Stephen Cannell - On The Grind

"You're wrong, but I probably can't change your mind."

"That's right, you can't." He smiled. "You need to pony up some info. Start by telling me what the feds know."

"There isn't anything to tell. You got this all wrong."

"Really?"

He motioned with his left hand. Horace Velario stepped out of the shadows behind him. He must have undergone some emergency first aid while I was knocked out. His split lip was stitched up and his head was bandaged, but his teeth were still a mess and they must have been killing him because when he talked, he kept his mouth closed to keep cold' air off exposed nerves. I didn't think there was much I could say that would change the outcome of this, so I tried to prepare myself for what was coming.

But Alonzo wasn't through. "That write-up on POLITE was bullshit," he told me. "You and the little wifey set that up, which means you're not bangin' the famous actress like everybody thought. Means you're still married, still got shit to worry about at home."

"Alexa threw me out."

"I gotta operate on more credible instincts." Alonzo smiled. "I need to know how deep and wide this mess is. If you convince me you're not holding back, I might take pity and leave wifey alone. But if you keep up this hard-guy routine, I'm gonna make a move. I'll fuck her up big, put her on the bitch bus and send her to a hole out in Visalia. It's up to you what happens."

"You kill her, the sixth floor will never stop hunting you. But do what you want, 'cause I could give less of a shit about her."

I was hoping he didn't hear the fear in my voice, couldn't read the distress in my eyes. The only way to save Alexa was to convince him I didn't care.

He motioned to Horace. "Your turn. But don't kill him yet. He's still got a job to do." Then Bell started to walk away.

"Al." He stopped and turned back to face me.

"Change of heart?"

"Whether I'm dead or alive, the cafeteria line is closed. You're all going to prison."

"All good things gotta end sometime," he said philosophically. "But I'm pretty sure nobody's going to prison. You're gonna be indicted and tried in absentia for crimes committed against the people and police department in Haven Park. We'll put out a warrant, but you're never gonna be found. You're gonna be moldering in your own hole somewhere."

Then he turned and left me with Horace Velario, who immediately pulled the sap out of his back pocket. He moved over to stand in front of me.

"We got us a couple a hours. You'll be conscious for all of it."

"I got stacks of money from the street hits I pulled up in L. A. It's all yours, Horace. How does a hundred thousand sound?"

He didn't answer. He hit me with the sap instead. I was out before the starburst in my head even happened.

"Scully… hey, Scully.. Somebody was whispering. "Wake up, homes. Hey, wake up."

Little pieces of my senses started to return, first smell, then the pain.

"Scully! You gotta wake up! I need help."

God had blessed me with a very hard head, but I was often too careless and my brains always seemed to be getting hammered.

"Wake up, man. Hey, Scully, wake up!"

I was looking at a carton of creamed corn. Last time it was green beans. All I needed to enjoy a hearty vegetable feast was a settled stomach.

I was lying on my side on a floor that appeared to be moving. Never a good sign after a head injury.

"Scully? Shit, man, are you awake?"

"Trying," I said with great deliberation. Something was wrong with my mouth. I felt around with my tongue. Several of my front teeth were gone, others broken. Shit.

"Scully, over here."

I turned my head and was now looking at crates of asparagus and lima beans. I was in the magic vegetable kingdom… The jolly Green Gi ant was probably going to kick my ass.

"Scully, wake up, man."

I finally figured out why the floor was moving. I was in a truck, and the truck was moving… Deduction. As I came to a little more, I could hear the hum of big truck tires on pavement. I turned my head farther to the right and saw Rocky Chacon a few feet away. Like me, he was tied up. He'd also been beaten and was propped against the inside of the big semi truck full of produce and canned goods. The trailer we were in was at least fifty feet long.

"Thank God you re alive," he said.

"I'm not talking to you," I finally replied.

"What'd I do?"

"You were supposed to escape. Sound the alarm. Get help."

"So were you."

"Yeah, but you're El Aboratador."

Every time I spoke there was a terrible pain in my mouth. The exposed nerve endings from my own broken teeth were killing me.

It really pissed me off that Horace had knocked out my choppers while I was unconscious. That guy needed a new rule book.

"Where are we?" I was talking now like a ventriloquist, keeping my mouth closed. I had to get past my broken teeth, will myself to ignore the pain. I had bigger problems.

"Why are we in a truck?" I asked.

"I heard 'em say we're heading to Calexico. We're in a big eighteen-wheeler."

Calexico was on the California side of the Mexican border, off Highway 8. That was pretty much everything I knew about the place.

"Why Calexico?" I asked, taking a painful physical inventory of my injuries.

It was more than just my head and my mouth. I'd been really worked over with that sap, head to toe. I had damage everywhere.

"I think they're going to move us across the border to Mexicali on the Mexican side."

"In a produce truck?"

The truck suddenly bounced over some bad highway and there were sharp pains in my rib cage, hip and, of course, my head. Even my nuts ached.

"I think Calexico is a big Customs stop," I finally said once the testicular pain had subsided. "Customs will go through a big truck like this with dogs. They'll never be able to smuggle us across the border in this."

"I think they're taking us there to kill us," Rocky said, making it worse with every sentence. "But why take us there? They could just as easily kill us here."

"Different laws," I said. "I'm a cop and you're a famous prize fighter. Here it could cause problems. They can't get extradited for capital murder in Mexico."

"We need to come up with a plan," Rocky said. "In every fight I've ever had, no matter how bad it's going, there's always a moment where victory can be snatched from defeat. The same will be true here. We've got to find and exploit that moment."

"Yeah, good thinking." I wanted to curl up and die. My head was beginning to get fuzzy. My thoughts blurred.

"How should we handle it?" he pressed.

"I don't know. I think maybe I'll go back to sleep for a while. I feel like shit."

"Sometimes a man must ignore pain. Focus on the goal. In a fight you've gotta keep punching."

"I like it" I said. "While you do that, I'm just gonna close my eyes for a minute."

The highway changed to a bad stretch of pitted road. We were bumping along, and the pain from the rough ride shot through my body and jolted my senses, bringing me fully awake. I was still on my back trying to deal with it when Rocky spoke.

"I think we're almost there."

"Seems so," I groaned.

I rolled over on my side. If I puked, I didn't want to choke on vomit. Those were the kind of choices I was down to.

"We still need a plan," Rocky said. "I don't think we've crossed into Mexico yet, because the truck hasn't made a border stop."

After a minute, I realized I might have a better chance of keeping my stomach down if I was upright. With my hands still cuffed behind me, I tried to scoot across the floor to the far wall of the trailer and push myself up into a sitting position. After four or five pain-filled minutes, I finally made it. Once I was settled, I was able to look across the trailer at Rocky and see him better.