by Ty Patterson
‘Tomorrow night.’
‘I’ll be there. Is there some secret code or something?’
‘You see too many movies, ese.’ The banger’s teeth flashed. ‘He drives a Hummer. Black. It’ll be parked on that road. You can’t miss it. He’ll roll down the window when I turn up. Like I said, he deals only with known customers.’
‘But you won’t be there.’
‘Not my problem, ese.’ Cesar shrugged. ‘I fixed the meeting for you.’
‘Give me his number and forward all his messages to me.’
‘How will you approach him?’ the thug asked after sharing the details.
‘Like you said, that’s my problem.’
71
That warehouse is owned by the Street Front.
Cutter assembled the GSM tower and fired off the text the next day, then went to shower in a motel in Central Alameda.
Difiore’s reply was waiting for him when he returned.
We know. Don’t message me again.
How’s Lasko?
Still critical. Thanks to you.
He grimaced at that, thought of calling her, but what could he say?
He logged in to Werner and checked out Tomas Cabal. Found several men of that name. I need to know what LAPD has on him. Which meant he had to call Beth or Meghan.
He braced himself for more sarcasm and ribbing and dialed the younger sister’s number.
‘How are you?’
He blinked at her question. No, he told himself firmly. That’s not concern in her voice.
‘Cops haven’t found me yet,’ he told her. A thought struck him. ‘I should stop calling you. You’ll get incriminated—’
‘Why don’t you leave that to us?’ Meghan drawled. ‘We are aware of the risks.’
‘But—’
‘Cutter,’ she sighed, ‘get to it. We have work to do. What do you want?’
‘Tomas Cabal, aka Barrel. What does the LAPD have on him?’
‘Who is he?’
‘A gun dealer.’
‘Cabal, yeah, cops have a file on him,’ Beth told him. ‘Thirty-five years of age. Said to live in South LA, but when the cops checked it out a few months ago, the place was empty. Suspected gun dealer. Did time for illegal weapons possession. Three years in the county jail. Got into numerous fights while in prison. Goes around with three associates: Juan Noboa, Ramon Ferranto, Luz Arnal. All three are dangerous. Check your phone; I’ve sent their photographs.’
The gun dealer was a large man, bulky with muscle, a shaven head, a walrus mustache and eyes that looked mean even in the file image that Beth sent across. His men were unassuming looking, all of them dark-haired, dark-eyed, with tattoos on their bodies.
‘Good luck hunting them.’ Beth wished him and hung up.
* * *
Cutter was at Nickerson Gardens at five pm, a couple of hours ahead of Cabal’s arrival. It was the largest housing project west of the Mississippi, with yellow-colored multifamily buildings laid out in a horseshoe shape that opened into Compton Avenue.
Kids played in patches of grass. A few young men bounced a ball against a hoop in a yard, many of them giving him hard stares as he strolled past.
He didn’t look like his photographs on TV. He had changed his contacts to brown, had painted a scar on his cheek and had inserted a pad in his mouth to give his lips a twisted shape.
He had gone for a shoulder holster for his Glock, beneath his loose jacket, while his knife was in a sheath around his right calf. His jeans were dirty, sneakers were scuffed, while his upper clothing had tears and streaks of food residue on them.
He didn’t attract any attention.
Cabal could be based in any of these houses and the cops wouldn’t know. Cutter was intimately familiar with such neighborhoods. One of his foster families had lived in such a project in New York. Gangs, fights, the invisible jungle-drum-like alarm system that warned its residents of the cops’ arrival … I know how these places work. He fingered his belly unconsciously where a thug’s knife had punctured him when he was young.
Compton Avenue was a long stretch of concrete with residential buildings on both sides. Commercial establishments were few: a donut shop, a pawn dealer, a car wash. Cutter checked the street, saw no sign of the Hummer, and gave in to the tempting aroma coming from the food joint.
He carried the donuts in a brown bag and leaned against the metal fence of a house. Ate them slowly as he bobbed his head to the beat playing in his earpiece.
That sound got drowned out by the loud music blasting from the Hummer when it arrived promptly at seven pm.
72
Cutter didn’t move from his position, didn’t look up when Cabal’s ride rolled to a stop in front of the housing project’s office. Cars and pedestrians gave it a wide berth, as if the residents knew who was inside the vehicle.
Fifty feet from me, on my left. Two shapes in the front. Can’t make out who they are.
The passenger door opened as he watched from the corner of his eye, and a man jumped out. He circled the Hummer, kicked its tires, said something to the driver and climbed back inside.
That looked like Ferranto.
Cutter crushed the paper bag and licked his fingers as he straightened. He wiped his hands on his jacket and hummed tunelessly as he shuffled down the sidewalk towards the Hummer.
Felt the driver’s and passenger’s eyes scan him as he grew closer.
That’s Cabal in the front, Arnal’s behind the wheel.
The dealer made a comment, at which his man laughed. Neither looked like they felt threatened by the approaching man.
Cutter felt loose and ready as he grew closer. Four men inside the vehicle, all of them likely to be armed. But they’re inside, they’re boxed in. He lost his balance when he was at Cabal’s window, which was darkened, and slammed against the Hummer.
He backed off and raised his hands to show he was harmless and showed his blackened teeth in a grin. He whistled as he made a show of checking out the vehicle and tapped the window.
No response.
He punched it with his fist.
The glass lowered to reveal a scowling Cabal.
‘What do you—’
Cutter drew his Glock and smashed its barrel into his mouth. Punched him in the throat with his left hand, leaned inside and shot Arnal in the side, trained his gun on the men in the rear, who were reacting, hands lowering to weapons at their feet. His one-two shots in their chests and legs left them immobile.
He checked his surroundings as he removed zip-ties from his pockets and cuffed Cabal’s wrists. The dealer was still dazed and offered little resistance, but Cutter took no chances. He smashed his gun in the man’s temple and knocked him out and then secured his legs as well.
He unlocked the passenger door cautiously, but Ferranto and Noboa didn’t attack. He had placed his shots deliberately, shooting high on their left chest and in their thighs, and it looked like his rounds had taken out the fight in them. He secured them as well and went to the driver’s side, where he dealt with Arnal similarly.
He grunted with effort as he shoved the driver in between the seats and to the back and climbed inside, behind the wheel.
He flashed the indicator to indicate he was moving out, checked his mirror and slid behind a passing car on Compton Avenue. Just over five minutes had elapsed since he had knocked on the window.
No one heard my shots above the music. Even if they did, people mind their own business in a neighborhood like this.
He turned down the radio’s volume and switched to a news channel as he drove southwest.
The gun dealer returned to consciousness when he entered Redondo. He groaned and swiveled his head. Did a double-take when he took in who the driver was.
‘WHO ARE YOU? WHERE’S ARNAL?’ he screamed and attempted to free himself. He cursed and swore when he found his wrists were not only tied together but also taped to his seat.
‘Look behind you.’
He twisted his
body and stiffened when he saw his men lying in the rear, slumped and bleeding on the seats, moaning softly.
‘Who sent you?’ Cabal hissed. ‘Which gang? I’ve delivered all the guns—’
‘I’m not with any gang.’
‘Who are you, then?’ The dealer showed no fear. ‘You want to take over my business? Where are you taking us?’
Cutter drove to a remote bluff overlooking Redondo Beach and parked under the night sky. He turned off the Hummer’s lights, then checked the men in the back and found they had lost consciousness. He examined their wounds, which didn’t look life-threatening to him.
He went to Cabal and cut the tape, freeing his wrists from the seat. He dodged the man’s headbutt, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out of the vehicle.
‘You want to attack me? Wait a minute, you’ll get your chance.’ He slashed the ties that held the man’s hands and legs and stepped back as Cabal charged at him with a growl of rage.
The dealer’s yell turned to a grunt of agony when Cutter punched him in the belly and followed it up with a chop to the throat.
‘Who … are … you …?’ Cabal wheezed as he fought to suck air. ‘What … do … you … want?’
‘Cesar from the Street Front sold two AR-15s to you last year. What happened to them?’
‘I don’t know any—’ the dealer began automatically and screamed when Cutter yanked his ear savagely.
‘I can cut you to shreds and leave you to die here,’ he told the dealer emotionlessly. He had no pity, no remorse for the criminal. His business results in hundreds of deaths each year.
‘Why do you want to know?’ Cabal gasped when he had recovered his breath.
‘Wrong answer,’ Cutter told him coldly and tripped him when the dealer charged at him with an angry yell. He hauled the man up and fisted his hand to deliver a punch.
‘I don’t have them,’ the dealer yelled.
He’s not denying he bought them.
‘What did you do with them?’
The dealer reared up suddenly and headbutted him with a snarl. He punched furiously when Cutter lost his balance as he backtracked, and landed on his chest with a feral grin.
‘You—’ The dealer hit him. ‘Thought.’ He punched again. ‘It would be this easy?’
Cutter brought his hands up to deflect the next blow, followed up with a blurring move that applied a lock on the dealer’s incoming fist and snapped his wrist savagely.
Cabal’s shriek was lost on the vastness of the bluff.
Got to finish this fast, before we draw attention.
He jabbed his knuckles in the dealer’s sternum, a blow that punched the air out of the man. He shoved him to the ground, drew his knife and buried it deep in his flesh, just below his right shoulder.
Cabal screamed and writhed.
Cutter jabbed him in the thigh and looked down at him coldly.
‘I asked you a question. What did you do with those rifles?’
The dealer shrank when he made a threatening move. He held his hands up weakly.
‘I sold them,’ he sobbed.
‘To whom?’
‘Armenian Bros.’
73
Cutter thought he hadn’t heard right.
‘Armenian Bros?’ he repeated.
‘Yeah. They were looking for AR-15s. I sold these two, along with several more.’
‘You’re lying.’ He dropped to his knees and raised the knife.
‘NO! I MAINTAIN RECORDS. I CAN SHOW THEM TO YOU. EVERY GUN, EVERY TRADE, I WRITE IT DOWN.’
‘How do you remember this particular sale?’
‘Because of who sold them and who bought them.’
‘Who were those?’
‘Cesar, from Street Front. He was a first-time seller. It’s usually Fuse who comes with other bangers. They sent Cesar for this deal.’
‘How did you know it was him?’
Cabal managed to throw him a contemptuous look despite his agony. ‘I called Fuse and verified him. I don’t do business with strangers.’
‘Who bought them?’
‘Zohrab, he’s—’
‘I know who he is.’
Cutter felt as if he had been punched in the gut as he considered the dealer’s confession. Armenian Bros. They had the guns all along.
‘Do you know if they still have them?’
‘How would I know?’ The dealer cradled his broken wrist. ‘They haven’t been sold back to me.’
‘Where do you keep your records?’
Cabal twisted his head to look at him. He licked his lips when he saw the blood-stained knife in Cutter’s hand.
‘I can punch more holes in you.’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I ask the questions. You answer. That’s how this is played.’
‘Wait!’ he scrambled back on the ground when his attacker loomed over him. ‘It’s in the Hummer. Under my seat. A notebook.’
‘You keep it there? In the vehicle?’ Cutter asked him, astonished. He went to the ride and opened the door. Lifted the front seat, and there it was, a worn, well-thumbed book, filled with pages of handwriting.
‘It’s the safest place,’ the dealer moaned softly. ‘It’s secure—it’s where I spend most of my time.’
‘Show me the page,’ Cutter ordered. The criminal took the notebook with shaking fingers, riffled through the pages until he came to one dated the previous year.
‘That’s the one.’
‘Only the date makes sense to me.’
‘I write in code. What did you think?’ Cabal’s spirited reply faded into a groan when he gingerly felt his thigh.
‘Translate it for me.’
‘Replace each letter with the corresponding one, backwards in the alphabet.’
Cutter snatched the records from him and ran his finger down the list of entries. ‘Z instead of A, Y for B?’
‘Yeah.’ The criminal curled his body tight and rocked on the ground.
‘That’s not very difficult to crack.’
‘I sell guns,’ Cabal gasped. ‘I’m not a crypto … whatever they are called. Aren’t you going to get us to a hospital? We’ll die here.’
‘No loss to the world if that happens.’ He grunted softly when he found the sale. Ten AR-15s for two thousand dollars each, eight new, two used, the latter being the Street Front weapons.
‘That’s a good price.’ He raised his eyebrows. Those go for around a thousand bucks on the street.
‘My guns are untraceable. I am trusted. I don’t snitch on my customers.’ Cabal raised his head to reply proudly. ‘Gangs pay a premium for that.’
‘You got the same price for the Street Front’s guns too, even though they were used.’
The dealer hesitated and moistened his lips when Cutter drilled him with his eyes. ‘Zohrab wanted ten guns; I had only eight new ones in stock. I told him I had two used ones. He wanted to know who had owned them before. I don’t normally tell my customers where I have bought my guns from, but the Armenians buy a lot from me. He got interested when I told him. He made a call and said he would buy those, too. I sold them at the same price. It’s about demand.’
‘Do you know who he called?’
‘No. He spoke in their language.’
‘You’re lying.’ Cutter kicked him in the thigh. ‘No one remembers those kinds of details after so long.’
Cabal’s shriek pierced the night and trailed off into a sobbing moan. ‘I am not,’ he uttered through trembling lips. ‘I have a good memory … and … I told you. This sale stood out.’
Can I believe him?
Yeah. It’s in his voice and eyes. He’s telling the truth.
He wiped his knife on the dealer’s clothing and sheathed it. Went to the Hummer and checked the other men. They were alive, but still out.
I can’t leave them here. Once Cabal recovers, he’ll remember it was Cesar who set the meeting up. He’ll expose the banger.
‘I need some help.’ He turned away
from the dealer, walked several paces towards the bluff’s edge and pulled out his phone.
‘Tell us,’ Beth answered his call. ‘You’re on speaker.’
‘I have four bodies. Alive, but injured. Three of them have gunshot wounds in their chests—’
‘How serious?’ Meghan asked him.
‘Right side, on the chest. Rounds don’t seem to have damaged anything vital. Their breathing is strong. They have leg wounds, too. The fourth man has a broken wrist, knife cuts in his body.’
‘Who are they?’
That’s Zeb. ‘Tomas Cabal, an arms dealer, and his men.’
‘You want them to be picked up and held?’
‘Yeah,’ Cutter admitted. ‘I’m in a bind. I don’t know what to do with them.’
‘Where are you?’
‘On a bluff in Redondo.’ He read out the location coordinates.
‘Leave the men there,’ Beth commanded. ‘We’ll arrange for them to be picked up.’
‘How?’ he argued. ‘You folks are in New York.’
‘He wants to know how we work,’ Meghan announced sarcastically. ‘As if we’re going to tell him. Cutter, if you want our help, do as we say. Leave, now! Those dudes will be collected in half an hour, or even less. They’ll still be alive by then, won’t they?’
‘We’ll get them collected even if they aren’t,’ her sister said flatly.
‘You can’t be seen, can’t be anywhere nearby when the help arrives,’ Zeb told him firmly. ‘You got a ride?’
‘Yeah, I’ll use Cabal’s. I’ll dispose of it when I return to the city.’
They didn’t ask for details, didn’t turn me down. They must have a network all over the country, people who can do this kind of work at very short notice.
‘How can I thank you?’
‘We’ll think of something,’ Beth said with a smile in her voice.
He returned to Cabal when the call ended and secured his legs and hands with plastic ties. The dealer yelped when the binding cut into his injured wrist and cursed at his attacker.
Cutter went to the vehicle, dragged out the guards individually and dumped them next to their boss. He surveyed them critically and decided the men would survive for half an hour. He taped their mouths, searched their bodies and pocketed their wallets and phones.