindica observed quietly from a distance.

  They had abandoned their lunch when the chief called them, just after one pm. They had joined her in her vehicle and sat quietly while Dade, stony-faced, took calls and answered monosyllabically.

  Matteo, Cruz and Estrada were on the scene when they arrived, along with the SWAT commander and his officers. Cops had mounted a perimeter to keep the curious residents away.

  ‘Nothing in the house.’ The task force’s lead detective’s shades caught the sun as he glanced at them. ‘He escaped through the back and ran through several backyards. Those two,’—he nodded at two cops who were being attended to by EMTs— ‘nearly got him.’

  ‘Those were the two in the cruiser?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, Officers Phelan and Joachim. The latter’s a rookie.’

  Difiore and Quindica followed the chief when she crossed the street and went to the cops.

  ‘How did it go down?’ she asked them after perfunctory introductions.

  ‘He came out of nowhere, ma’am.’ The senior officer straightened against the side of the emergency vehicle. ‘Chris and I were patrolling the back streets, like we were told to. He came over a fence and ran right at us.’

  ‘Did he hold a gun to you?’ Difiore asked him.

  ‘No. He moved so fast I couldn’t react. He pulled me out and climbed in and—’

  ‘He told me to roll when I fell.’

  ‘What?’ Dade squinted her eyes at him.

  ‘Ma’am.’ The rookie swallowed nervously. ‘He pushed me out and said I should roll. To absorb the impact.’

  ‘That’s what he said?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. He didn’t threaten us.’

  Difiore bit her lips to suppress a smile when she heard the chief curse. What was that she said? Something about him being a saint.

  ‘We’ve gone door to door, ma’am.’ Matteo joined them. ‘If he’s in Sylmar, we’ll find him. We’ve told residents to report any stolen cars—’

  ‘Vance,’ Dade cut him off. ‘If you knew Grogan as well as I do, you would know he isn’t here. He’s gotten away.’

  The detective removed his shades and ran his fingers over his head. He spat out his toothpick and sighed wearily. ‘Where could he have gone? We have roadblocks, checkpoints, his face is plastered all over the news—’

  ‘There.’ Difiore pointed at the San Gabriel foothills. ‘He’s in the mountains.’

  * * *

  Cutter didn’t hang around.

  He used the chaparral as cover to ease back into the rocky open area, following the dips and curves of the land to shield himself from the cops. He hustled parallel to Pacoima Canyon Road, going up into the hills until he was high enough to view Pacoima Reservoir.

  He heard the first chopper as he was cutting through the mountains toward Cougar Canyon, where he crossed the dry river bed and climbed again.

  He was sweating, hungry; all the bruises in his body were complaining, but he couldn’t afford to stop.

  It was when he crossed Wildlife Waystation that he came across two motorcycles parked on Little Tujunga Canyon Road. The winding, curving trail was a biker’s paradise that carved over three summits.

  Cutter crouched in a shallow beside the road and checked out the vehicles. No riders in sight. Nothing but the endless blue sky above and the rolling green of the mountains. He ran to the nearest bike and opened its canvas saddlebag. Fist-pumped mentally when he found water bottles and protein bars. He grabbed them, stuffed in a bunch of dollar bills and resumed his getaway.

  He kept away from known hiking trails, went through thick brush and trees, ghosting through the mountains as if he had lived in them all his life.

  That’s pretty much what I did in Afghanistan, he reminisced when he stopped for a water break and drank deeply.

  He shrank into the woods when he heard voices. Nope, not cops. A hiking party.

  His trail took him through La Tuna Canyon, through the park. It was eight pm when he approached the outskirts of Burbank.

  He was grimy, sweaty, and was sure the wetness of his thigh meant the gunshot wound had opened up again. He didn’t dare to feel it, however. Not until I find a place to hole up.

  He searched for motels on his burner phone and found one in Glendale that, according to reviews, took cash.

  Forty minutes later, he had completed his check-in with a pimply-faced youth who hadn’t looked up from whatever was playing on his screen.

  Cutter trudged to his room and couldn’t help but moan with delight at the sight of the white sheets on the bed.

  He dumped his bags and went to the shower and let the warm water wash away his weariness.

  He dressed his thigh with a bandage and over his dinner, protein bars and a bottle of water, he took stock.

  The Durango’s gone. Cops will have it. They’ll find my prints on it and in the house, but nothing else.

  That left the Land Cruiser and the Tahoe that he had parked in strategic locations in the city, in long-term parking lots.

  He didn’t want to risk going to those, however.

  ‘Isaiah,’ he called Limon, ‘do you want some easy money?’

  * * *

  ‘He got away.’ Dade came to Difiore and Quindica’s office a
nd stood in the doorway. ‘We got several birds in the air, but the mountains were thick with hikers. There was no way of knowing where Cutter was.’

  ‘We might get lucky.’ Quindica shrugged. ‘He might leave town.’

  ‘Hey!’ she protested when two pairs of eyes stared at her balefully. ‘It was just a thought.’

  ‘He’s the last man to bail out of any situation. That’s not his style,’ Difiore said. ‘Ma’am, Vienna’s house and the one he stayed in, on Sycamore, those were searched?’

  ‘Yeah, we got nothing there.’

  ‘Mind if we check them out as well?’

  ‘Be my guest.’

  Difiore watched her walk away and then grabbed her jacket.

  ‘Come on,’ she told her partner. ‘I have an idea.’

  67

  It was a random idea.

  Cutter wrestled with it as long as he could, but gave in finally.

  Heck, I need to check it out. See if my hunch is right.

  He drove out of the motel in Limon’s cab, grinned when he recollected the driver’s raised eyebrows at his sideburns disguise.

  ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Forget me.’ He had flashed the wad of notes. ‘This is what you’re interested in.’

  Cutter entered North Heliotrope Drive and passed Vienna’s house without slowing down. There was a cruiser parked in the front with two cops inside. Both looked bored and were chatting idly when he went past.

  Can’t stop there.

  He went to Santa Monica Boulevard and nosed into Berendo Street, which was parallel to Vienna’s street, but the houses on it would be behind hers.

  No patrol cars here.

  He pictured the neighborhood in his mind and placed Vienna’s house. A bakery would have its backyard neighboring hers. Can’t go through that. It’ll have cameras. The house to the right was large, with several cars in its driveway. Not that either. But the one to the left is dark. No one home?

  There was only one way to find out.

  He parked the cab down the street and returned on foot. Opened the gate and walked down the concrete path as if he belonged. No dogs barked, no lights came on, no shouts of alarm. Along the side of the house ran the driveway, with a car parked on it. He ducked beneath the line of windows and approached the vehicle. Went to the concrete wall that separated Vienna’s backyard from the property he was in.

  That’s seven feet high. He jumped high, caught a glimpse of his friend’s residence and decided to break in.

  He climbed over the hood of the vehicle and vaulted over the wall. Landed nimbly on his feet, his Glock coming up in his hand automatically.

  He holstered the gun when he wasn’t challenged by anyone.

  Looks like cops are maintaining a casual surveillance.

  He darted to the rear of the house and peered through a window. It was dark. Went to the side door, through which he had escaped when Covarra’s thugs had attacked.

  He unlocked it, turned the handle and pushed it open gently.

  A strip of white wedged in the door jamb caught his attention.

  A note.

  He picked it up, went to a corner of the backyard and smoothed it out. Turned on the flashlight of his burner phone and played it over the piece of paper.

  YOU FOOL.

  He recognized Difiore’s strong scrawl and couldn’t help chuckling aloud.

  YOU STUPID FOOL.

  She repeated in a second line, as if the first one wasn’t enough indication of how she felt.

  TURN YOURSELF IN.

  YOUR WAY WILL END WITH YOUR GETTING KILLED.

  He could count on her to fill him with hope and cheer.

  He smiled, folded the note and stuffed it in his pocket. His guess had been right. She had known he would come to the house sooner or later and had placed the note there. He had hoped for more information from her and Quindica, on where their investigation was, but understood their position.

  They can’t compromise themselves. Do they think I shot Lasko? The thought made him frown. He hoped his friends knew him well enough … but they’re cops as well. They’ve seen how people act in rage.

  He returned the way he had arrived, back to his cab. Fired it up and drove out of the city on the I-15 and turned off the road when he came to Apple Valley. He drove over rocky, uneven ground, and under the stars, he mounted his yagi antenna and set up his portable GSM tower that would disguise his location.

  He scrolled through Lasko’s contacts and found the one named Cesar.

  ‘Yeah?’ a voice answered roughly.

  ‘Cesar?’ he disguised his voice.

  ‘Who’s this?’ the man replied cautiously.

  ‘A friend of Matt Lasko.’

  A shooting star sped across the sky and faded into the vast nothingness above.

  ‘YOU’RE HIM!’ Cesar growled. ‘You’re the one who shot him. Cutter Grogan. Cops are looking for you. How did you get my number?’

  ‘Why do you think I’m him?’

  ‘Puto!’ Cesar spat. ‘No one else has this number. Only him. The only way you would have got it is if you shot—’

  ‘He gave me his phone. I didn’t shoot him. He asked me to contact you.’

  ‘LIES! Lasko never told anyone about me. Even his boss didn’t know my name.’

  Boss? That’s Matteo. Why wouldn’t he know of Cesar? Why the secrecy?

  It came to him immediately

  ‘You’re Lasko’s snitch!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re in the Street Front! That’s why he was there, at the warehouse.’

  ‘I’m hanging up.’

  ‘WAIT,’ Cutter yelled. ‘We’ve got to meet.’

  ‘I’m not meeting Lasko’s killer.’

  ‘Is he dead?’ Cutter asked. I’ve been busy running through the mountains, he thought bitterly. I didn’t look up how Lasko was doing.

  ‘No, puto, but he is serious. His chances of survival are low.’

  ‘Let me guess. Lasko offered you a way out of the gang, or some kind of favor—’

  ‘You know nothing about me,’ Cesar rebutted angrily, ‘and my relationship with him.’

  ‘I don’t, but with him in the hospital, what’s your future? If he dies, what will happen to you? I am sure Covarra doesn’t let any banger leave the gang. Not alive. How will you quit that life?’

  ‘You’re offering me a way out?’ the gangster said, laughing scornfully.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How? You’re wanted by the cops yourself. What can—’

  ‘I know Lisa Dade, the Chief of Police. She and I go a long way back. I didn’t shoot Lasko. If I can clear myself, I can get her to give you witness protection.’

  ‘That’s a lot of ifs, puto. How will you achieve that?’

  ‘Were you at the warehouse?’

  ‘I was outside, on the streets,’ the snitch said reluctantly.

  Which is why he didn’t see what went down and thinks I’m the shooter.

  ‘I thought Lasko would call for backup. I didn’t know he would come on his own … why am I telling you all this? This call is over.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Cutter pleaded. ‘What have you got to lose? You and I are stuck … we need to find our ways out.’

  ‘I am not helping you, puto!’

  ‘Lasko gave me your name. He told me to take his phone. He knew we could help each other.’

  ‘I’ll kill you the minute I see you.’

  ‘Meet me, in that case. You’ll get your opportunity.’

  ‘How can I reach you?’

  Cutter’s shoulders slumped in relief at the banger’s words.

  ‘My number should have come up on your screen. Use that.’

  ‘That’s a foreign number.’

  ‘It will work.’

  ‘Si, I’ll tell you where to come. And, be prepared to die.’

  68

  Cutter thought long and hard about the next call. Heck, I know what she thinks of me. That’s not going to change. But at least I’ll have put my side forward. />
  He dialed the number and heard it ring. Imagined Difiore waking up, reaching for her phone and frowning at the caller ID.

  ‘There are only two ways you’ll come out of this,’ the detective answered the call harshly. No surprise in her voice. ‘You’ll be killed in a showdown with cops or you’ll go to prison.’

  ‘How did you know it was me?’

  ‘Grogan,’ she sneered, ‘I’m the best detective the NYPD has. You think I wouldn’t connect a Moscow area code number to you?’

  Beth and Meg set that up for me. They got Werner to assign random numbers to my phone.

  ‘Cutter,’ he heard Quindica say, ‘you’ve got to turn yourself in.’

  ‘Why should I? It was—’

  ‘No,’ Difiore interrupted him roughly. ‘We don’t want to hear your excuses. You want to tell your story? Surrender and give your statement to the cops.’

  ‘That’s what I’m—’

  ‘Matteo’s leading your investigation as well. Go to him.’

  ‘Cutter,’ the FBI agent asked softly when he made no response to Difiore’s comment, ‘how are you?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he replied. Other than the gazillion injuries I’m trying to heal from, and the aching in my feet from the mountain escape.

  ‘How did you get away from Sylmar?’ Difiore, her voice, flat, cold.

  ‘I took to the hills. The cops—’

  ‘That’s what I guessed. That was a SWAT team you got away from.’

  ‘They should have blocked escape to the hills.’

  ‘Why did you call us?’

  ‘Huh? You wanted me to call!’

  ‘Are you high?’ she snapped. ‘When did I do that?’

  ‘You left that note in Vienna’s house. That was as sure an invitation to make contact as any.’

  ‘He got you there.’ Quindica chuckled softly.

  ‘We’re listening,’ Difiore said flatly. ‘What do you want to say?’

  ‘I was set up.’

  ‘Yeah? That bike rider who attacked Covarra, that zip line dude who burned a house in Boyle Heights … you were set up then, too?’