by Robert Crais
Pike touched the arrow on the outside of his arm.
“See this?”
Vasa nodded.
“Tell me you see it.”
“I see it.”
“Where is Michael Darko?”
Vasa’s eyes grew into saucers again.
“I don’t know. How would I know?”
“Call him.”
“I don’t have his number. He is the boss. Why are you taking his money? This is crazy. He will kill you for taking his money.”
Pike studied Vasa a moment longer.
“Tell Darko I’m coming.”
Pike got out, taking the money, the wallet, the keys, and the cell phone.
Vasa said, “What am I supposed to do without my keys?”
Pike returned to his Jeep, and circled the parking lot until he pulled up behind the Beemer. He wanted Vasa to see his Jeep, too. He motioned for Vasa to roll down his window.
Inside the BMW, Vasa couldn’t roll down the window without the keys, so he opened the door.
Pike tossed out his keys, then drove away.
Pike drove exactly two blocks, then pulled to the curb, and lifted his cell phone.
“What’s he doing?”
“Getting on the freeway. Jon’s three cars behind him, and I’m behind Jon.”
Pike pushed hard to catch up.
27
They followed the Beemer east across the bottom of the San Fernando Valley, Pike watching Cole and Jon Stone take turns behind the Beemer. The BMW drove steadily, in no great hurry to get where it was going. Vasa probably wasn’t looking forward to explaining what happened to Darko’s money.
They stayed on the Ventura Freeway past the Hollywood split, but took the first exit, climbing up Vineland past the aging shopping centers and strip malls of North Hollywood. Cole tightened up on the Beemer when they left the freeway, and Jon fell back. Ten minutes later, Cole once more spoke in Pike’s ear.
“Blinker. We’re turning up ahead on Victory.”
Neither Pike nor Stone responded.
Three minutes later, Cole spoke again.
“Turning again. A place called the Glo-Room. We’re going past to the first cross street.”
Jon Stone said, “Sweet. Strippers.”
Two blocks ahead, Pike caught a glimpse of the BMW turning, and spoke to Cole.
“Does she know the place?”
“She’s heard of it, but never been here. It’s one of the places she told me about.”
When Pike passed, he glimpsed Vasa’s convertible parked in a narrow parking lot alongside a black single-story building. A marquee sign jutted out from the front of the building, saying GLO-ROOM GENTLEMEN’S CLUB-AMATEUR NITE WED. Pike continued past to the first cross street, where the other two cars were waiting. Cole and Rina were already waiting in Stone’s Rover. Pike pulled in behind them, parked, then climbed into the Rover’s front passenger seat. Stone immediately turned down an alley to circle around behind the bar. The alley ran between the shops and stores that lined the main street and a long row of additional parking spaces and Dumpster bins.
Pike said, “Stop short.”
Stone stopped three doors away, parking behind a pet store. A white delivery van was parked behind the Glo-Room, though the only person they saw was a middle-aged Latin man in a stained white T-shirt. He was standing between the truck and the building, smoking.
Pike turned in his seat so he could see Rina.
“Darko owns this place?”
“One of his men own it, but, yes, it will belong to Michael. The other men run it, but Michael he get the money.”
“You know the people who work here?”
She shook her head, then shrugged.
“No, I don’t think so. I know of this place, but I never been here. Michael, he have three or four places like this. Maybe more.”
They started rolling again, and drifted past the delivery truck. They drove all the way to the next cross street, turned around, and came back from the opposite direction. They stopped with an easy view of the side lot and delivery truck. A back door used for deliveries and service help was cracked open on the alley, but the white van blocked the building’s interior from view. The BMW was parked outside a door on the side of the building, which appeared to be the bar’s main entrance. A dark gray Audi sedan and a silver Mercedes were parked near the Beemer, and now three men were standing outside the door. Two of the three were large guys wearing loose shirts that hung over their bellies. The third man was younger, with hard, muscular shoulders.
Pike turned enough to see Rina.
“Know them?”
“That one in the middle, maybe I seen him before, but maybe not. Other two, no, for sure.”
The one in the middle wore gold chains, and appeared to be the focus of attention.
Stone said, “You see it?”
Pike nodded.
Rina said, “See what?”
Cole said, “The muscle has a gun in his belt.”
The three men finished their conversation, then the two big men went into the bar, and the muscular guy walked back to the delivery van. He slapped the side twice, then stepped away as the van’s rear door opened. A burly guy with a monumental belly climbed out, showing a mat of dark hair on his arms and neck. He hoisted three cases of Budweiser, and brought them into the bar. The muscular guy leaned into the van, came out with three more cases, and followed him inside.
Rina said, “They steal the beer to sell, you see? He buy some, but he have people who steal.”
This fit with what George described. Darko resold merchandise stolen by hijack crews. Alcohol went to his clubs. Everything else went to fences and flea markets.
Pike tapped Jon’s leg, and Jon rolled on, cruising back to their cars. Everything moved quickly after their brief reconnoiter, which was how Pike liked it. Speed was good. In armed confrontations, speed was the difference between life and death.
Cole immediately put Rina in his car and left the area. Stone motored away, but would circle the block to approach from the front. Pike returned to his Jeep, immediately pulled into the alley, and parked behind the bar. By the time he got back, the van and the back door were both closed, but the door was unlocked.
Pike hit the speed dial on his phone for Jon Stone, and Stone answered with a single word.
“Go.”
Pike closed his phone, stepped inside, and found himself in a hall crowded with stacked boxes. A larder to his left was filled with more beer, tap kegs, booze, and other supplies, and a tiny food and dishwashing area was to his right. The Latin guy who had been smoking out in the alley glanced at him with tired eyes from an industrial-sized dishwasher. Pike stepped into the door, and spoke quietly.
“Police. We’re going to arrest everyone here, but you can go. Walk away now.”
One look at Pike, the man did not hesitate. He put down his towel, squeezed past, and immediately left the building. Pike locked the door behind him.
Farther along the hall was a small dressing room for the dancers, a couple of restrooms, and a swinging door. The restrooms and dressing room were all empty. The dressing room smelled of mildew. Pike heard voices coming from the front of the club, but no music or other sounds.
Pike pushed through the swinging door. The lights were on, the stage was empty, and the music was off. The three men from the parking lot were crowded around a bar table with a fourth man and Vasa, who was holding a wet towel to his face. The furry man was behind the bar, maneuvering a beer keg into place. Pike had entered so quietly the men at the tables did not hear him, but the furry man caught the movement, and stood.
He said, “We’re closed. You’ll have to leave.”
The men at the tables all looked over, and Vasa saw Pike. He lurched to his feet as if someone had kicked him.
“That’s him. The fuckin’ guy-”
The four men at the tables didn’t move. The muscular guy didn’t reach for his gun. They sat perfectly still.
Pike said,
“I’m looking for Michael Darko.”
The oldest was a heavy man with large bones, thick wrists, and small eyes. Three of the four wore short-sleeved shirts, two showing skin that had been inked up with Eastern Bloc prison tats back in the old country.
The oldest man said, “I have never heard of this man. You have come to the wrong place.”
Two vinyl billfolds identical to the ones Pike took from Vasa were on the bar, along with a brown leather briefcase. Just sitting there, as if someone was in the middle of business when Vasa rushed in to tell his story. Pike moved toward the bar, and the muscular man stood.
He said, “Get the fuck out of here.”
When Pike reached the end of the bar, the furry man behind the bar shoved the beer keg aside and charged. He threw up his forearms like an offensive lineman blocking a defensive back, but Pike slipped to the side, pushed the man’s elbow down and away, caught his head, and rolled him into the floor. Third of a second once contact was made, and Pike was on his feet, watching the muscular man rush toward him in slow motion as the three other men, even more slowly, jumped to their feet.
The muscular man reached under his shirt even as he pushed past the tables. Pike did not try to stop the gun; he rolled his hand under the man’s wrist, drove the man’s arm over and back, and pulled him backward and down. Pike had the gun before the man slammed into the floor, and hit him on the forehead with it two hard times, even as Jon Stone’s voice cut through the gloom.
“Freeze, motherfuckers!”
The three men at the tables, on their feet now, raised their hands.
Jon stood just inside the door with an M4 carbine, painted up nicely in desert camo. Never taking his eyes from the men, Stone closed and locked the door, sealing the building. He grinned at Pike.
“Always wanted to say that.”
Pike checked the man’s pistol, then went through his pockets.
The man with the gold chains said, “What is it you want?”
Stone stepped forward, the grin suddenly gone, all fierce lines in full-on combat mode.
“Shut it, bitch. You will not speak unless spoken to.”
Pike found a wallet, keys, and cell phone, then stood away. He waved toward the floor with the pistol.
“Knees. Fingers laced behind your head.”
Stone kicked the nearest man down, and the others hurried into position.
Pike returned to the man with the enormous belly. His eyes were open, but unfocused, and he made no move to rise. Pike came away with a neat little.40-caliber pistol. He put everything on the bar with the vinyl billfolds, then returned to Stone’s prisoners, and searched them as well. None were armed, and none spoke while he went through their pockets, collecting their things.
When Pike finished, he returned to the bar and checked the vinyl billfolds. They were filled with cash. He opened the briefcase. More cash, a metal skimmer used to steal credit card information, and what looked like business papers. He put the two pistols and the other things he had taken from the men into the briefcase, closed it, then carried it back to the men. They watched him the way a cat trapped by a window watches a bird.
Pike said, “Darko?”
The older man shook his head.
“You are making a mistake.”
Behind them, Stone’s voice was soft.
“Maybe these fuckers were there that night. Maybe one of them gunned Frank.”
Pike said, “Vasa, do you remember my name?”
“You are Pike.”
The older man said, “You are dead man.”
Stone snapped the M4 into the back of his head. The man fell like a bag of wet towels and did not move. Vasa and the other man stared at his unconscious form for a moment, and now their eyes were frightened.
Pike dangled the briefcase, showing them.
“Everything Darko owns is mine. Darko is mine. This bar is mine. If you’re here when I come back, I’ll kill you.”
The other big man, the one still awake, squinted as if Pike was hidden by fog.
“You are insane.”
“Close this place now. Lock it. Tell him I’m coming.”
Pike left with the briefcase, and Stone followed him out. They went directly to Pike’s Jeep, then drove around the corner to Stone’s Rover. When they stopped, Stone opened the briefcase. He pushed the cash packs aside, and frowned.
“Hey, what is this shit?”
Pike fingered through the pages, clocking the columns of numbers organized by business, and realized what they had.
“Our next targets.”
He opened his phone to call Cole.
28
They met back at Cole’s house to go through the papers. Rina recog nized them immediately.
“They are gas stations.”
Stone said, “What the fuck?”
Cole thought the pages were bookkeeping ledgers, accounting for income from All-American Best Price Gas, Down Home Petroleum, and Super Star Service.
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.