by Robert Crais
Pike fished out the new phone, and called George Smith. He did not want to call, but he had to warn George about Walsh.
George answered on the first ring, his voice as American as a Modesto car salesman.
“This is George. Who’s calling, please?”
“Williams was dead. Williams, and two of his crew. Jamal Johnson and Samuel Renfro.”
George laughed.
“Well, there you go. Justice is swift.”
“Wasn’t me. Someone killed them the same night they murdered Frank.”
“Ah, are you asking if I knew? I did not.”
“Not asking. I thought you should know in case your friends in Odessa ask.”
“Then muchas gracias.”
“Something else you should know. The ATF was tracking my vehicle when I came by this morning. They might come around, knocking on doors.”
George was silent for several seconds, and when he spoke, the Modesto tone was edged with something dark.
“You brought them to my store?”
“I don’t know. They were tracking my vehicle. They know where I parked, and how long I parked there. I don’t know if they had eyeballs on me or not.”
Another moment’s silence.
“Where did you park?”
“A block north.”
Another moment.
“There are many shops within a block of my place.”
Pike didn’t bother to say anything. George was shaking the facts to see if he could live with them, just as a terrier shakes a rat.
Inside, Rina stood. She peered outside, trying to find Pike at the edge of the light, then said something to Yanni. Yanni gestured as if he were getting impatient with her, and wanted to leave.
George said, “Why might they knock on doors, Joseph?”
“Darko. They know I have inside information on the Serbians. They want my source. They’ll probably retrace my route today, trying to locate everyone I spoke with.”
George suddenly laughed, giving it his best Modesto twang.
“Why, hell, George Smith ain’t some Bosnian refugee. If they come around, I’ll tell’m you wanted a lamp. I’ll bet I can sell them a nice little sconce. Might even give them a discount.”
George laughed again, and now Rina came around the couch and was heading for the deck. Pike would have to go, but he needed a favor from George.
“One more thing.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m going to hit Darko’s business, and I want him to know it’s me. Maybe some people at Odessa can drop my name in the Eastern Bloc neighborhoods.”
“This would put a target on your chest.”
“Yes.”
George made a little sigh.
“Well, we do what we do.”
George hung up as Rina opened the door. She stepped out onto the deck as Pike put away his phone.
She said, “It’s dark out here. Why do you stand in the dark?”
Pike hesitated, wondering whether he should tell her what he had found in Willowbrook, and finally decided he should. He had been feeling the bib in his pocket as if it were a living thing, alive and pulsing, and wanting to come out.
“Darko’s crew is dead.”
She visibly stiffened, then joined him at the rail.
“You found them?”
“Yes. Men named Jamal Johnson and Moon Williams. Have you heard of them?”
She shook her head.
“Samuel Renfro?”
She shook her head again.
“They were killed the same night they took your son and murdered my friends.”
Her mouth shrunk to a tight knot, and her eyes turned watchful.
“Were Michael or my boy with them?”
“No. But I found this.”
Pike took the bib from his pocket, and once more marveled at its softness. As soon as he opened it, he smelled the apricots, even in the rich night air.
Rina took it, and seemed to marvel at it just as Pike had marveled at it.
“But nothing to say where’s the baby?”
“No. I’m sorry, but no.”
Her face folded into a frown, and she turned to face the canyon. Pike decided to feel her out about Jakovich.
“I found another line I can follow-a man named Milos Jakovich. Do you know who he is?”
She stared into the dark for a moment, then shrugged.
“The old one. Michael, he work for him.”
“Do they have business together?”
“I do not know. The blood is not good.”
“They don’t like each other?”
“I don’t think so. Michael never tell me these things, but I hear. Like with his business. I am just whore.”
She turned back toward the canyon, and Pike felt uncomfortable.
“Maybe Jakovich or someone who works for Jakovich knows how to find Michael.”
“I don’t know those people.”
“Is there someone you could ask?”
She worried the inside of her cheek, then shrugged again.
“It is like a different family. I would be scared, I think.”
Pike let it go, thinking she was probably right in being scared. If Jakovich and Darko were in some kind of war, she might find herself in jeopardy from both sides.
Pike said, “It’s okay. Forget it.”
“I will do it if you wish.”
“Forget it.”
They stood in silence, then she leaned over the rail to peer down into the black canyon.
She said, “It is so dark.”
Pike didn’t answer.
“Do you have children?”
Pike shook his head.
“You should have children. You should make plenty of babies, and be a strong father.”
Pike didn’t answer again.
Rina held the bib to her nose, and Pike could feel her draw in the deep apricot smell and the scent of her child. She touched her belly where the knife wounds had scarred, as if the pain she felt then and now were linked, and he wanted to touch that place, too, but didn’t.
Pike said, “We’ll find him.”
“Yes. I know we will find him.”
Rina leaned into him, and gazed up with shadowed eyes that seemed to be searching.
“I would be with you. It is okay.”
“You don’t have to be with me.”
“Whatever you like, I will do.”
Pike turned away.
“Get your bag. I have a place where the two of you can stay.”
Pike went out without eating, and took them away.
26
The next morning, Pike had Cole take him to check out the building in Sherman Oaks. It was a modern, three-story structure a few blocks south of Ventura Boulevard, across from a gourmet food store.
Pike said, “How many prostitutes does he have in there?”
“She says he had four, two on the top floor and two on the second, but that could have changed.”
“The pickup happens between four and six?”
“Yeah, but that’s only approximate. These people aren’t running an airline. We should set up early, plan on staying late, and be ready to wait a few days.”
Pike expected no less.
“It’s hunting.”
“Yes. It’s hunting.”
They circled the building to see the surrounding residential streets, and finished their tour in the food store’s parking lot. Pike noted the proximity to entrance and exit ramps for both the San Diego and Ventura Freeways. The location had been chosen so customers could be given easy directions. The prostitutes who worked here saw customers who came to them, and were known as in-call girls. Safer for the girls, and with a lower overhead for Darko. Out-call girls needed drivers and bodyguards.
Pike said, “How many stops does he make before here?”
“Three. Darko has buildings in Glendale, Valley Village, and this one. This was always the last stop.”
“So he should be carrying the
full day’s take.”
“Should be. If this is still the last stop.”
Pike was going to steal the money. That was the plan. He was going to steal Darko’s money, and leave the pickup man so scared he would run straight to his bosses. Then Pike would take whatever his bosses had, too.
Pike said, “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”
They would need Rina to identify the bag man, so Pike picked her up a little while later. He had brought them to an empty guesthouse a few blocks south of the Sunset Strip the night before. It was small, but nice, with a lovely courtyard and neighbors who wouldn’t pry. Pike had used it before.
Rina was waiting on the street when he arrived. Yanni’s truck was parked at the curb.
She said, “Yanni want to come.”
Pike looked past her, and saw Yanni in the courtyard.
“No Yanni. Forget it.”
She barked something in Serbian, and Yanni gave Pike the finger.
Pike brought her to Cole’s, where they reviewed the plans and maps of the location with Jon Stone. When Stone first arrived, Rina squinted at him, and tugged at Pike’s arm.
“Who is this?”
“A friend. He was a friend of Frank’s, too.”
“I don’t trust these people I don’t know. I would rather have Yanni.”
“Not for this, you wouldn’t.”
At one-thirty that afternoon, they climbed into their cars and returned to Sherman Oaks, Pike and Rina in his Jeep, Cole in his Corvette, and Stone in his Rover. They looked like a caravan winding their way along the spine of the mountains.
When they reached the market, Pike and Cole turned into the parking lot, but Stone continued past, moving to set up on one of the nearby residential streets. Pike found a parking spot in one of the middle rows facing the apartment building’s entry, and Cole parked three spaces away.
Pike said, “You need to use the bathroom?”
“No, I am fine.”
“The guy who’s coming to pick up the money, does he know you?”
“I don’t know. Probably he would know me, yes.”
“Then let’s get squared away. Get in the backseat. You won’t be as easy to see in back.”
She looked at him as if he was an idiot.
“It’s only two o’clock.”
“I know. But we want to be prepared in case he comes early.”
She gripped her big purse. The one with the gun.
“I don’t care if he see me or not.”
“I care. Get in the back.”
She scowled again, but got out, and climbed into the backseat. Pike adjusted the mirror so he could see her.
“Can you see the entry?”
“Yes.”
“Watch.”
“It’s only two o’clock. Will be hours before he come.”
“Watch.”
He expected her to fidget or try to make conversation, but she didn’t. She sat behind him, a second presence in the car, quiet and still, watching.
They watched for an hour and ten minutes, silent, as people came and went around them, parking, backing out, pushing buggies filled high with groceries. Rina did not move or speak for the entire time, but then she suddenly pulled herself forward, and pointed past his chin.
“That window on the top floor, on the side there away from the freeway. That was mine.”
Then she settled back and said nothing more.
Pike studied her in the rearview, but only for a moment. He didn’t want her to catch him staring.
An hour and twenty minutes later, she abruptly pulled herself forward again.
“That girl. She is one of the girls there. In the green.”
A young woman in black spandex shorts and a lime green top came around the corner and went to the glass door. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and a large gym bag was slung over her shoulder. On her way back from the gym. She was lean and fit, but her breasts were too large to be natural. She looked very young.
Rina said, “You see? I know this girl when they bring her here. They make her waitress, and then she dance.”
“Stripper.”
“Yes. And this.”
The girl let herself into the lobby, then pushed a button for the elevator.
Fifteen minutes later, Rina pulled forward again.
“There. In the black car.”
A black BMW convertible turned off Sepulveda and crept past the building as if looking for a parking place. The driver was a white male in his twenties with a thick neck and long, limp hair. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled, a day-old beard, and mirrored sunglasses.
Pike hit the speed dial for Cole.
Three cars away, Cole glanced over as he raised his phone.
“What’s up?”
“The black convertible.”
Cole glanced at the street.
“I’ll get Jon.”
Pike lowered the phone, but didn’t end the call. Cole was using a second phone to put Stone in the loop. They had planned on multiple phones to maintain constant contact.
The BMW reached the stop sign, but instead of circling the building to park on the street, the driver turned into the parking lot.
“Get down.”
Rina slumped down in her seat without question, but lifted her head enough to see.
The Beemer passed behind Pike’s Jeep and Cole’s Corvette, then turned onto the next row and parked by the sidewalk. The driver got out, stepped over a low hedge, then crossed the street. Pike made him for his late twenties, maybe average in height but with a heavy frame. He looked like a hitter, and probably thought he was good at it. He let himself into the building with his own key.
Pike said, “Here’s where you leave.”
Rina went directly to Cole’s Corvette, and got in as they had planned. She did not dawdle, stare, or draw attention to herself. Pike liked that about her.
Cole’s voice came from the phone.
“You want Jon to come in?”
“I’m good. Get her gone.”
Cole backed away, and cruised out of the parking lot.
The bagman was inside for less than ten minutes. For him, picking up cash from four prostitutes was just another stop in a day filled with stops-something to be accomplished quickly, and without wasted energy. The girls probably felt the same.
When the man merged from the building, Pike stepped out of the Jeep, but hung back to be sure he was returning to his car. When the man angled toward the Beemer, Pike made as if he was heading for a nearby car, but Darko’s boy never once looked at him. He passed in front of Pike within ten feet and swung around the Beemer’s rear end. As he opened the door, Pike closed the gap. When the bagman slid in behind the wheel, Pike came up along the passenger’s side, and lifted himself over the door and into the passenger’s seat.
The man lurched in surprise, but by then it was too late. Pike showed him the.357, down low so no one could see.
“Sh.”
The man’s eyes went wide as oncoming headlights, but he was a burly guy who was used to muscling people. He lunged for Pike’s gun, but Pike rolled his hands down and away with a minor wing chun deflection, and snapped the Python up hard into the bottom of the man’s chin, popping his jaw like a rat trap. The Python flicked again, and this time Pike hit him in the Adam’s apple.
The bagman clutched at his throat, choking. His face turned bright red.
Pike took the key from his hand, fit it into the ignition, the convertible top. He had to keep the button depressed throughout the process, but that was okay. His arm was a steel bar with his tattoo in the bagman’s face. Pike wanted him to see the red arrow.
Pike didn’t move or speak until the top was in place and the windows were closed, and neither did the bagman. He was too busy trying to breathe.
Pike said, “Grab the wheel. Both hands.”
He grabbed the wheel.
“Try to escape, I’ll kill you. Try to grab this weapon again, I’ll kill you.
Do you understand?”
“This is a mistake, my man. I don’t know what you-”
Pike backfisted him hard on his temple, striking so fast the man had no time to react. His head bounced off the window, and Pike caught him again on the rebound. The second backfist made his eyes flag.
Pike jerked him upright, then dug his thumb into a nerve bundle between the man’s ribs. The man moaned, and pushed weakly at Pike’s hand, so Pike hit him again. The man covered his head.
Pike said, “Grab the wheel. Grab it.”
The man grabbed the wheel with both hands.
“Try to escape, I’ll kill you. Try to take this weapon again, I will kill you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Jesus, stop hitting me. Please-”
“If you let go of the wheel again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
The man’s knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip. Blood from his mouth dripped onto his shirt, and the corner of his eye at his temple was swelling.
Pike said, “What’s your name?”
“Vasa.”
“I’m going to search you, Vasa. Don’t let go of the wheel. Do not r esist.”
Pike went through Vasa’s pockets, finding a black ostrich wallet, a Nokia cell phone, and four thin vinyl billfolds.
Pike said, “One from each girl?”
“Yes.”
“They have the money ready? You stop by, they give it to you?”
“You know who this belongs to?”
“Me.”
Pike thumbed through the bills, mostly hundreds and twenties, and counted out thirty-eight hundred. He tucked the money into his pocket.
“Where’s the rest?”
Vasa blinked at him.
“What rest? That’s it.”
Pike stared into Vasa’s eyes, and finally Vasa sighed.
“Under the seat.”
Pike found another seventy-three hundred dollars under the seat, and added it to the cash in his pocket. That made eleven thousand, one hundred dollars of Darko’s money.
Pike studied Vasa. He stared at Vasa so long, the man turned away.
“Why are you staring at me? Who are you?”
“My name is Pike. Say it.”
“You are Pike?”
“Say the name. Say it.”
“Pike. I say it. You are Pike.”
“Look at me.”
Vasa cringed as if he was certain Pike would hit him again.