Stephen Cannell - On The Grind

"Okay, thanks. Good luck, Rocky."

"You too, amigo. Adios."

As soon as he took off, I turned and leaped over the low fence bordering Aunt Anna's property and promptly landed in her neighbor's trash area, setting up a loud clatter as I knocked over metal cans, spewing garbage. Lights were going on in houses all over the neighborhood as police radios blared from the street out front. Late-arriving squad cars growled their sirens as they pulled in. The helicopter continued its loud, low hover.

I stayed close to the house next door, creeping along under the eaves, working my way carefully forward toward the street so I could get a better look at what was going on out front. Once I got to the corner of the house, I saw about ten cops and squad cars parked randomly on Live Oak. Almost the entire mid-watch.

Residents of the neighborhood were beginning to come out of their houses and stand on front lawns to watch. A few Haven Park patrol officers were going up and down the block with bullhorns, ordering them to get back inside. The rest of the blues were fanning out, searching the block, knocking on doors and pushing their way into houses. Most of the residents were frightened illegals, so the officers sure weren't bothering with warrants.

Fd been involved in enough helicopter-assisted searches in my career to know that it was next to impossible to get away once they put that night sun on you.

I was trying to figure out how to get some distance between me and this mess. My immediate plan was to lead them away from Rocky. Then I would ditch the belt by throwing it in the back of a moving car so it would lead them farther away from both of us while I made it to freedom. My police uniform was both a blessing and a curse. They were looking for a cop, so my blues made me instantly vulnerable. But the uniform also gave me immediate authority over these immigrant residents. Most would do whatever a policeman ordered. I had to make a choice.

I decided that because of my dark hair, if I lost the uniform blouse and wore only my white undershirt and pants, I had a decent chance of looking like one of the Mexican neighbors. I dumped my uniform shirt in a neighbor's trash bin, but held on to my rover unit and the rest of my police equipment, including the DCST transmitter I'd gotten from Agent Love. I also kept my. 38 and jammed all of this equipment in my belt.

I found a white dishrag on a clothesline and wrapped my head. My best shot was to try to blend in and then mingle my way out of range, into the next block. I went out into the yard and stood with everybody else, in plain sight, squinting at the night sky, shading my eyes from the helicopter light.

Then a police speaker blared.

"Back inside your houses! Get inside or you will be arrested." A moment later the same voice announced, "Regresa a su casas inmediatamente o quedan detenido.'"

I moved along with the flow of people back toward the sidewalk, then ducked into a space between two houses and ran into somebody else's backyard. I found the rear gate and went out into a narrow alley.

The helicopter had moved a block to the east, so I started running down the alley. I didn't know where I was going. I saw the lights of a strip mall with a big Vons market up ahead and ran in that direction. Just then the helicopter turned and started back.

I came out from under the leafy oak foliage at the intersection, put my hands in my pockets and strolled casually across the four-lane street heading toward the market in the center of the mall. I might be able to find a phone and call for help.

I was halfway across the parking lot heading for the sliding double doors when two squad cars roared by. One of them threw on the brakes and squealed to a stop, then made a power turn and blasted into the mall parking lot where I was.

I started to run and immediately heard a broadcast for backup over the rover in my pocket.

Two more cars boiled into the strip mall. I was cut off. Nowhere to go. I turned, threw down my gun and put my hands on top of my head.

Alonzo Bell and Horace Velario got out of the second car. Horace was moving like everything hurt but managed to follow Alonzo across the lot. I was about to get a serving of omelets and toast.

"Turn around and lace your fingers behind your neck," Alonzo ordered.

I did as I was told. They spun me around, cuffed me, then shook me down.

Agent Love and her FBI SWAT team needed to get here fast and break this up. But that wasn't in my future either. I was abruptly spun again and found myself looking into the toothless and swollen face of Horace Velario.

"Now comes the fun," he said through split, bleeding lips.

Then he pulled out his sap and slammed me in the side of the head. The blow was aimed at my temple. I saw it coming and tried to pivot away, but was a beat slow and my brain exploded, engulfing me in a starburst of white light. I stumbled and fell.

"Okay, Horace, enough payback," I vaguely heard Alonzo say as my world narrowed and darkened.

"No problemo." Horace sounded like somebody whispering in a dense fog. "Just gonna give him a little tune-up." Then I felt something smash into my ribs. A foot or his metal baton. Just before I lost consciousness I heard Horace say, "This is more like it, asshole."

When I came to, I was in a huge food warehouse located God knows where, maybe in one of the big storage complexes in the nearby City of Industry. It looked too big to be the storage room at the Vons market, so I'd been moved. I was looking at a pallet stacked high with large boxes labeled SAFEWAY KITCHEN-SIYLE GREEN BEANS.

My mind was, somehow, miraculously functioning. In fact, a strange sense of calm now dominated me.

I was tied to a metal chair with my hands cuffed behind me and I had a blinding headache. I tried to turn my head, but as soon as I did, my temple flashed a current of unbearable pain that threatened to take me out, so I took several long breaths, tried to refocus, waited, then slowly turned my head again. I found myself looking into the frying-pan-shaped face of Sergeant Bell. He was about two feet away, seated backward, his chin resting on huge, overdeveloped forearms that were crossed over the back of his metal chair. He examined me without expression.

"Hi," he finally said.

Some time passed. We looked at each other. "Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do," he said, softly.

I didn't answer.

He stood up and moved the chair out of the way, placing it carefully to the side. "How much did you tell Agent Love?"

I was having trouble keeping up. I needed to slow this down. I had sustained a concussion and it occurred to me that this false sense of clarity I was experiencing might just be a trauma-induced illusion.

"You need to know that right now, sitting where you are, you're a dead man," Bell said. "You're not going to walk away. I got my orders straight from Carlos Real, which means they came from the man himself. Short and sweet. 'Kill the bastard!' That's what he told me. But before that happens we need to know what we need to know."

"Agent Love hates me," I whispered weakly. "I didn't tell her shit."

"Yeah. Then how come I stopped her on the Pacific Street bridge an hour ago? She was busting into Haven Park all full a spit and mustard, looking for you."

I felt a wave of nausea and thought for a moment that I was going to throw up. I barely managed to hold it clown.

"You're working for her, Shane. I think you somehow managed to get a distress call out and she was hustling over here to back your play. She said she had orders to arrest you, but dumb bitch that she is she forgot to pick up a charge sheet or an arrest warrant. Captain Jones told her you were wanted in Fleetwood for attempted homicide. She only had two guys, Tal had six. She didn't get across the bridge. So all this tells me is you're the federal plant after all."