The First Rule

by Robert Crais

  Cole said, “Super Star Service is right down the hill in Hollywood. One of those indie places.”

  Rina nodded.

  “You see? He make much money there. Very much. Maybe more than anywhere else.”

  Stone said, “Bullshit. How much dough can he make selling gas?”

  “You are an idiot. He not make the money selling gas. He steals the credit card information.”

  Cole said, “It’s a skimmer rip-off. He’s doing credit card fraud.”

  Cole explained how it worked. Darko’s people connected a skimmer sleeve to the card reader inside each gas pump, along with an altered keypad over the pump’s actual keypad. This allowed them to collect credit card and PIN information every time a customer swiped a credit card or used a debit card to pay for gas. Darko’s fraud crew then used this information to create new credit and debit cards, with which they could drain the victims’ debit accounts or run up huge charges before the victims or credit card companies froze the accounts.

  “Each of these skimmers is worth anywhere from a hundred thousand to one-fifty a month in goods and cash, times however many skimmers he has in the three stations.”

  Now Jon Stone made a little whistle, and laughed.

  “Pretty soon you’re talking real money.”

  Then he frowned.

  “But waitaminute—if there’s no cash, what are we gonna steal?”

  Pike said, “His machines.”

  Cole nodded.

  “Bust them right out of the pumps. Pop out the skimmers and keypads, he’s bleeding way bigger money than he earns from his prostitutes.”

  Stone said, “Busting shit up. Now you’re talking, bro. Let’s get it going.”

  Pike stopped him.

  “Tomorrow. We want to pace it out, give him time to hear about what happened today, let him get angry about it. Tomorrow, we take him down one by one, pace it out over the day.”

  “And sooner or later the enforcers show up.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  This was called baiting the enemy—Pike would pattern his actions to create an expectation, forcing the enemy to act on that expectation.

  Later, Pike drove Rina back to the guesthouse. They rode in silence most of the way, she on her side of the Jeep, he on his. Up on Sunset, the kids were already lined up outside the Roxy, but Rina didn’t look. She stared out the window, thoughtful.

  Yanni’s truck was at the curb when they pulled up.

  Pike said, “You’re not coming tomorrow. No need for it. I’ll let you know what happened after.”

  He thought she would object, but she didn’t. She studied him for a moment, and made no move to open the door.

  “This is very much that you do. For this, I thank you.”

  “Not just for you. For Frank and for myself, too.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  She wet her lips. She stared down the length of the street into the dark. Two people walked along the broken sidewalk, enjoying an after-dinner stroll.

  Pike said, “You should go in.”

  “Come in with me. I would like it.”

  “No.”

  “Yanni will leave. I will tell him. He doesn’t care.”

  “No.”

  The hurt came to her eyes.

  “You don’t want to lay with a whore.”

  “Go in, Rina.”

  She considered him for a moment, then leaned across the console and kissed him on the cheek. It was a quick kiss, and then she was gone.

  Pike didn’t go home. He cruised the length of the Strip, taking it slow, then turned up Fairfax to Hollywood, then up again into the residential streets at the base of the canyon.

  The park was closed at night, but Pike left his Jeep and walked up the quiet streets. The air was rich with winter jasmine, and cold, and grew even colder as Pike squeezed around the gate and entered the park.

  The canyon was his. Nothing and no one else moved.

  Pike climbed the steep fire road, rising above the city, walking, then walking faster, then jogging. The ravines were pooled with ink shadows, and the shadows enveloped him, but Pike did not slow. The brittle walls above him, the ragged brush and withered trees beside him, and the plunging slope below were sensed more than seen, but the invisible brush teamed with moving life.

  Coyotes sang in the ridges, and eyes watched him. Eyes that blinked, and vanished, and reappeared, pacing him in the scrub.

  Pike followed the road up, winding along the ravine to the end of the ridge where the lights of the city spread out before him. Pike listened, and enjoyed the crisp air. He smelled the rough earth, and jasmine and sage, but the strong scent of apricot overpowered everything else, and was sweet in the raw night.

  He heard a whisper of movement, and metallic red eyes hovered in space, watching. A second pair of eyes joined the first. Pike ignored them.

  The canyon was his. He did not reach home until just after sunrise, but even then did not sleep.

  29

  ALL-AMERICAN BEST PRICE GAS was a ragged dump in Tarzana. Six pumps, no service bays, little mini-mart with a middle-aged Latina holed up behind a wall of bulletproof glass.

  Cole and Stone went in first, Cole scouting the surroundings, Stone pretending to put air in his tires while he checked out the people in and around the station. Pike waited two blocks away until they called. Pike heard them through his Bluetooth earbud, which he would wear while he did what he had to do, Cole and Stone providing security.

  Cole told him about the woman.

  “One female. Strictly counter personnel.”

  Pike didn’t like the idea of terrorizing an innocent woman.

  “Will we have a problem with her calling the police?”

  “Rina said no. These places get held up like any other gas station, so the employees are schooled to call their manager, not the police. That’s the front man who runs it for Darko.”

  Stone, who was conferenced in, spoke up.

  “That’s all well and good, but what if she’s got a shotgun behind the counter?”

  “Rina said no. Listen, they’re selling diluted gas and they have skimmers on all the pumps. They don’t want the police sniffing around.”

  Stone said, “Maybe Rina should rob the place.”

  Pike said, “I’m rolling.”

  Pike pulled up to the pumps outside the mini-mart, giving the woman inside a clear view of his Jeep. He wanted her able to describe it accurately.

  Pike went inside, and immediately saw a security camera hanging from the ceiling behind the glass. He wondered if it worked, then decided this didn’t matter. He gave the woman his name and told her he was there to give Mr. Darko a message.

  She looked confused.

  “Who’s Mr. Darko?”

  “Doesn’t matter. He’ll still get the message.”

  “You don’t want gas?”

  “No. I’m going to adjust the pumps.”

  “They didn’t tell me about this.”

  “Mr. Darko will explain.”

  The emergency cutoff switch for the pumps was on the wall outside the door. Pike cut the power, then pry-barred the cover off each pump register. They didn’t come easily, leaving the metal bent. The woman behind the glass expressed no surprise when she saw what he was doing. She simply picked up her phone as if something like this happened three or four times each day, and made a calm call.

  Six pumps, two sides to each pump, twelve card readers.

  The skimmer sleeves were obvious, having been fixed around the white plastic reader track with duct tape. Every time a customer slipped a credit or debit card into the reader, the card also tracked through the skimmer, which read all the same information, storing it in a green circuit board wired to the sleeve. Pike tore off the sleeves and circuit boards, and stowed them in a plastic bag. He left the pump registers broken and open.

  A woman driving a silver Lexus SUV pulled up while Pike was working.

  He said, “The pumps are being serviced.”
r />   She drove away.

  Eight minutes later, the skimmers were stripped from the pumps and Pike was finished.

  They could wait around to see who would show up, but Pike wanted to maintain the pressure. He wanted to flush them into his sights.

  They took a long break for breakfast, and hit the next station three hours later. Down Home Petroleum (proudly independent!) was a cheesy little station in North Hollywood that was older and smaller than the All-American Best Price, and so dirty it looked like a smudge.

  Cole and Stone rolled in first, just as they had before, and this time it was Stone who spoke in his ear.

  “Two dudes inside, bro.”

  “Soldiers?”

  “Dunno. Young, white, and skinny, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t packing.”

  Cole, listening in on the conference, said, “Surrounding streets clear.”

  “I’m in.”

  Pike rolled, once more pulling up to the pumps.

  The Down Home was too low-rent for a glass barrier. A tall Anglo kid sat behind a counter, unshaven, shaggy, and looking as if he’d rather be having surgery. Had a friend keeping him company. A shorter, stockier guy about the same age kicked back in a chair propped against the wall. Pike heard them talking when he entered, and recognized accents similar to Rina’s, though not as pronounced. A flicker of recognition flashed in their eyes when he mentioned Darko, and the kid behind the counter raised his hands.

  “Hey, man, I just work here.”

  His friend smiled stupidly, incredulous.

  “Dude. Are you robbing us?”

  The counter kid glared lasers at the friend.

  “Shut up before you get us killed.”

  Civilians, or so far out of the loop they might as well have been.

  Six pumps, twelve skimmers, eight keypads rigged to steal PIN numbers. Pike figured they knew the pumps were rigged, or knew enough to guess, but neither tried to interfere. Pike was gone in seven minutes, and met up with Cole and Stone at the Studio City park.

  When Stone saw the number of skimmers Pike had collected, he whistled.

  “Man, we should bill LAPD for this.”

  They killed the next two hours at Cole’s house, then rolled down through the canyons to Hollywood. Super Star Service was located on a seedy part of Western Avenue, just north of Sunset. It was smaller than the Tarzana station, having only four pumps split between two pump islands, and shared its property with a taco stand. The stand was doing a vigorous business.

  As Pike waited for Cole and Stone to recon the area, it occurred to him this was their last target. If Darko’s enforcers didn’t show, they would have to come up with something else. That’s when Cole spoke in his ear.

  “Well, Joseph, I think we have company.”

  “What do you see?”

  “Dark blue Navigator parked across the street and a silver BMW alongside a little taco stand they have here.”

  Stone’s voice came in.

  “I make two men in the Beemer, and at least two in the Nav.”

  Pike said, “What about the station personnel?”

  Cole again.

  “One male at the counter, but he’s nothing like the last kids. This guy’s all sharp corners. I don’t think you get out of the car this time.”

  “No?”

  “These boys are ready. I don’t know if they’ll try to take you here or follow you out, but I say we don’t give them the chance. Come in. Let them see you. Then leave. Make them follow you. Don’t give them another choice.”

  “Rog. I’m rolling.”

  Pike slipped his .357 from its holster, and set it between his legs.

  Pike approached the station slowly, seeing both the Navigator and the BMW in his peripheral vision without looking directly at them. They had to believe he did not suspect they were waiting.

  Elvis said, “Looking good.”

  Stone echoed him.

  “All good.”

  Pike eased into the station, but stopped short of the pumps. He counted to ten, then slowly turned back to the street and out into traffic. He didn’t speed away, didn’t punch it, and never once looked in his mirror.

  Cole said, “Here we go. Nav’s pulling out.”

  Pike glanced in his rearview and saw the dark blue Navigator swing through a hard one-eighty, looping into the gas station and out, jumping into traffic four or five cars behind him. The BMW followed the Navigator, cutting across oncoming traffic as the oncoming cars jammed their brakes and fired off their horns.

  Stone said, “Groovy. This is gonna be like shooting fish, bro.”

  Pike’s mouth twitched.

  “Shoot them later. Right now, watch them.”

  30

  PIKE DIDN’T WANT THEM to realize he knew they were behind him, so he didn’t speed up when he decided to lose them, he slowed down. Pike led them into a bottleneck where construction had forced three lanes of traffic into two. When Pike popped out the other side, they were trapped by the quicksand of congestion. Pike simply drove away, and waited at a nearby IHOP.

  A few minutes later, Cole reported.

  “The one dude jumped out and chased after you on foot. That didn’t work so well.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “They split up. I’m with the Navigator, northbound on Vine. Jon’s with the Beemer.”

  Stone said, “Beemer’s north on Gower. We’re probably heading for the same place.”

  Pike said, “I’ll catch up.”

  This was what Pike wanted. The authority men had sent the enforcers, and now the enforcers had to explain how they blew it. They would lead Pike to an authority man, and might even lead him to Darko.

  Pike caught sight of Stone’s Rover at the bottom of Laurel Canyon, just as it turned past a pair of pretentious Greek columns to enter the Mount Olympus planned development.

  Cole, three cars ahead of Stone and already climbing the side of the canyon, called again to warn that their caravan would stand out in the residential neighborhood.

  Cole said, “I’m approaching a construction site here on the right. Let’s dump two of these cars.”

  “Rog.”

  Pike sped up, trying to close the distance. He and Cole left their cars at the construction site and jumped into Stone’s Rover. Stone barreled away, hurrying to make up lost ground before they lost their targets.

  Palatial homes of dubious architecture lined the steep streets, none of them worthy of the Greek gods the streets were named for. Mount Olympus led to Oceanus, then to Hercules and Achilles. They climbed hard, catching glimpses of the cars they followed higher on the mountain.

  They reached the crest of the ridge, rounded a tight curve, and saw the Navigator and Beemer parked outside a dark gray home on the downhill side of the street. The cars were empty, suggesting the occupants were inside the house. Like every other home in Mount Olympus, the house was set on the curb with almost no setback. Low-slung and contemporary, the face of the house was a windowless, monolithic wall with a buffed-steel entry and a matching three-car garage. Gates and walls on either side of the house blocked any view to the rear.

  Stone said, “Darko, baby. I can smell him.”

  “Drive past, and drop me in front of the next house.”

  Jon slowed enough for Pike to slide out. Pike glanced at the surrounding houses to see if anyone was watching, but all of the homes were still, and closed to the world.

  Pike walked back to the gray house’s mailbox and found a thin stack of magazines and envelopes. He shuffled through, and saw that everything was addressed to someone named Emile Grebner.

  Pike returned the mail, then set off after the Rover. It had turned around at the far intersection and was waiting at the curb.

  As he walked, Pike phoned George Smith. George recognized the incoming number this time, and answered right away.

  “My friends tell me you’re a one-man wrecking crew.”

  “Your KGB friends?”

  “Odessa is loving t
his. One of the brothers has a competing service station business with Mr. Darko’s operation.”

  “I’m not doing this for Odessa.”

  “It never hurts to be liked, my friend.”

  “What does the KGB know about Emile Grebner?”

  “Grebner—”

  George thought for a moment.

  “If this is the same Grebner, he works with Darko, yes. I do not recall his first name.”

  “An authority man?”

  George laughed.

  “That’s what they call them. You’ll be speaking Serbian soon. Maybe Russian.”

  “Meaning Grebner and Darko are tight?”

  “Darko will have three or four like Grebner, each running three or four cells of their own down at the street level—the people who do the crime. Secrecy is everything with people from our part of the world, my man. They may not even know each other.”

  The old KGB and Communist Party had been organized the same way as far back as Lenin, and Pike knew the earliest Soviet gangs had adopted the same system when the Party tried unsuccessfully to put them out of business. The Soviet gangs had outlasted the old Party members, and had spread their system throughout Eastern Europe and, now, America.

  “A cell system.”

  “Yes. Like these gas stations you hammered—they’re probably Grebner’s responsibility, so you’re his problem to handle. Is that how you know him? He sent people for you?”

  “That’s how I know him.”

  “Pity for them.”

  Pike put away his phone as he reached the Rover.

  Stone said, “Casa Darko?”

  “Not Darko.”

  Pike slipped into the Rover, and filled them in on what he had learned from George Smith. As he went through it, the front door opened and the two big men from the Navigator came out. They didn’t look happy, with the guy in front bitching out his friend, probably blaming him for their troubles. The Navigator squealed away in a wide, screaming U-turn.

  Stone laughed.

  “I guess those boys need their assholes stitched.”

  Pike said, “How many were in the Beemer, Jon?”

  “Two. Coupla pussies. I could tell by the way they drove.”