by Ty Patterson
He rolled back a metal gate and jerked his head at Cutter as he drove into the yard.
A large house on stilted columns. On the ground level was parking. Approach to the main entrance was through metal stairs on the side. Must have been an office that the gang converted to a safe house.
Their footsteps clanged and echoed as they climbed the steps and entered a reception room. More hard-eyed and grim-faced thugs. All of them heavily and openly armed.
Cutter stood silently as they searched him, removed his Glock and Benchmade.
‘You’ll get them back when you leave,’ a hood told him roughly. They took his phone, removed its battery and placed it in a tray.
He was shoved down the hallway, past more rooms and into a living room, where Panig Janikyan was seated on a couch.
‘Mr. Grogan,’ the Bros leader said with a humorless smile, ‘so glad you could make it.’
He gestured to a couch. ‘Davidian described you differently. You were in some other look at your house. Which one of those is the real you, or are they both disguises?’
Cutter had removed his disguise and was in his real self. Let him assume whatever he wants.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Not to me. I bet the cops would be interested, though.’
‘Janikyan, if you wanted the LAPD here, you would have called them.’
‘You said we have a common enemy. I’m intrigued, Mr. Grogan. Who do you have in mind?’
‘LA Street Front.’
‘That gang? Why would it be my enemy? I’m just a businessman.’
‘A businessman who’s surrounded by gunmen.’
‘For my protection. Wealthy people are kidnapping targets. There have been attempts on my life from people who were envious of my success.’
I’ll bet, Cutter smirked inwardly.
‘Janikyan, save it,’ he said. ‘Your men searched me. I’m not wired. I’m not a cop. Let’s not play games. I know you head the Armenian Bros.’
The gangster’s eyes were dark pools that gave no indication of what he was thinking.
‘Why are you here?’
‘I want to know where the LA Street Front has its drug stash.’
‘How would I know?’
‘If you don’t, I’ve wasted my time.’ Cutter got to his feet and went to the door.
‘Why do you want to know?’ The gangster’s voice stopped him.
‘Because I might want to report it to the cops.’
‘You think their gang bangers killed your friends? Is that what this is about?’
‘My motives are none of your business.’
‘I don’t like it that you assume I am a thug.’
‘I don’t care what you think.’
A banger grunted, raised his gun in warning and lowered it immediately when Janikyan stared at him.
‘Let’s say, hypothetically,’ said the gang leader, a thin smile playing on his lips, ‘that I am who you say. If I knew where their warehouse existed, don’t you think I would have taken it out?’
‘Your outfit’s bigger than theirs. You have more business activities than selling product on the street. There could be any number of reasons why you wouldn’t hit it. I’m not interested in what you might or might not do. All I want is an address, if you have one.’
The air conditioner hummed as the distant wail of a cruiser came to them. Janikyan kept watching him, lizard-like. Silent, motionless, blinking occasionally until he finally stirred.
‘Zohrab,’ he ordered the banger who had grunted. ‘Take him away.’
Looks like I’ll get nothing from him.
He held his palm up to stop the approaching bodyguard.
‘Were your men involved in a shootout with Street Front in Beverly Hills?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Grogan.’ Janikyan’s smile was silky. ‘Shooting is bad for my business. I told you that before. Zohrab.’ He cocked his head at his man, who came forward.
Cutter followed the banger out of the room. They reached the outer reception area, where another heavy handed him his gun, knife and cell phone.
‘You’re his bodyguard?’ he asked Zohrab. He had noticed how the hood stood closest to Janikyan. The hood’s only response was to jerk his head toward the door.
Cutter shook his head at himself. It looked like his charm and looks wouldn’t work on the Armenians.
He followed the man out and down the stairs. Slipped on one of the metal steps, exclaimed in surprise and grabbed the hitter—who swore, turned around and helped him regain his balance.
‘Sorry.’ Cutter held his hands up in embarrassment. ‘It’s dark, and these steps are slippery.’
Zohrab didn’t seem to be a man of many words. He turned around and continued down the steps to ground level, where more sentries stood guard. He stepped aside for Cutter to go to his cab.
‘I would say it’s a pleasure meeting you, but I would be lying.’
Nope, none of them rolled on the ground, holding their bellies, laughing.
‘You are hard men,’ he sighed. ‘No wonder Janikyan keeps you around him. But this place … really? You realize how easy it is to trap you inside? All the cops have to do is seal both ends of the alley. Sure, you might have gunmen in all the other houses, but what’re they going to do when the LAPD come in hard with choppers and SWAT teams? Those stairs? They’re not made for a quick getaway. This house isn’t safe. You’d better move him somewhere else.’
‘No?’ he asked when no one reacted to his advice. ‘I’ll get going, then.’
‘Mid-City. Third house on the left on Apple Street.’
Cutter stopped climbing into his car and stared at Zohrab, who had rattled off the address.
‘That’s where they have a store? Why didn’t you hit it?’
‘We discovered it just two days ago.’
‘Don’t do anything to it. Were you there at that Beverly Hills house?’
Zohrab looked at him impassively.
‘Thank you.’
Cutter sighed theatrically when the banger kept his stoic silence. Manners were lost on some people.
He drove out of the parking space, aware of their eyes boring into him. Went down the alley and hung a left on Fountain Avenue. He stopped at the nearest clear space he found on the street and brought out his phone. Fingered an app and fist-pumped silently when he saw the green dot.
It was the signal from the adhesive tracker that he had planted on Zohrab’s jacket, when he had stumbled on the stairs.
If he’s Janikyan’s bodyguard, he’ll be around the man always.
That was as good as planting a tracker on the gang leader.
He had gotten lucky with its location as well. He had caught the man’s jacket just beneath his armpit and had stuck the tracker there. It wouldn’t be easily noticed, and if he were lucky, wouldn’t be detected at all.
Mid-City. He recollected the address the bodyguard had given.
A plan began to form in his mind.
54
Covarra inspected the warehouse on Jesse Street with Salazar in attendance. Several Street Front shooters ranged outside the premises.
Nine pm at night. No traffic in the industrial area. The occasional drivers in passing cars took one look at the grim-faced men and floored their accelerators.
‘It used to be a factory. Lots of machinery,’ the deputy briefed his boss.
‘Uh-huh.’ The gang leader checked out the bare floor, the aluminum sheets lining the walls and the ceiling, which gave an old-style workshop look to the place. Tube lighting tied on bamboo poles that crisscrossed the roof completed the image. ‘People really rent this for movies?’
‘And music videos. There’s a certain atmosphere to the place.’
Covarra nodded at that. Atmosphere. He liked that. He could imagine cutting the attacker’s flesh to ribbons as he knelt on the floor.
‘This is it.’
‘Snake,’ his friend said, taking a reasonable tone, ‘why do
you want to call him here? Tell him what he wants to know and he’ll go away.’
‘You’re sure of that?’ Covarra snapped. ‘How do you know he’ll disappear to wherever he came from?’
‘We had nothing to do with killing those women.’
‘This has moved beyond that. The moment he attacked me, it became personal.’
He shoved his hand into his pocket and brought out the stranger’s phone. Dialed the number on it and put it on speaker.
* * *
Cutter was nosing the cab into a vacant spot in LAX-it when the call came. He saw Limon approaching and waved the man away.
‘Yeah?’
‘You be ready tomorrow,’ Covarra hissed.
‘I’m always ready. Where do I need to be? What time?’
‘Be in Boyle Heights.’
‘What time?’ he repeated.
‘It will be night. I’ll tell you when. Come alone. If my men see any cops, we’ll—’
‘Your men did nothing to protect you, or your places. Why do you think they’ll get lucky tomorrow?’
He grinned when he heard Covarra’s harsh breathing. He’s got a short temper. I can use that. He won’t be thinking properly if he’s that angry.
‘If you want your answers,’ the gang leader snarled, ‘you’d better be alone.’
‘Why don’t you tell me now and save us both the trouble? Who killed those women in Beverly Hills? Who’s the shooter, who was their shot-caller and why?’
‘Come tomorrow. You’ll find out everything. Stay close to your phone.’
* * *
Covarra ended the call and caressed it absently with his thumb. ‘He’s not a fool. He knows how I feel about him. He didn’t say anything, however. He’s going to turn up just like that?’
Salazar shifted his feet uneasily. ‘We have increased security at all our warehouses. They’re safe. Our people are checking the streets, the skies, everything. No stranger has come close to them. We’ve stopped our street operations as well. We know he hasn’t captured any of our men and questioned them. He doesn’t know our safe houses.’
Covarra jammed his hands in his pockets and brooded for a moment. ‘Could he be working with Janikyan?’
‘He seems to be working alone.’
‘Is he? What about those cars that crashed into us on Sadler? Those drivers—’
‘Janikyan would have stormed the house on Hubbard. Ernesto said he was alone.’
‘Why would a single man come and meet me, knowing that I will kill him?’
* * *
How can I get away alive? There’s no way Covarra will let me leave. He’ll want to torture and kill me slowly.
Cutter pondered this as he caught a cab from LAX-it and headed to where he had stowed his Durango.
No ideas had come to him when he reached his ride. He got the driver to go past it while he checked out the surroundings in downtown LA. No cruisers or cars with anyone inside.
He paid off the cab and hotfooted to his vehicle. Drove to Mid-City and checked out Cloverdale Avenue. Yet another residential street, but it was apparent, from the men hanging out in front of cars or inside their vehicles, that it was well patrolled by the Street Front.
They’re smart. There are just enough of them, spaced out, to have eyes on Apple Street, Cloverdale and Bangor. But not so many that residents will be alarmed or might call the cops.
He passed the target house and saw a few hoods smoking in the front yard. He couldn’t afford to slow down or look for too long. That would attract attention.
No way I can attack that house, he thought despondently, as he headed to West Hollywood and checked into a hotel.
He tossed and turned on his bed as he attacked the two problems mentally. How could he apply leverage on Covarra if he couldn’t damage the warehouse? How could he escape from the meeting?
No answers came to him.
* * *
‘He was here,’ Janikyan spoke into his phone. ‘I got Zohrab to give up the Cloverdale house.’
‘How did you know about that?’ the caller asked.
‘Luck. Some of my people were following some Street Front’s bangers when Grogan burned down that house. They went to that place in Mid-City immediately. We staked it out, but had to move when Snake increased security.’
‘We don’t know if Grogan was that attacker.’
‘Who else would it be?’
‘We think it’s him, but there’s no proof.’
‘You need proof. I don’t.’
‘Does he suspect anything?
The gang leader took a coffee mug from Zohrab and sipped the beverage. ‘No. He wouldn’t be here if he did.’
‘Don’t take him lightly.’
‘I am not, but he’s done nothing to my gang. Best case, he takes out that warehouse and he and Snake kill each other.’
‘If that doesn’t happen?’
Panig Janikyan gave a blood-curdling smile.
‘In that case, I will kill him.’
55
Matt Lasko was woken by his phone chirping. He yawned, ignored it, checked the time and went to shower. Returned to find the missed call from Cesar.
‘You’ve been up early,’ he said when he called the banger back.
‘Snake and Fuse have put us on sentry duty in Boyle Heights. I haven’t slept.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Nowhere in particular. We’ve been driving up and down East LA all night, looking out for any single man, elder-looking, wearing glasses … anyone who looks like the attacker.’
‘That’s why you called? To tell me about it?’
‘No.’ Cesar lowered his voice. ‘Get to Boyle Heights in the evening. South of Pico Gardens. Close to the river.’
‘You’ve got to be more specific. That’s a lot of ground to cover.’
‘That’s all I know.’
‘Any idea when?’
‘Whatever’s going to go down, will happen only late at night. That’s how Snake works.’
‘I’ll be there.’
* * *
Cutter drove to Mid-City and checked out the house in the daylight. The bangers were conspicuous because they were doing nothing. Talking to one another, smoking joints, playing beats loudly in their rides.
Neighbors probably suspect who they are but feel intimidated.
He was in the silver-streaked hair and goatee disguise and looked away hastily when a heavy eyed him. He heard the man chuckle as he drove past and went on Apple Street.
He returned to Pacific Palisades and, on a remote bluff overlooking the ocean, opened the Durango’s trunk and inspected the gear he had.
He could snipe with the Barrett … his hand paused as he picked up the drone.
I can do a drive-by. Lob grenades through their windows.
It wouldn’t matter if they didn’t even shatter the windows or his aim was off. Two or three grenades in the yard, close to the house, would damage it significantly, which was his goal.
Cops will arrive and clear the bangers. I wouldn’t even need to stop or show myself for the attack. He pictured it in his mind. Slowing down on Cloverdale, his left arm tossing one grenade after another … it’ll work.
That still left the question of how he could get away from Covarra. His eyes swept over the array of weapons, and as they lingered on the various explosives, a faint idea came to him.
* * *
‘He’s using multiple vehicles and disguises.’ Difiore tapped a pen against her teeth as she browsed through the stream of photographs on her screen.
‘Yeah, and when he’s on foot, he probably keeps his head down,’ Quindica agreed.
They had asked their team to write programs that would isolate the Land Cruiser and run facial recognition on anyone who matched Cutter’s build. They got a dizzying number of images, none of which was their man.
Neither was disheartened. They knew identifying him from a population of twelve million would be difficult. His expertise with disguises and expe
rience of living in the shadows added to the challenge.
‘Why don’t we do this another way? Go after who he knows here? He would have made contact … you know how he is. He stays in touch with his friends.’
‘He knows the chief.’
Difiore and Quindica looked at each other and had the same thought. ‘We don’t know who else he knows here!’
They went to Dade’s office, knocked and entered.
‘Ma’am, who else does Cutter know here?’
‘In the department?’
‘Yeah, and in the city.’
Dade removed her reading glasses and polished them with a piece of silk. ‘He knows me and Jerry, of course. You think he might have told them something? His other friends in the city?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Difiore grinned at the chief’s guess. She didn’t get to head LAPD for nothing. She’s smart.
‘Terry.’ Dade snapped her fingers.
‘Who, ma’am?’
‘Director of Special Ops.’ The chief picked up her phone and made a brief call.
* * *
Terry Vargas knocked on Dade’s door and entered. He checked out her guests from habit. Law enforcement, he guessed. Their postures, the way they assessed him, it gave them away.
‘You might have heard of Detective Difiore and FBI SAC Peyton Quindica by now.’ The chief addressed him with a small smile.
That’s who they are.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘They are helping us find Cutter Grogan.’
Vargas didn’t conceal his shock. ‘You’re looking for Cutter, ma’am? Why?’
‘We think he’s behind the attacks in the city. On Covarra and on the Street Front’s warehouses.’ The FBI agent’s eyes hadn’t left Vargas’s face. ‘You couldn’t have missed the reports on TV.’
‘Cutter’s behind them?’ He turned to the chief. ‘Why?’
‘We think he’s involved, but we’ve no proof,’ Dade replied. ‘You might have heard of the two women killed in Beverly Hills. They were his friends. He’s on a vengeance mission.’