T Parker: The border Lords

"Let me tell you what I see in you," said Bradley. "I see a cautious man with the heart of a warrior. I see a man who knows right from wrong. I see a man who took an oath and meant it. Am I right?"

"Well, sure, okay."

"Jerry, sometime tonight I'm going to find out where Stevie is. And when I do I'm not calling in SWAT or hostage negotiation or backup. I'm calling in me. And that could mean you, too. I'm going to get that boy out alive. I'm going to make sure the world knows about it, too. Because I don't work for free. Are you in or out?"

"I'm in."

Bradley bored into Clovis's eyes but liked what he saw. "I can leave you out. You can sit it out."

"I'm in."

"Sweet, Jerry. Good. Okay, let's drive."

Clovis had just pulled back into traffic when Bradley's cell phone buzzed. Rocky told him no news yet, all his men were working it hard, they'd grabbed a Salvadoran who was bleeding a lot but talking not at all, and Rocky's wife was out of her cabeza with worry. Rocky said if they hurt Stevie, he'd kill every Salvadoran kid in L.A., every single last one of them.

"You be cool," Bradley said. "You get that address for me."

Rocky's call came in at nine thirty-eight P.M.

"The Salvadoran cracked when we started breaking off his teeth," he said. "They got Stevie in Maywood."

"How many of them?"

"Three Maras. Experienced guys."

"Talk to me."

"I'm on my way to drop the ransom at a church parking lot in Maywood. After they pick it up, the Salvadorans are gonna leave Stevie at Freeway Liquor in Bell Gardens."

"They think you're dumb enough to do that?"

"They have my solemn word I'm dumb enough. Bradley, man. You do this for me… You get Stevie outta there okay…"

"I'll get him."

"I can be there with some of my best friends. I've done this kinda shit before."

"Stevie will end up dead and you'll end up in prison again. I'm the one for this job. My partner and I. Now, is there a dog at that house?"

"I don't know."

"I need to know if there's a dog. I need to know if it's between other houses, or on a corner. Now, give me the address, man."

When he'd gotten the street and house number, Bradley hung up. Perfect good luck, he thought: The Maras had Stevie in unincorporated territory patrolled by LASD-no jurisdictional problems. He asked Clovis to pull over so he could make some calls in private.

He stood in a 7-Eleven parking lot and told Deputy Caroline Vega where and when to meet; then he told Theresa Brewer that they would be there in ten minutes. He went into the store and got an enormous energy drink and a pack of chocolate chip cookies and drank and ate them while looking at the covers of the car magazines in the stand. Too many fuel-efficient dinks, in Bradley's view, but the new M5 looked otherworldly. He thought of his mother, who had taught him to drive fast cars. He'd buy her that M5 if she were alive. Would have been thirty-five this year. He looked at his watch. According to plan, Rocky would call back in a minute or two, to confirm that his last call was of his own free will and not a setup.

The call came. No dog, corner house. Bradley popped the last cookie into his mouth and walked back to the prowler.

"We've got what we need," he said.

Clovis popped his holster strap. "This is good. I'm glad we're doing this."

"Be cool."

"From a twenty-year-old deputy on his first patrol."

"I'm twenty and a half, Jerry."

Clovis smiled and shook his head.

They met Theresa Brewer and a cameraman at a Shell station in Bell Gardens, around back near the restrooms and the air and water dispensers. She was a dimpled, green-eyed blonde and she greeted Bradley with a smile. She wore light slacks and a green blouse and a black leather jacket. Her face was made up.

Bradley told her again that she was not to begin taping until he had the boy safely out of the house. Then they could shoot away. After the boy was secure in the back of an LASD patrol car, the deputies would be available for brief comments. She smiled again and he felt the energy drink bumping up against his nerves.

"Follow me," he said.

"I feel like my blood's been replaced with adrenaline."

"It's quite a thing, isn't it?"

"Good luck, Bradley."

Caroline Vega and Don Klotz were waiting for them at the Downey Road railroad tracks, five blocks east and five blocks north of Stevie Carrasco and his three MS-13 kidnappers. Bradley had dealt with a Mara Salvatrucha heavy once before. The man had unnerved him-an Aztec warrior with jug ears and a hooked nose and a tattooed face who looked like he'd be happy with a beating heart in his hands.

Clovis pulled up behind the other cruiser and cut the engine. Bradley stepped out and watched the FOX News van park behind them. The night was damp now and the sky over Los Angeles glowed dully and the power lines sizzled overhead. To his right was the concrete riverbed, a tiny wobble of water in its channeled center.

Bradley bumped fists with Vega, then introduced the two deputies to the two newspeople.

"Stay in the van," said Vega. "Don't shoot until we come out of the house with the boy."

"He's told us five times," said Brewer with a smile.

"At least five," said Erik, the videographer.

Vega fixed Theresa Brewer with a look. The deputy was dark-haired and dark-eyed and there was a predatory beauty in her face. She and Bradley had graduated from the Sheriff's Academy together, and she'd been on patrol six months now. "I hope it sunk in."

Klotz hooked his thumbs into his Sam Browne and looked at Brewer but said nothing.

"They're on our side, Caroline," said Bradley.

"Just making sure," said Vega.

Bradley cut Theresa and Erik away and walked them back to their van. It was a big Econoline with the FOX News logo on the flank. "Vega's wound a little tight tonight," he said.

"A little?" asked Theresa.

"Get in and wait here. I need to get the script straight with my people. Then we'll caravan to the house. Park…"

"I know, Bradley-we park three houses down, opposite side of the street, so we can see you coming out. Then traipse over and give you your fifteen minutes."

"I hope it lasts longer than that," said Bradley, smiling.

"Depends how good the footage is," said Theresa.

"If you hear shots, stay in the van and keep down. Don't just sit and gawk like tourists. There's no telling what kind of firepower they've got."

Theresa Brewer squeezed Bradley's hand, then climbed into the passenger seat of the van.

Bradley joined the other deputies and caught Caroline's hard glance. "Clovis, you and Klotz get a five-minute head start and the backyard," he said. "It's a corner house, so one of you can climb the fence on street side. No dog, but who knows what the neighbors might have back there. So be quiet, go slow, be careful. Caroline and I are going to knock and talk. Caroline will do the talking. We're responding to a silent alarm in the neighborhood. We're not threatening or suspicious. If they let us in, we're golden. If they don't, we smell dope being smoked, and we go in."

"What makes you think they'll open the door?" asked Clovis.

"They won't know what to do. Two bored young uniforms checking out an alarm? One of them a hottie? A kidnapped kid stashed in the back somewhere? They'll have to just hope we leave. Anyone runs out the back, put them down and keep 'em down." The front door was open but the screen door was closed. When he stepped onto the porch Bradley smelled frying onions and meat and boiling potatoes. Far back in the house a stout woman stood in the yellow light of a kitchen. Bradley was to Vega's left and he quietly popped the holster snap and rested his hand on the forty-caliber. He heard the leather squeak and felt the tapping of his own heart against his uniform shirt. He looked down at the screen door-old, bent, ajar. Caroline looked at him, her hand on her gun also, then rapped on the screen door with her knuckles, and the woman came down a short hallway toward them, both hands working a kitchen towel, shaking her head.