pocket, came out with a vibrating cell phone, and looked outside through the glass. Everyone else looked, too.
Three men climbed from a dark gray four-door sedan. Short-sleeved Arrow shirts and ties, carrying their jackets like men who didn’t want to put them on. A lanky African-American and a bald, pale Anglo got out of the front. A trim, well-built man with crew-cut red hair climbed from the back. They moved slowly, scanning their surroundings like they were getting the lay of the land, or maybe they wanted to make sure no one was going to shoot them. It was obvious they were cops even before the black cop took a holstered snub-nose from the car and clipped it to his belt beside a badge.
Rudy J said, “That’s the police. The black guy, that’s Detective Spurlow.”
The head Korean glanced at me, then pulled his two friends to their feet as Rudy J continued.
“That bald guy is Lance. They’re the ones told us about the old man. I don’t know that other guy.”
Eddie said, “Lange. It was Lange, not Lance.”
Outside, the officers slipped into their jackets, shaking themselves because the cloth stuck to their skin.
The head Korean stepped close, and looked like he wanted to rip out my heart.
“You have guns. Give back now.”
Pike said, “Not him. Me.”
The talker glared at Pike for a moment, then smiled as if he was giving Pike a break, and swaggered out through the door. His minions followed. All three smiled as they passed the officers, climbed into a black BMW sedan, and drove out of the yard.
Pike said, “Watch.”
As they passed the Subaru, the man in the hat nodded at the men in the Beemer. A moment later, the man in the hat sat taller and started his car.
Pike trotted past the brothers and left through the rear.
The officers had gotten themselves together, and were coming our way. None of them hurried, but they didn’t have far to go.
Rudy was staring at me. His mouth worked as if he was terrified of what I might do.
I said, “Who were those guys?”
“I don’t know, man. They were in with my dad.”
He wet his lips, and glanced at the approaching officers, and I glanced at them, too.
“I’m coming back.”
I left through the front door just like the Koreans, nodded at the officers the way strangers do, and mumbled something about the heat. Spurlow nodded back and Lange ignored me, but the red-haired guy locked eyes with me and didn’t let go.
I kept walking, just a man going to his car at the end of the day, only I wasn’t. Each step was careful and measured, and with each step I hoped they wouldn’t stop me.
When I passed through the gate, Spurlow and Lange were inside, but the red-haired guy was in the door. He was watching me with eyes so narrow they looked like slits.
Joe Pike called as I reached my car.
“The Subaru climbed the first on-ramp. The Beemer is somewhere ahead.”
“Which direction?”
“L.A.”
“Find the Beemer. Follow it. I’ll stay with the brothers.”
I pulled around the corner, parked behind the taco stand, and waited for the police.
Jack and Krista:
nine hours after they were taken
14.
They were herded from blackness through a blood-red world, then into light so bright Krista closed her eyes. When she opened them, squinting against the glare, they were shuffling through a small house, Jack close behind her. Now in the harsh light, this was the first time she saw the others clearly. They were mostly Asian, but also a few Latins and people who might have been from the Middle East or India. One by one, they were searched as they walked. Belts and shoes were taken, and tossed into a growing pile. Six or eight men with shock prods and clubs pushed the crowd through the house. Krista did not look at them. She kept her eyes down, afraid to make contact.
The house was shabby, and empty of furniture. The harsh light came from hundred-watt bulbs in shade-less lamps. The shuffling line slowed, then was prodded into a small room.
Behind her,
Three men climbed from a dark gray four-door sedan. Short-sleeved Arrow shirts and ties, carrying their jackets like men who didn’t want to put them on. A lanky African-American and a bald, pale Anglo got out of the front. A trim, well-built man with crew-cut red hair climbed from the back. They moved slowly, scanning their surroundings like they were getting the lay of the land, or maybe they wanted to make sure no one was going to shoot them. It was obvious they were cops even before the black cop took a holstered snub-nose from the car and clipped it to his belt beside a badge.
Rudy J said, “That’s the police. The black guy, that’s Detective Spurlow.”
The head Korean glanced at me, then pulled his two friends to their feet as Rudy J continued.
“That bald guy is Lance. They’re the ones told us about the old man. I don’t know that other guy.”
Eddie said, “Lange. It was Lange, not Lance.”
Outside, the officers slipped into their jackets, shaking themselves because the cloth stuck to their skin.
The head Korean stepped close, and looked like he wanted to rip out my heart.
“You have guns. Give back now.”
Pike said, “Not him. Me.”
The talker glared at Pike for a moment, then smiled as if he was giving Pike a break, and swaggered out through the door. His minions followed. All three smiled as they passed the officers, climbed into a black BMW sedan, and drove out of the yard.
Pike said, “Watch.”
As they passed the Subaru, the man in the hat nodded at the men in the Beemer. A moment later, the man in the hat sat taller and started his car.
Pike trotted past the brothers and left through the rear.
The officers had gotten themselves together, and were coming our way. None of them hurried, but they didn’t have far to go.
Rudy was staring at me. His mouth worked as if he was terrified of what I might do.
I said, “Who were those guys?”
“I don’t know, man. They were in with my dad.”
He wet his lips, and glanced at the approaching officers, and I glanced at them, too.
“I’m coming back.”
I left through the front door just like the Koreans, nodded at the officers the way strangers do, and mumbled something about the heat. Spurlow nodded back and Lange ignored me, but the red-haired guy locked eyes with me and didn’t let go.
I kept walking, just a man going to his car at the end of the day, only I wasn’t. Each step was careful and measured, and with each step I hoped they wouldn’t stop me.
When I passed through the gate, Spurlow and Lange were inside, but the red-haired guy was in the door. He was watching me with eyes so narrow they looked like slits.
Joe Pike called as I reached my car.
“The Subaru climbed the first on-ramp. The Beemer is somewhere ahead.”
“Which direction?”
“L.A.”
“Find the Beemer. Follow it. I’ll stay with the brothers.”
I pulled around the corner, parked behind the taco stand, and waited for the police.
Jack and Krista:
nine hours after they were taken
14.
They were herded from blackness through a blood-red world, then into light so bright Krista closed her eyes. When she opened them, squinting against the glare, they were shuffling through a small house, Jack close behind her. Now in the harsh light, this was the first time she saw the others clearly. They were mostly Asian, but also a few Latins and people who might have been from the Middle East or India. One by one, they were searched as they walked. Belts and shoes were taken, and tossed into a growing pile. Six or eight men with shock prods and clubs pushed the crowd through the house. Krista did not look at them. She kept her eyes down, afraid to make contact.
The house was shabby, and empty of furniture. The harsh light came from hundred-watt bulbs in shade-less lamps. The shuffling line slowed, then was prodded into a small room.
Behind her,
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