Stephen Cannell - Hollywood Tough

Shane didn't have his pager, but he did have his new satellite phone with the bug from ESD. He turned it on and set it to vibrate, then handed Alexa the number, which he had written on the back of one of his business cards.

"Okay, ten minutes," Tony repeated. "Then we're back here with whatever we find out."

They all took off. Shane went with Alexa, up the road alongside the line of cypress trees and the white split-rail fence. They reached a group of low rocks across from the front gate and ducked behind them.

"This looks like a good spot," Shane said as Alexa settled down and took a chrome-plated.38 Smith amp; Wesson out of her purse and laid it on the rock in front of her.

"Listen, Shane, just so we've got this straight. No John Wayne bullshit, okay?"

"The Duke's dead. Hit the slab almost twenty-five years ago," he said, remembering Nicky's line.

"Shane…"

"Okay, okay. I'm just gonna go hang out with a buncha Holsteins. John Wayne would've never hid under a cow." He kissed the end of her nose, and before she could pursue it, moved out.

"Don't start a stampede!" he heard her whisper as he sprinted past the front of the dairy, ducking under the split-rail fence into the field. He made a dash across the pasture, then hunkered down with the closest herd of grazing milk cows. It wasn't quite a herd there were only three black and white Holsteins more like a small gathering. They probably didn't wash these dairy cows, because Shane was immediately engulfed in their heavy, pungent musk. He knelt down between two of the animals and peered underneath at the barn and milking sheds, which were now only about two hundred yards away.

From here the dairy still looked deserted.

Shane watched the front of the farmhouse from beneath the swollen udder of Flossy or Bessie or whatever, but regardless, she didn't like him down there and kept moving and pivoting away to keep him out from under her. Shane had to duck-walk the Dance of the Toreadors to keep from being trampled.

After being stepped on once or twice, he finally managed to get a hand on the cow's neck and hold her still. She mooed, stamped her feet, then urinated. A yellow stream splashed on the ground, splattering him. "I guess you're trying to tell me something," he grumbled, then got out from under her, moving on to another cow.

When Shane looked over at the farm from this new angle, he could see the front end of an eighteen-wheeler parked behind the hay barn. The flatbed tractor wasn't attached, just a cab with some writing on the door.

He tried to make out what it said, but it was too far away, so he attempted to push his new cow in the general direction of the milking sheds to get closer. But she had also tired of him. Her udder was red. Shane was no farmer, but it looked like she'd already been milked once today and didn't want to give it up again. She mooed loudly and looked like she was about to head-butt him.

Suddenly, she turned her head and gave Shane the angriest look he could ever remember seeing on either man or beast.

"Okay, okay have it your way. I'm leaving," he whispered. Then he left her, sprinting across some open ground to the next cluster of grazing Holsteins.

He was now about fifty yards away from the milking sheds and hay barns. He squatted again, looking underneath a new cow.

From this distance he could read the writing on the side door of the truck cab: Sinaloa Farms.

Sinaloa was where Delfina said Ruiz's hay farm was in Mexico. The new cow Shane was hiding under slowly turned her head and looked down at him with sleepy, slutty eyes.

"I'm married," Shane whispered as he began to herd her gently toward the barn. She moved slowly at first, but then started to get into it… or maybe she was just trying to get away from him. At any rate, the cow kept picking up speed, until she was almost cantering toward the barns. Shane was running beside her, awkwardly stumbling in weeds and rocks, trying to stay upright, when he abruptly lost his footing and fell, facedown, in the dirt. The cow moved on for a few paces, then stopped, and looked back at him. She stretched her lips in what Shane was almost certain was a grin.

He stayed low, surveying the terrain, wondering what to do next. Then in the distance he heard two flat pops. Gunfire.

It was coming from the west end of the property.

He heard two more flat, popping sounds. Then everything went quiet. Shane clawed for his phone, pulled it off his belt, and dialed Alexa. She answered on the first ring. "You hear that?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds like Tony. It came from his direction." "It's blown," Alexa said. "Pull back."

"You're breaking up…"

"Goddammit, Shane! Don't pull this shit on me. Save it for Tony."

"Didn't get all of that. Only heard 'Save Tony,' so I'm moving up. Get in touch with Scottsdale P. D. We need backup."

"Shane, cut the bullshit. I know you can hear me. Pull back! That's a direct order!"

"Hello… Hello?" Shane said, then closed the phone.

He could see a plume of dust rolling down the road on the west side of the property, heading toward the barns. Seconds later he heard the high whine of an engine wound tight, then, finally, he could make out a tan Land Rover racing ahead of the billowing cloud of dirt. He wasn't sure if Tony was in that vehicle, but it finally skidded to a stop in front of the hay barn, throwing dust that began swirling and drifting with the breeze.

Shane inched closer on his stomach. His phone was vibrating on his hip-Alexa trying to get back to him. He ignored it and kept going.

When he was about twenty-five yards away, he could see two black men open the back door of the Land Rover and yank out Tony Filosiani. He was bleeding badly from two wounds, one in the shoulder area, another near the stomach. The Day-Glo Dago was doubled over, unable to walk. His toes cut a line in the dust as two African-American gangbangers with Crip blue headbands pulled him across the front yard of the dairy and into the barn.

Suddenly something wet and cold touched Shane's leg. He exploded upright onto his feet, his heart pounding. He turned and saw that the friendly cow with the bedroom eyes had just nuzzled his ankle.

Shane took a deep breath, kneeled down again, and got his jackhammering heart under control. He decided to make a run for it across open ground, try to reach cover on the near side of the barn. He had to admit, the plan was a little John Wayne, but his position was out in the open, and he sure as hell didn't like the looks of Tony's wounds. Despite the chief's in-your-face M. O., he was becoming very fond of the Day-Glo Dago. Or maybe he was just becoming another in a long line of department suck-ups. He shook off the thought, gathered his knees under him, said a quick prayer, then took off.

Sprinting on the sandy dirt wearing loafers reminded Shane of the slow-motion running he often did when he was being chased by overwhelming evil in his nightmares. This twenty-five-yard adrenaline dash was so dismal he could have timed it with a sundial. He finally reached the side of the barn and flattened himself against the weathered wood. Somehow, miraculously, his sluggish sprint had gone unobserved. He tried to catch his breath as he resurveyed the dairy.

Shane could now see half a dozen Crip and Blood work cars parked behind the Colonial-style house, out of view of the main road. His cell vibrated again on his hip; he cursed Alexa's stubbornness, but this time he answered.

He whispered angrily, "They got Tony. He's been wounded."

"I called for backup. Now get out of there," she said resolutely. "That's an order."

"I'm trying to get him out of there," he said. "Call you when it's done." As he hung up, he could hear her angry protest. Shane crept slowly around the barn. When he reached the corner, he stopped. From this angle he could see several more cars parked behind the milking sheds. Mercedes and BMWs, probably motherships. Dennis Valentine's blue Rolls-Royce was a ways off, under a tree. Shanepulled the Beretta off his ankle and chambered it. From the look of all the rolling stock hidden from the road, Shane figured there were at least twenty gangbangers out here.