The Watchman jp-1

by Robert Crais

  Pike ignored him.

  “Who do they work for?”

  “Says they’re known associates of someone named Esteban Barone, part of the Quito Cartel out of Ecuador, ID’d by DEA as one of the groups who took up the slack after the Medellin and Cali cartels in Colombia were broken.”

  “Do they have associates or family here in L.A.?”

  “Not listed here.”

  “Anywhere in the U.S.?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What about gang affiliations?”

  Latin gangs from L.A. like Mara 18 and MS-13 had spread to Central and South America.

  “No, man. They were soldiers for this guy, Barone. Nothing suggests they’ve been here before.”

  Chen had confirmed what Pike learned from Jorge, but Pike wasn’t hearing anything that would bring him closer to Meesh.

  “Did you run the guns?”

  “Can’t until I get outta here, but listen-the feds confiscated the Malibu guns, too. Rolled into the Sheriff’s lab like they did with us and cleaned them out-the guns, the casings, everything.”

  “Pitman?”

  “The same kind of deal-no questions asked. Those stiffs from Malibu and Eagle Rock, are they part of this Quito group, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here’s what I think-I think the feds already know who they are. I think they just want us out of the picture.”

  “You’re probably right, John.”

  “I don’t get it. So they’re drug dealers. Why would the feds care if we ID some assholes from Ecuador? Our people work with international agencies all the time. I know some narcotics guys, they spend so much time in Mexico they damn near live there.”

  Pike was wondering the same. Money laundering was money laundering whether the money came from Jersey mobsters or drug lords in Ecuador. The energy the feds were burning to cover their case against the Kings made less sense by the hour, and didn’t require freezing out the police. Pike trusted none of it. He believed Pitman was covering something else, but he didn’t know what.

  Chen said, “You think if I ran the Eagle Rock and Malibu prints through Interpol, I’d get a hit? That would be a major coup, bro. That would be excellent.”

  “Better to let it rest, John.”

  “Better?”

  “Let it rest, we might find it’s larger than we think.”

  “You’re not telling me everything, are you?”

  “I don’t know everything yet. I know some, but not all. I’ll tell you more when I know.”

  Chen grunted, the grunt saying he was okay with gambling on an even bigger payoff down the line.

  “Let me ask you something-these guys from Ecuador, what are they doing up here?”

  Pike gave the best answer he could.

  “Dying.”

  Pike closed his phone, then glanced at the girl. She was watching him again.

  “The full name is Esteban Barone.”

  “It still doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “The men trying to kill you work for Barone.”

  “I thought they worked for Meesh.”

  “He’s in business with Meesh. That’s what Pitman claimed-that Meesh was up here investing South American money.”

  When she didn’t respond, Pike looked at her. She was staring at him in the same thoughtful way she had all morning, but now she didn’t look away.

  She said, “I need to ask you something-what you said last night, that I want to be seen. Why did you say that?”

  Pike thought it was obvious.

  “You feel invisible. If no one sees you, you don’t exist, so you find ways to be seen.”

  A soft line appeared between her eyebrows, but she didn’t seem angry or insulted. Pike thought she looked sad.

  “I’ve been in therapy since I was eleven. You’ve known me three days. Jesus, am I that obvious?”

  “Yes.”

  “How? Because I was dancing on the bar? Go see what they do at Mardi Gras.”

  Pike thought about it to give her an example.

  “In the desert. How you looked at your father. Not looking to see him, but to see if he was paying attention. He was focused on Bud and his lawyer and me, so you would say something outrageous to get his attention. You needed to have him see you.”

  She glanced out the window.

  “I don’t care if he sees me or not.”

  “Not now maybe, but once. You wouldn’t need it so badly if you didn’t care.”

  She looked back at him, and now the line between her brows had softened.

  “And you can see all that by watching me?”

  “By seeing you. There’s a difference.”

  “And how is it you see so clearly?”

  Pike thought about whether or not he wanted to answer. Pike was a private man. He never talked about himself, and didn’t care much for people who did, but he figured the girl had a right to ask.

  “My folks and I would be watching TV, my mom and dad and me, or we’d be eating, and something would set him off. My old man would knock the hell out of me. Or her. I learned to watch for the signs. How his shoulders bunched, the way his lips pressed together, how much booze he poured. Half an inch more in the glass, he was ready to go. Little things tell you. You see them, you’re okay. You miss them, you go to the hospital. You learn to watch.”

  She was silent, and when Pike glanced over, her face was sad.

  She said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Point is, I saw the play between you and your father. You needed something from him you weren’t getting, and probably never had.”

  Pike glanced at the girl. She was still watching him.

  She said, “Thanks for seeing me.”

  Pike nodded.

  “Bud told Gordon and my father you would protect me. My father, he just looked at Gordon. Gordon, he just wanted to know how much. But Bud told him you were the one. I guess you are.”

  Pike continued driving.

  “Bud say anything else?”

  “Just that he had worked with you. That we could trust you. He said you would get the job done. He guaranteed it.”

  Pike took that in without comment or expression, hiding his sadness from the girl as he hid most everything else.

  THE SHORTSTOP LOUNGE

  0720 HOURS

  The Shortstop was an LAPD tradition. Located on Sunset Boulevard in Echo Park, midway between Alvarado and Dodger Stadium, the Shortstop Lounge was convenient to Rampart Station and the police academy. Birthday parties were celebrated between dark wood walls lined with badges and department patches, as were divorces, retirements, promotions, memorials, and the supercharged hyper-life moments whenever an officer survived a shoot-out. Careers began at the Shortstop. Careers also ended.

  At 0720 hours on his day off, Pike sat at a small table, the only man seated alone, ignoring the tense glances and comments. Pike had expected worse, but he was good with it. He had chosen this place to see Bud Flynn.

  Pike now had three years, four months, and change on the job. His boot year ended twenty-eight months earlier. Of his academy classmates, Pike was the first and only to kill another human being in the line of duty, a distinction about which he held mixed feelings. Five weeks ago, he had become the first of his class to kill a second man. This second shooting occurred on a brutal afternoon at the Islander Palms Motel, a ragged roach trap where, by his own admission before an LAPD Board of Review, Joe Pike caused the shooting death of a decorated twenty-two-year LAPD veteran named Abel Wozniak while defending the life of a pedophile named Leonard DeVille. Abel Wozniak had been Pike’s partner. They had sat together at this same table many times, but now that was done.

  BOARD OF REVIEW Inquiry into shooting death of Officer Abel Wozniak

  Timeline of events (from the findings): 0925 hrs: Ramona Ann Escobar (5 yr, female) abducted fm Echo Park Lake 0952 hrs: APB Escobar; suspct L. DeVille, knwn pedophile, in area 1140 hrs: Ofcs Wozniak amp; Pike learn loc. of DeVille, seen by wit w/ minor female child 1148
hrs: Ofcs Wozniak amp; Pike arrv Islander Palms Motel 1152 hrs: Ofcs Wozniak amp; Pike enter DeVille rm; question DeVille; find photographic evidence of Escobar, but child is not present (note for record: evidence inclds photos of minor female Escobar sexually abused by DeVille) 1155 hrs: Ofc Wozniak threatens to kill DeVille unless DeVille produces girl; Ofc Wozniak strikes DeVille with service pistol (note for record: examining ER physician confirms DeVille injuries consistent) 1156 hrs: Ofc Pike attempts to calm Wozniak with no success; Ofc Wozniak aims weapon at DeVille; Ofc Pike intervenes 1157 hrs: Ofcs Wozniak amp; Pike struggle; weapon discharges; Ofc Wozniak DOA at scene (note for record: SID, CI amp; ME exam results consistent) (note for record: Ofc Woz prior hist. w/ suspect DeVille; two arrests) Finding: Accidental Discharge. No charges brought in above matter .

  By seven-thirty that morning, the Shortstop was filled with night-watch officers anxious to burn off the street before heading home. Pike ignored the way they looked at him, the cop who had caused his partner’s death protecting a pedophile.

  Bud had the grim look of a gunfighter when he entered the bar, thumbs hooked in his belt. He was one of the few officers present who still wore his uniform; everyone else had showered and changed at the station. His jaw was tight, and his mouth was a hard, lipless crevice. Bud squinted around the room, searching the crowd until Pike raised a hand. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks. Since before it happened.

  When they made eye contact, Pike nodded.

  Bud stared across the room, still with his thumbs in his belt, then spoke so loud every cop in the place turned to look.

  He said, “There’s the best damned man I ever trained, Officer Joe Pike.”

  An anonymous voice in the background spoke just as loud.

  “Fuck him, and fuck you, too.”

  A few of them laughed.

  Bud walked directly to Pike’s table and mounted a stool. If Bud heard the comments, he did not react. Neither did Pike. It was like facing down a crowd in a riot situation.

  Pike said, “Thanks for coming.”

  “Take off those goddamned sunglasses. They look silly in here.”

  Just like Pike was still a boot and Bud was still his T.O. Pike didn’t take them off.

  He said, “I’m leaving the job. I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”

  Bud stared at him like Pike owed him money, then scowled at the men lining the bar. A division robbery detective was watching them and met Bud’s eye.

  Bud, maintaining the contact, said, “What?”

  The detective returned to his drink, and Bud turned back to Pike.

  “Assholes.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Don’t let these bastards beat you. Just ride it out.”

  Pike spread his hands, taking in the bar and everyone in it.

  “We’re at the Shortstop, Bud. Somebody has something to say, they can say it to my face.”

  Bud made a ragged smile then, but it was pained.

  “Yeah. I guess that’s you. Asking me here instead of someplace else.”

  “I’m turning in the papers today. I wanted to tell you, manto-man.”

  Bud took a breath, then laced his fingers. Pike thought Bud Flynn looked disappointed, and was sorry for that.

  Bud said, “Listen. Don’t do this. Put in for Metro. That Metro is an elite unit, the best of the best. After Metro, you could do whatever you want in this job. If you don’t want to be a detective, you could put in for SWAT. Whatever you want.”

  “It’s done, Bud. I’m out.”

  “Goddamn it, you’re too good to be out. You’re a police officer.”

  Pike tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t. Not what he really wanted to say. Even with three years on the job, Pike still thought of himself as Bud’s boot and wanted his approval, though he did not expect it now.

  Bud suddenly leaned toward him again and lowered his voice.

  “What happened in there?”

  The Islander Palms Motel.

  Pike leaned back and immediately cursed himself for it. Bud would read his move as being evasive. All through Pike’s boot year, Bud had taught him to read people-the nuance of body language, expression, and action could save a cop’s life.

  Pike tried to cover himself by leaning forward again, but he already sensed it was too little, too late. Bud was good. Bud was a wizard.

  Pike said, “You know what happened. Everyone knows. I told the review board.”

  “Bullshit. Struggle for the gun, my ass. I knew Woz, and I sure as hell know you. If you wanted that gun he would’ve been on his ass before he could fart.”

  Pike simply shook his head, trying to pull it in deep, trying to be empty.

  “That’s what happened.”

  Bud studied him, then lowered his voice still more.

  “I heard he was into something. Was Woz being investigated?”

  Pike could see Bud working on the read and knew any movement or expression would be a tell, so he cleared himself and answered with the fewest words.

  “I don’t know.”

  Bud placed his hand on Pike’s arm. Digging deeper.

  “I heard the M.E. had questions. Said the angle of entry was consistent with a self-inflicted wound.”

  Never looking away, Pike repeated what he told the review board.

  “Wozniak pointed his weapon at DeVille. I grabbed it and we struggled. Instead of turning the weapon away from Wozniak, I turned it toward him. Maybe I could have done something else, but that’s what I did. The gun discharged during the struggle.”

  Bud spoke slowly.

  “You guys wrestling with the gun, I could maybe see it going off in his stomach or maybe his chest, but up at his temple?”

  “Let it go, Bud. That’s what happened.”

  Bud stared at him so hard it felt as if he were seeing inside Pike’s head.

  “So what happened in there, it has nothing to do with Wozniak’s family.”

  Like Bud knew. Like he could read Pike’s mind that Wozniak was being investigated for theft and criminal conspiracy, that Pike had been trying to make him resign for the sake of his family.

  “No.”

  “It has nothing to do with his death benefits. That if he committed suicide, they would get nothing, but if he died fighting with you, they still get the checks.”

  Like everything Pike ever thought or felt was written on his face.

  “Let it go, Bud. That’s what happened.”

  Bud finally settled back, and Pike loved and respected him all the more. Bud seemed satisfied with what he had seen.

  Bud said, “Tell you what. I know the sheriff out in San Bernardino. You could get on out there. Hell, I know some pretty good guys up in Ventura County. You could get on up there, too.”

  “I’ve already got another job lined up.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “ Africa.”

  Bud frowned deeper, like why would any sane man give up being a cop to go over there?

  “What’s over there, the Peace Corps?”

  Pike hadn’t wanted to get into all this, but now he didn’t know how to avoid it.

  “It’s contract work. Military stuff. They have work over there.”

  Bud stiffened, clearly upset.

  “What’s that mean, contract work?”

  “They need people with combat experience. Like when I was a Marine.”

  “You mean a fucking mercenary?”

  Pike didn’t answer. He was already sorry he told Bud his plans.

  “Jesus Christ. If you want to play soldier, re-up in the goddamn Marines. That’s a stupid idea. Why in hell do you want to go get yourself killed in a shithole like Africa?”

  Pike had taken a contract job with a licensed professional military corporation in London. It was work he understood and at which he excelled, with the clarity of a clearly defined objective. And right now Pike wanted clarity. He would be away from Wozniak’s ghost. And far away from Wozniak’s wife.


  Pike said, “I’ve got to get going. I wanted to tell you I’m glad you were my T.O. I wanted to thank you.”

  Pike put out his hand, but Bud did not take it.

  “Don’t do this.”

  “It’s done.”

  Pike left out his hand, but Bud still did not take it. Bud slid off the stool, then hooked his thumbs in his belt.

  Bud said, “Day we met, you wanted to protect and to serve. You quoted the motto. I guess that’s over.”

  Pike finally lowered his hand.

  “I’m disappointed, son. I thought you were better than this.”

  Son.

  Bud Flynn walked out of the Shortstop, and they would not speak again until they met in the high desert.

  Pike sat alone at the small table, feeling empty and numb.

  I’m disappointed, son.

  He listened to the men and women around him. They were like any other group of people with whom he had served-talking, complaining, laughing, lying; some he respected, others not; some he liked, others not; as different from each other as pebbles on the beach, but different from most other people in a way Pike admired-they were people who ran toward danger to protect and to serve. Pike loved being a cop. He couldn’t think of anything he would rather be, but you played the cards you were dealt, and now this life was gone.

  Pike left the Shortstop. He went to his truck, thinking about his first night with Bud Flynn, the night they answered the domestic call. Pike hardly thought about that night, just as he rarely thought about his combat missions or the beatings his old man used to give him. Pike flashed on scrapbook photos of Kurt Fabrocini stabbing Bud in the chest. He saw the Beretta’s sights aligned at the top of Fabrocini’s ear at the instant he squeezed the trigger; he saw the red mist. Then, after, Bud still shaking, saying, “Our job isn’t to kill people-it’s to keep people alive.” Saying that about a man who had been stabbing him in the chest. What a man, Bud Flynn. What a police officer.

  Pike said, “I’m going to miss you.”