by Ty Patterson
He joined Olive Avenue, turned on Riverside Drive and entered Warner Boulevard for a second pass.
His phone buzzed when he passed an unmarked alley on his right.
‘Yeah?’ He turned on the speaker.
‘Puto,’ Covarra’s voice filled the cab. ‘Where are you?’
He saw Limon jerk in surprise in the rearview mirror. He held his finger up to silence his question and checked out both sides of the street as he inched forward slowly.
No vehicles behind him. No one approaching them on foot. The parked cars on the street were empty. Only snipers from high above can take me out, but these are office buildings on both sides. Covarra’s got juice, but not so much that his shooters can infiltrate them.
No, he shook his head. He’s planning something else. If he’s here.
‘Show yourself,’ he ordered. ‘Otherwise I’m leaving and you can forget about your meth and oxy.’
‘Are you on the Boulevard, puto?’
‘I’m entering it,’ he lied.
‘Come inside. You’ll see me. In a Suburban.’
Another unmarked alley. More people unlocking their vehicles and driving away to homes, friends, dinners and families.
No Covarra. No Salazar. No SUV in sight.
Something flashed in the distance. Light reflecting off a windscreen.
That vehicle, in that unmarked alley that joins Avon. Is it Covarra?
He squinted as he tried to make out the ride, but the glare was intense.
‘Isaiah,’ he told his passenger abruptly. ‘You see that tour bus parked on our left, just ahead?’
‘Yeah, what about it—’
‘Get out when we’re passing it. From the left door. Take that gym bag with you.’
‘What? Why? That’s heavy, dude—’
‘Isaiah, do it,’ he used his command voice. ‘This is going to get nasty. You don’t want to be here when the shooting starts.’
‘But—’
‘GO, NOW!’
Limon hesitated for a moment and then ducked and grunted as he grabbed the bag. Flung open the passenger door and slid out.
‘What will I do with this?’
‘I’ll find you at your usual place.’
Cutter sped up a fraction when he saw the driver duck and disappear swiftly, using the bus as cover.
Eyes back to the front. To the vehicle that was inching out of that alley on his right, up ahead.
It was a Suburban. Black. Dark windows.
He held the wheel with his left hand and brought his right to his chest. Close to his Glock. He had enough magazines in his cargo pants and more weapons and equipment on his pack strapped to his back.
He drove forward.
* * *
‘Do you see him?’ Janikyan asked.
‘No. There are just a few other vehicles here. An empty cab—’
‘That’s him.’
‘No. I can see the driver. He doesn’t look like Grogan—’
‘Covarra, he’ll be in disguise. He’s not stupid. Identify yourself, see what he does.’
‘What if he shoots at me?’
‘YOU’VE GOT MORE MEN THAN HIM,’ Janikyan exploded. ‘Confirm that it’s him. I’ll handle the rest.’
The Street Front leader stiffened in anger at the Armenian’s yell. He lowered his window, nevertheless, enough for his face to be seen.
* * *
Cutter saw the dark pane slide down. A face appeared in the frame. Dark hair, savage face, hostile eyes staring right at him.
That’s Covarra.
‘I see you,’ he told the gangster.
‘Is that you in the cab?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Keep going.’
‘That’s not what we agreed. Give me the address. When I’ve confirmed it’s a Bros warehouse, I’ll defuse the bomb.’
‘Drive! I need to see you’re alone. That you haven’t brought cops.’
‘Cops?’ Cutter laughed scornfully as he kept going. Covarra was at his two-o’clock, his head cocked sideways. Is he talking to someone else? ‘Have you watched the news? I’m as wanted as you are.’
* * *
‘It’s him,’ Covarra whispered loudly in the second phone that a banger held up for him.
‘Keep talking to him,’ Janikyan ordered. ‘He’ll be distracted. You drive out in the opposite direction once he’s passed you.’
* * *
‘Who are you talking to?’ Cutter asked, locking eyes with the banger as he drew abreast.
‘My men. I’m telling them how I’ll enjoy killing you.’
‘Enough games. Where’s the location?’
‘In a moment.’
‘Why? What are you waiting for?’ His eyes went to the rearview mirror as the Suburban came up on it. He frowned when it entered the boulevard and turned towards Riverside Drive. ‘Where are you going? Where’s that address?’
‘Puto, I wish it was me—’
Cutter sensed the movement. He swiveled his head and watched in horror as the cement truck lurched out of Avon Street and headed right at him.
‘HEY!’ he yelled at the driver.
Another SUV ahead, on the street, to his right, which hadn’t been there on his previous run. A man grinning at him from the passenger window.
Janikyan!
‘I told you I would come for you,’ the gangster shouted.
The truck crashed into Cutter’s cab.
86
The force of the impact buckled the passenger door and crumpled the side of the cab. The truck shoved the vehicle to the sidewalk on Cutter’s left. It kept coming, its engine whining as the taxi offered temporary resistance.
He freed his seatbelt and fired wildly at the truck’s windscreen. Felt rather than saw his rounds punch holes in the glass.
His ride slid jerkily on concrete. A wire mesh fence approached that separated an under-construction building from the sidewalk. He sensed thugs spilling out of Janikyan’s SUV.
Cutter kicked his door open and squeezed out of his cab just as it slammed into the fence and brought it crashing down. He fired over its roof, long bursts at the approaching thugs, and sent them diving and ducking for cover.
They didn’t shoot back. Janikyan wants me alive.
That bought him some time.
He leapt over the fallen wire mesh and went deeper into the incomplete building. Realized instantly that he was trapped. High walls around it to protect the surrounding neighborhood from the construction. No way I can scale that.
He heard shouts and yells and thought he heard Janikyan issuing orders.
No other traffic. No screams. Did he block off the roads?
He would worry about it later.
Cutter ran up dust-laden stairs, leapt over iron bars and concrete blocks, surveyed open space that was the second floor. Spotted a tree in the distance just as he heard footsteps pounding below.
He rushed to the edge of the floor and saw that the tree was on a neighboring alley, a dead end, with branches that hung deep over the road.
He fired several rounds as the first head came up over the stairs. Saw it disappear. More shouts came to him.
Cutter took several steps back and ran full tilt to the edge of the floor. He threw himself into the air with outstretched arms.
Did I get it wrong?
A branch slapped his face and then his fingers had gripped a tree limb and he hauled himself through its leaves, gasping as sticks and shoots raked his cheeks and neck.
The tree held. It took his weight and had enough sturdy limbs to let him crawl swiftly deeper inside. He paused for a moment and looked behind him. Several thugs stood at the open edge of the floor, gesticulating in his direction. More hitters entered the dead-end alley and ran towards the tree.
It wasn’t time to linger.
He got to the high wall that bordered the studio and jumped over it. Fell several feet and landed awkwardly on concrete.
He was in a studio complex. Safe.
&n
bsp; But, from the sound of raised voices, he wouldn’t be for long.
87
Cutter got to his feet and oriented himself quickly. Wide streets and large buildings around him. An electric vehicle passed him, with its occupants giving him a curious look.
Covarra sold me out, he thought bitterly. He and Janikyan have gotten together, somehow, to nail me.
He had to escape, go south. The LA River is that way. I can get away from there.
He hustled quickly as he felt his face and arms. It looked like he had numerous small cuts from the branches, which stung, but none seemed to be bleeding much. He went along the side of a tall building, rounded the corner into an alley—and came across three men.
Bros!
He recognized them instantly from their manner—the narrowed eyes, the hands reaching beneath their shirts.
Can’t risk shooting and drawing more people.
He went at them with a roar, leapt high and crashed into them. His right leg smashed wickedly into the farthest banger’s face. He chopped with the edge of his palm and caught the nose of the hitter on the left. They went down, him on top, kicking, gouging, using his elbows, body weight and temporary advantage to knock them out.
The hitter in the middle punched up and caught him in the neck, then reared up with his body and dislodged him. Leaned over him, drew his fist back and hit Cutter repeatedly in the chest and face.
The red mist descended on Cutter. He felt the gangster beneath him moving, trying to extricate himself. He elbowed the Armenian savagely in the temple just as he took another blow on the neck. His vision was dimming; his world had constricted. He saw only the leering face of his attacker above him.
He trapped the incoming fist with both hands and twisted his body to pull the attacker’s arm down, to smash his hand on the ground. The shock of the blow sent a shudder through the banger, who groaned. Cutter jabbed his chin sharply, making his jaws snap and his head roll back, which exposed the man’s throat enough for him to deliver a killing blow.
He got to his feet drunkenly, shook off an arm that weakly tried to stop him and kicked that thug in the groin for good measure.
He lurched into a run down the alley, sucking lungfuls of air, drawing in oxygen to clear his mind. Reached an intersection and heard a vehicle coming on his right.
Janikyan in his SUV, his head leaning out with a victorious grin.
Cutter didn’t have a choice.
He drew his Glock and fired a long burst at the vehicle, making it swerve. Men shouted from within it as another banger’s vehicle drove up.
He didn’t linger.
He darted across the street into a narrow passage. Low-slung construction to his left that resembled a European village. That’s what it is. A movie set. He heard shouts from behind and saw several thugs racing down the alley, following him. Can’t outrun them, not in my condition. Can’t shoot them down, either.
The eave of a house caught his eye, and before his mind could translate it into action, he jumped high, grabbed its edge and swung himself up on top of the house. He crouched low and ran over the uneven surface of the roof.
It was a make-believe house, not a full-fledged construction. He hoped it would take his weight.
It did.
The set had several such residences, closely grouped, with narrow alleys in between. Cutter leapt from roof to roof, heard scrambling behind him and, when he turned to look, saw bangers giving chase.
He burst into full speed, running heedlessly in the general direction of the river, making good progress. They won’t shoot. Janikyan wants me alive. That was to his advantage.
The flimsy roof collapsed. He went down, along with a swath of tarpaulin that cushioned his fall. His head glanced off a beam, and he stumbled as he got to his feet.
Four men were facing him when he straightened.
Cutter had no choice.
He drew faster than they could and shot the two on the left in the chest. Trained his Glock on the last man, who was reacting faster, when the banger in the middle charged at him with a ferocious yell.
Cutter stepped aside nimbly, tripped him and sent him sprawling. The fourth man stooped and grabbed a loose wedge of construction material and slashed at him wildly. The first blow struck him in the ribs; the second missed his face by an inch. He backed up, stumbled over the fallen man and shot his attacker just before he lost his balance.
The thug on the ground got an elbow around his neck.
‘GOT HIM!’ he yelled and squeezed.
Cutter shifted his body as much as he could, pointed his Glock downwards and shot the hitter in the thigh. He rolled free when the grip around his throat eased and knocked the gangster out with his barrel.
The increased volume of shouts somewhere in the distance warned him it wasn’t just Janikyan’s men who had been alerted.
He resumed his stumbling run, struggling to ignore the punishment his body had taken. He reached the edge of the village and peered out cautiously. An open space ahead, beyond which was what looked like several storage buildings and a line of trucks. No one behind him, but he thought he saw shadows bobbing in the distance.
He ran across the empty road and took cover by the side of the nearest building. Darted to the nearest truck and peered around its rear. More trucks, forklifts and cranes, neatly parked.
That’s the compound wall behind them. It was high, smooth and looked forbidding. Can’t risk the time to scale it, not with thugs following me.
The vehicles gave him an idea. He climbed to the roof of the truck closest to the wall and threw himself across the ten-foot gap.
He pulled himself up to the narrow top of the wall when his fingers caught and held. Below him was the steep drop of the wall and the concrete artificial river bed.
He sat on the edge and let himself fall, hugging the wall as closely as he could to try to slow his fall.
He groaned with the impact and instinctively rolled to absorb as much of the shock as he could.
Move! he ordered himself. Janikyan would get his men to position themselves on a bridge to spot him. He had to put distance behind him.
He jogged west, grimacing with every step, as his body made him aware of the numerous blows it had taken. The smell of grass and children’s yells came to him.
Buena Vista Park, he thought groggily. Can rest there.
He searched for a section of wall that was lower than the rest.
No luck. He would have to do it the hard way.
He went back to the edge of the river, which was no more than a few feet wide in that part of LA, a stream. He sprinted to the wall, planted his left foot as high as it could go, which gave him lift-off, and vaulted over the top.
He fell heavily on grass and drew startled gasps from a bunch of kids playing nearby.
‘It’s all right,’ he mumbled at them. ‘I’m a Hollywood stuntman.’
He didn’t know if they believed him and didn’t stay to find out. He went to the deeper part of the park and fell to the ground amid a thick growth of bushes.
He uncapped his bottle of water from his backpack and drank from it wearily. The sky was darkening … No, it isn’t, he thought woozily. It’s me. I’m fading.
Scenes flashed. Janikyan in his SUV on Warner Boulevard. Then, inside the complex.
He didn’t come.
No, he didn’t say that.
Who did?
Don’t remember.
What did Janikyan say?
Something about coming for me.
Why did I think he wouldn’t come?
This isn’t Cameroon.
Yeah, I know that.
Darkness fell over him.
88
The sound of a mower woke Cutter up.
He blinked his eyes and sat up.
Sunlight filtered through the trees and bushes around him. He peered through the foliage and watched a county employee drive his machine across the grassy surface of the park.
I was out for ten hours.
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He waited for the mower to disappear out of sight before coming out of his cover, then headed back east. He fired up his phone when he reached a business center and ordered a cab, which took him to a Glendale motel, where he checked in.
He stood for a long time in the warm spray of the shower, taking stock of his body. His ribs hurt and his neck had angry bruises, but no bones were broken. The wound in his thigh had healed and hadn’t opened up again.
The strange thoughts of the previous night came to him.
Why was I thinking of Lasko and what he said in the hospital? Why did I even think of Cameroon?
He didn’t have an answer for himself.
He shrugged. His mind had brought up random thoughts as he was losing consciousness.
Yeah, but why those? He frowned.
There was no connection between Lasko and Janikyan, and even what they had said wasn’t the same.
Cesar was Lasko’s snitch. The detective didn’t have an informer in the Armenian Bros. Not that he knew of.
It’s nothing, he told himself firmly. No one knows about Cameroon, anyhow.
He froze. He stared at the wall as water sluiced down his face.
That was it.
Lake Chad Basin centered on the lake that shared borders with Chad, Nigeria, Niger and Cameroon. He had been in Cameroon while in Delta, on a covert mission to track down terrorists.
No civilian knows about Cameroon. That operation is in my military file, which requires security clearances to be accessed.
How did Janikyan know about it?
That’s what his subconscious mind had been telling him.
The Armenian Bros not only had a mole in the LAPD, it had a very senior one.
Cutter felt fear at his subsequent thought.
No … can it be him?
* * *
‘He got away,’ Janikyan told the caller. ‘We got through inside the studio, we even cornered him a few times, but Grogan escaped,’ he said bitterly.
‘He’ll know you and Covarra are working together.’
