tote bag. “Everything’s under control here,” she said to the two men. “We can all take a ten-minute break. When we get back, though, we’ll be very busy. It’ll be time to serve the soup, the salad, put the fish on to poach, and season the potatoes. Got it?” Jones nodded. “See you in ten.”
With that, she put down the knife and untied her apron.
“You can leave your bag,” Jones said. “I’ll put it in a corner out of the way. It’ll be safe.”
“That’s okay,” Angie said, slinging the bag’s long strap over her shoulder. “I want my sunglasses and sunscreen with me. My nose is starting to burn.” With that, she followed Paavo out the door.
They walked out onto the deck. It was veryquiet, and they were alone. That was another nice aspect to freighter travel, Angie thought. There were lots of places to go where no one disturbed you.
Paavo placed his hands on her shoulders and gazed steadily into her eyes. “I want to apologize.”
A part of her wanted to at least pretend to still be angry with him, just to make him squirm a bit. But one look at his big baby blues and, as usual, she was a goner. Instead of saying anything, she just nodded.
“I’ve been acting like a son of a bitch ever since this cruise began,” he said. “It had to do with my last case. Not you, but I took it out on you.”
“I see,” she said, still waiting. That wasn’t much of an explanation.
“A cop was killed,” he said quietly. “It was my fault.”
His fault? The raw pain of his words made her stomach knot.
“We were going after a drug lord.” He dropped his hands and slid them into his pockets. “Yosh and I connected him to a homicide we were investigating. I had a snitch…a guy who was supposed to tell me what was going on. I trusted him….”
Paavo stood behind the police barricade along with his partner, Homicide Inspector Toshiro Yoshiwara, and watched the SWAT team close inon the drug lord’s soldiers. The neighborhood appeared deserted; residents here had long ago learned to remain unseen behind barred windows and warped wooden doors that, despite their columns of locks, could be sprung with one sharp kick.
Paavo and Yosh had tracked the gang to the dingy, once-white wooden home in the city’s Bayview district. Red and green cement patches lined the fronts of houses instead of lawns. Cracked and chipped cement stairs led to front porches buckling with dry rot.
Their homicide investigation had begun innocuously enough, giving no hint that it would lead to this place. A successful, politically connected lawyer had been killed in what appeared to be a drive-by shooting. Soon, though, the lawyer’s use of cocaine had become a prominent factor in the investigation and had led Paavo and Yosh to Jim Nhu, one of the most powerful drug lords in California.
A nervous snitch spilled the location of a drug and money exchange Nhu had planned. The cops and DEA were waiting, ready to move in.
But someone at the drop site, that run-down Bayview house, must have spotted something amiss in the unnaturally quiet neighborhood. A blast of gunfire turned the drug bust deadly. A ten-year veteran of the San Francisco Police Department, Sergeant Ed Gillespie, was hit by the first eruption of bullets. He had stood between Paavo and the drop site. Paavo watchedpain and surprise distort the man’s beefy features as he fell.
At that moment, more than anything, Paavo wanted Jim Nhu dead. He vowed that Ed Gillespie, a brave man with a wife and family, hadn’t died in vain.
An arsenal of M-16’s and other automatic weapons held the police at bay for fourteen more hours, until, finally, the gang’s firepower diminished and the police pincer formation closed in on the drug dealers.
But something inside Paavo had died along with the police officer. His work had brought the SWAT team to the Bayview house; his work had led to Gillespie’s death. Had he overlooked something? Trusted someone he shouldn’t have?
With that, she put down the knife and untied her apron.
“You can leave your bag,” Jones said. “I’ll put it in a corner out of the way. It’ll be safe.”
“That’s okay,” Angie said, slinging the bag’s long strap over her shoulder. “I want my sunglasses and sunscreen with me. My nose is starting to burn.” With that, she followed Paavo out the door.
They walked out onto the deck. It was veryquiet, and they were alone. That was another nice aspect to freighter travel, Angie thought. There were lots of places to go where no one disturbed you.
Paavo placed his hands on her shoulders and gazed steadily into her eyes. “I want to apologize.”
A part of her wanted to at least pretend to still be angry with him, just to make him squirm a bit. But one look at his big baby blues and, as usual, she was a goner. Instead of saying anything, she just nodded.
“I’ve been acting like a son of a bitch ever since this cruise began,” he said. “It had to do with my last case. Not you, but I took it out on you.”
“I see,” she said, still waiting. That wasn’t much of an explanation.
“A cop was killed,” he said quietly. “It was my fault.”
His fault? The raw pain of his words made her stomach knot.
“We were going after a drug lord.” He dropped his hands and slid them into his pockets. “Yosh and I connected him to a homicide we were investigating. I had a snitch…a guy who was supposed to tell me what was going on. I trusted him….”
Paavo stood behind the police barricade along with his partner, Homicide Inspector Toshiro Yoshiwara, and watched the SWAT team close inon the drug lord’s soldiers. The neighborhood appeared deserted; residents here had long ago learned to remain unseen behind barred windows and warped wooden doors that, despite their columns of locks, could be sprung with one sharp kick.
Paavo and Yosh had tracked the gang to the dingy, once-white wooden home in the city’s Bayview district. Red and green cement patches lined the fronts of houses instead of lawns. Cracked and chipped cement stairs led to front porches buckling with dry rot.
Their homicide investigation had begun innocuously enough, giving no hint that it would lead to this place. A successful, politically connected lawyer had been killed in what appeared to be a drive-by shooting. Soon, though, the lawyer’s use of cocaine had become a prominent factor in the investigation and had led Paavo and Yosh to Jim Nhu, one of the most powerful drug lords in California.
A nervous snitch spilled the location of a drug and money exchange Nhu had planned. The cops and DEA were waiting, ready to move in.
But someone at the drop site, that run-down Bayview house, must have spotted something amiss in the unnaturally quiet neighborhood. A blast of gunfire turned the drug bust deadly. A ten-year veteran of the San Francisco Police Department, Sergeant Ed Gillespie, was hit by the first eruption of bullets. He had stood between Paavo and the drop site. Paavo watchedpain and surprise distort the man’s beefy features as he fell.
At that moment, more than anything, Paavo wanted Jim Nhu dead. He vowed that Ed Gillespie, a brave man with a wife and family, hadn’t died in vain.
An arsenal of M-16’s and other automatic weapons held the police at bay for fourteen more hours, until, finally, the gang’s firepower diminished and the police pincer formation closed in on the drug dealers.
But something inside Paavo had died along with the police officer. His work had brought the SWAT team to the Bayview house; his work had led to Gillespie’s death. Had he overlooked something? Trusted someone he shouldn’t have?
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