Powder Burn

by Ty Patterson

  ‘Let him. What can he do?’

  ‘We need to find another way to trap him.’

  ‘What about you?’ the gangster snarled. ‘I or Covarra seem to be doing all the dirty work. How far have you gotten to getting him?’

  ‘You know my constraints,’ the caller said stiffly. ‘I can’t work as freely as you do.’

  ‘Yeah, but you enjoy the benefits, don’t you?’

  ‘Are you making some point?’

  ‘GET GROGAN!’ Janikyan yelled. ‘He can bring everything crashing down on us.’

  ‘He can’t. He doesn’t know about you and me.’

  ‘Yeah? How long do you think it’ll take him to figure it out?’

  * * *

  ‘I don’t want to see you ever again,’ Isaiah Limon looked nervously around him when Cutter approached him. ‘Dude, I saw what went down, that crash … how did you escape?’

  ‘I got lucky.’

  He grinned when the driver’s eyes bulged in astonishment.

  ‘Lucky? I saw those men going after you! Who were they?’

  ‘You don’t need to know that. Where’s my bag?’

  ‘Take it,’ Limon brought it out of the trunk and grunted with effort as he dragged it toward him.

  ‘Whose car is this?’

  ‘I borrowed it. I need wheels to make my living.’

  ‘Living?’ Cutter snorted. ‘All you seem to do is hang around here and smoke. You tried to peek inside the bag?’

  ‘How could I? It’s locked.’

  ‘That stopped you?’ Cutter grinned at him and brought out a bundle of money. ‘That’s the twenty grand we agreed on. Use it well. Make a new life—’

  ‘Women and Vegas, baby. That’s what I’ve got in mind.’ Limon’s smile faded. ‘Relax. Isaiah Limon will walk the straight and narrow.’

  ‘You’d better, or else I’ll turn up wherever you are—’

  ‘Nope.’ The driver held up his hands defensively, ‘I’ve had enough of you. That bag was heavy, you know. It clanked … as if it had guns.’

  ‘You’ll never know what’s in it.’ Cutter bumped fists with him and walked away.

  ‘Dude,’ Limon called after him, ‘I’d better not read about you in the newspapers.’

  ‘If you do, how will you know it’s me?’

  ‘You got me there.’

  Cutter brought out his phone when he was in the back of a cab, heading downtown.

  ‘We need to meet,’ he told Cesar. ‘No,’ he interrupted the banger, ‘this can’t be done over a call.’

  * * *

  ‘This is where Lasko and I used to meet.’ Cesar removed his shirt and draped it on a hook.

  ‘A massage parlor?’ Cutter took it in. ‘In the heart of the city?’

  ‘Who’ll suspect this place, ese?’ the banger said, grinning, and sighed when the attendant poured warm oil on his back. ‘What is it? Why did you want to meet?’

  Can I trust these masseuses?

  ‘You can.’ The thug read his mind. ‘I know them very well.’

  ‘I think LAPD has a mole. Someone on a gang’s payroll.’

  ‘You think?’ the banger scoffed. ‘I know Snake’s got his informer there. Why wouldn’t other gangs have their snitches? What’s so special about this rat you’re after?’

  He set me up. He and Janikyan.

  ‘I need to flush him out.’ He avoided the banger’s question. ‘I need your help.’

  ‘Me? How? Have you forgotten I’m a Street Front hitter?’

  ‘You helped Lasko.’

  ‘He’s in the hospital.’

  ‘You can go to the cops with a story.’

  ‘Why would they listen to me?’

  ‘Tell them you know what went down in that warehouse. You know what happened to Lasko.’

  ‘They’ll arrest me.’

  ‘Not if you do it my way.’

  Cutter waited until the masseuses had finished with them and left the room. He reached for his Tee, put it on and tucked it into his jeans.

  ‘Those bruises look recent, ese,’ Cesar commented.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘You’ve been in many wars.’

  I have.

  He brought out a new phone from his backpack and broke it out of its wrapping. ‘Use this.’ He handed it to the banger. ‘To call the Gangs and Narcotics Task Force. Their number is on the LAPD website.’

  ‘What do I tell them?’

  ‘That you were Lasko’s informer and you were there, that night. That’s sure to get their attention.’

  ‘Ese, this is too dangerous—’

  ‘Don’t show up. Arrange to meet them in person, whoever takes the call. You can decide where to meet. Let me know where and when, and don’t turn up. Destroy the phone after they agree to the meeting.’

  ‘How will that help you? Won’t everyone in the task force come?’

  ‘Not everyone.’

  ‘You think this will work, ese?’ Cesar looked at him doubtfully.

  ‘Yeah, along with something else I have in mind.’

  * * *

  ‘Tell me everything,’ Janikyan growled at Covarra.

  The two men were at his parlor again, though this time, they had passed on the opportunity to be attended to.

  ‘Everything from the time Grogan arrived in LA.’

  ‘How would I know about that?’ the Street Front boss scowled at him. ‘I only heard about him when he started attacking us.’

  ‘Nothing unusual happened before that? From the day those women died in Beverly Hills?’

  Covarra rubbed his jaw as he frowned thoughtfully. ‘Moe and Dime,’ he said after a while. ‘They were shot in Moe’s house. His woman disappeared. I think it was Grogan who killed them, but there’s no way of knowing.’

  ‘Is she with him?’

  ‘Moe’s woman? I don’t know. My men searched for her but didn’t find a trace.’

  ‘Where was Moe’s house?’

  ‘Oregon Street, in Boyle Heights. But you won’t find anything—’

  ‘My people will,’ Janikyan said confidently. ‘If she’s in LA, we’ll find her. She might know where Grogan is hanging out.’

  ‘You think we haven’t tried?’

  ‘I think your gang is lazy, overconfident. Watch how we find her and Grogan and kill them both.’

  * * *

  Cesar didn’t waste any time. He looked up the task force’s number on the burner Grogan had provided and went to the nearest pay phone on Hollywood Boulevard. He dialed the number.

  ‘I need to talk to a detective,’ he said when a woman came on.

  ‘What’s this about, sir?’ she asked politely.

  ‘I can’t tell you that—’

  ‘Sir, this is a busy line. If you have any information on gangs or narcotics dealing, please let me know or else hang up.’

  Cesar closed his eyes and scratched his forehead. How would Grogan play this? Would he take the direct approach?

  ‘I know how that detective was shot,’ he said. ‘I was there at the Jesse Street warehouse that night.’

  ‘Which detective, sir?’ she asked after a moment.

  ‘Matt Lasko. I know what went down that night.’

  ‘Sir, who are you? How do we know you’re telling the truth?’ Cesar glanced at the phone as a man’s voice came on. She must have called a superior.

  ‘I got no reason to lie.’

  ‘Sir, we get many crank calls—’

  ‘I’m not one of them. I know what happened,’ he insisted.

  ‘Go on then, tell us,’ the cop replied, shortly.

  ‘No. It will be in person. At a place and time of my choosing.’

  ‘That won’t happen, sir. If you’ve got any useful information, please spill it now.’

  ‘I was Matt Lasko’s snitch in the Street Front,’ Cesar said angrily. He didn’t have to fake the emotion, it came naturally, the result of his bottled-up frustration. ‘I can help bring down who shot him.’

  ‘How d
o we know you’re telling the truth?’

  The informer blinked at that. I should have worked my story with Grogan before making the call, he swore at himself, as he thought desperately for a way to identify himself.

  ‘You didn’t find Lasko’s phone, did you?’ he said and grinned at the ensuing silence. ‘I will tell what I know, to detectives, tomorrow, in person.’

  * * *

  Cutter had gotten the idea when he handed the burner to Cesar.

  Can you find out who Lasko called or messaged before he was shot?

  Don’t you have his phone? Beth’s reply to his text came back immediately.

  Yeah, but there’s nothing in his logs.

  Why’re you asking, in that case?

  He might have erased his logs. He was close to that warehouse and there was a risk he could be caught. He might have taken precautions.

  He carried his identification with him but wiped out his call and message history?

  Calm down, hotshot, she messaged when he didn’t respond. You might be onto something. You’re improving.

  Improving, how?

  Our smarts are rubbing off on you.

  He grinned as he pictured her chortling and pocketed his phone.

  * * *

  Cesar called him in the evening when he was having his solitary dinner.

  ‘It’s done.’ There was a smile in the informer’s voice. ‘I almost messed it up. The cops wanted some proof that I was the snitch. Then, I remembered you had taken Lasko’s phone.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Cutter congratulated him. ‘They’ll meet in person?’

  ‘Yeah. Tomorrow, lunchtime, at the Blue Goose. That’s on—’

  ‘On Virgil and Santa Monica. I know it. Do you know who will come?’

  ‘They didn’t say. They wanted me to describe myself.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t do that.’

  ‘No.’ Cesar chortled. ‘I told them I would approach the cops when I was sure it wasn’t a trap. I would know who they were in the bar. I can smell cops a mile away, even if they aren’t in uniform.’’

  He chose that bar well. Street Front bangers go there. That will reinforce his story.

  ‘Crush that burner I gave you and stay low.’

  Cutter ate silently and went outside the motel after he had finished.

  He brought out his phone and brought up the camera feed from the Street Front’s house on Apple Street. He could see no one in the room.

  He looked up at the night sky, which was dark and cloudy, an air of stillness about it.

  I’ll bring some thunder and lightning.

  ‘A bomb will go off on Apple Street at any moment,’ he said in a call to 911. ‘You should clear the houses.’

  He blew up Covarra’s safe house ninety minutes later.

  89

  Zohrab led the search for Moe’s woman personally.

  He had found that her name was Brae. No second name. His men had gotten a description by asking neighbors and the neighborhood convenience store clerk.

  ‘She’s either dead, lying low, or has left the city,’ he briefed Janikyan. ‘There’s no other way to disappear like that.’

  ‘She won’t leave the city. Her entire life was here,’ the gang leader asserted. ‘No, he’s hidden her somewhere. You’ve got her photograph?’

  ‘Yeah, boss, from Moe’s house.’

  ‘Take it to our hackers. They’ll find a way to track her down.’

  * * *

  Cutter put on the SoCalGas technician’s disguise, took the van and drove it to the Blue Goose. He found a parking spot on Virgil Avenue that gave him a good view of the front entrance.

  He unfolded a newspaper, rested it on the wheel and pretended to read.

  * * *

  ‘That house on Apple Street that the bomb blew up,’ Vance Matteo briefed Dade, ‘was a storage place for Street Front. We found traces of oxy and meth. Nothing much is left of it … it’s turned to rubble. No bodies, ma’am, no one injured, no other houses were damaged. Patrol cops vacated the street when we got that warning call.’

  ‘Was it Grogan’s doing?’ The chief raised an eyebrow.

  ‘We ran voice analysis on the 911 call. It was inconclusive. But,’ he added, shrugging, ‘he’s got the motive. Looks like he’s taking out their warehouses.’

  ‘You’ve made no progress in finding him,’ she pointed out.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ he admitted. ‘But we are putting every effort toward it. We might have a lead on why Lasko was on Jesse Street.’ He smiled briefly at the chief’s interest. ‘We got a call on the toll-free number. A man who said he was Lasko’s snitch. He was there, that night.’

  If that banger’s telling the truth, he’ll know who shot Lasko. He could clear Cutter. Difiore put on an expressionless face but couldn’t help leaning forward an inch to take in what Matteo was saying.

  ‘We get lots of fake calls, Vance. Why is this different?’

  ‘He knew that Lasko’s phone was missing.’

  Whoa! Matteo kept that out of all the reports. Only someone who was there would know.

  ‘What else did he say?’

  ‘He wants to meet.’ He flicked back the cuff of his suit and glanced at his watch. ‘At lunchtime.’

  ‘Who are you taking?’

  ‘Diego and me. No one else.’

  ‘Why are you still here? Go.’

  * * *

  ‘Ma’am,’ Difiore asked tentatively when they were alone.

  ‘Yeah,’ Dade broke off from her brooding silence and looked at them.

  ‘Permission to be there?’

  ‘Where? At Vance’s meeting with this informer? No. It’s his investigation.’

  ‘Not with him, ma’am. Peyton and I will hang around outside.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Matt didn’t tell anyone who this informer was.’

  ‘That’s normal. I’m sure you protect your snitches back home. What are you getting at?’

  ‘The timing doesn’t sound off to you, ma’am? Why is this man coming forward now? He could have called us immediately after the shooting.’

  ‘Go,’ Dade commanded, her eyes flinty.

  * * *

  Zohrab brought coffee to his boss and stood respectfully by his side while Janikyan sipped.

  ‘You’ve got something. I can sense it in you.’

  ‘Yeah.’ The bodyguard’s lips creased in a brief smile. ‘Our men hacked into traffic cameras. They found the woman, Brae. She got into a car with some other man.’

  ‘Excellent. You traced its plates?’

  ‘They were fake, boss. But,’ his grin grew wider, ‘We spotted her at another set of cameras. At the Lintock Foundation. She’s hiding there.’

  * * *

  Cutter kept watch from his ride. Customers entered the bar and left it, but he didn’t leave his vehicle. He lowered his chi, his inner energy, as he waited patiently. He became one with the environment, as Los Angeles flowed past around him.

  * * *

  Difiore drove their unmarked car expertly through the traffic as Quindica read their task force reports.

  ‘Nothing,’ the SAC sighed in disgust. ‘Cutter’s dropped off the radar. He’s able to move freely in the city, set bombs off, but no cop is able to find him.’

  ‘He’s no rookie.’

  ‘We made no progress on the original investigation and have no movement in finding him.’

  ‘Matteo’s people are canvassing Apple Street. Someone might have spotted Cutter, his ride …’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘No,’ Difiore sighed. ‘Dade might fire us, and she would be right to do so.’

  ‘You’re worried about that?’

  ‘I’ve never been sacked. It won’t look good on my record.’

  ‘Good to know you’ve got your priorities right,’ Quindica said sarcastically.

  Difiore grinned and parked on Virgil, behind a van.

  She stretched and cracked her knuckles. ‘Let’s check if Matteo
is here.’

  * * *

  Why are they here? They have nothing to do with the GND Task Force.

  Cutter watched as the car eased into the space behind his vehicle. He recognized Difiore immediately from the way she moved, the way she flicked her hair back.

  He flipped a page on his newspaper as the detective and the FBI agent came out of their ride and went to the bar. He tracked them through his peripheral vision as they circled Blue Goose and returned to their ride.

  * * *

  ‘His car isn’t here.’ Difiore took in the SoCalGas van and its driver, who was munching on a piece of fruit and reading a newspaper. ‘Nice to have the day to yourself,’ she muttered.

  ‘Who?’ Quindica asked, bewildered.

  ‘Him.’ She jerked a thumb at the gas technician.

  ‘He must be on his break. Cut him some slack. Anyhow, why’re we talking about him?’

  ‘You’re right.’ The detective waved a hand in apology and climbed behind the wheel. ‘Let’s wait out here,’ she told her partner. ‘We can’t risk going inside.’

  * * *

  Vance Matteo arrived just before lunchtime. He parked his ride in the lot behind Blue Goose and straightened his clothing as Cruz joined him. Both were dressed casually, in loose shirts and slacks, nothing to show that they were cops.

  ‘Let’s hear what he has to say,’ he told the detective, ‘then we can decide what to do.’

  He led the way to the front of the bar as he checked out the surrounding vehicles. None of them roused his suspicion, and he entered the bar without breaking a step.

  * * *

  Cutter felt no emotion as he watched them disappear inside the bar.

  Matteo and Cruz.

  They could have sent other cops in the task force, but they turned up themselves.

  It doesn’t mean anything, he argued to himself. They lead the investigation. They would be here.

  Nope, it’s them. They could get access to my military file. He knew the Chad operation was mentioned by location, while the rest of its details were redacted.