Robert Crais - The sentry

Ping.

He checked the roof below the billboard, but saw no one. He checked what he could see of the alley and the street in front of Azzara's, but the guards had not seen him.

Pike forced himself to relax. A burly man with a face like a pineapple and hard-time ink came out of the house with a bottle of beer, and Azzara immediately left the circle to make room for the man. Azzara's deference was obvious. He went into the house, and soon returned with three brown bottles. He gave one to an older, squat cowboy, one to Smith, and took the third to Dru. She gave him a very nice smile when she thanked him, and Azzara returned to the others. The congenial host.

No one looked abducted.

Pike felt hollow, like a bubble floating on water. He drifted like the bubble would drift; an emptiness confined by a delicate skin, having no weight or substance. Pike concentrated on the bubble. He forced it to grow smaller until it was gone. The emptiness remained, but could not be seen without its skin. Without the bubble, there was only nothingness, and now Pike felt nothing.

Ping.

The burly man with the ink shook the squat cowboy's hand. They smiled at each other, and laughed again, and related to each other as equals. Pike decided the burly man was a La Eme veterano of high station, but he wondered about the cowboys.

It was obvious that Dru and Wilson were where they wanted to be and in no immediate danger. Pike considered calling Straw, Button, and Elvis, but he decided to see what developed.

Twenty-two minutes later, a black stretch limo turned into Azzara's drive. Wilson, the squat cowboy, and the burly man followed Azzara into the house, but Dru and the cowboy who sat by himself remained outside. Pike now had to decide whether to stay with the house or follow the limo, and he had to decide before he knew what Wilson and Dru would do. Reaching his Jeep would take several minutes, so if he was going to follow, he had to leave now. If he waited to see them leave, he would never reach his Jeep until after the limo was gone.

Pike decided to follow.

He spidered back through the girders, and ran hard along Sunset to his Jeep, thinking the limo might already be gone, but when he nosed up to Azzara's street, the tail of the limo was still in Azzara's drive. Pike backed away, parking in a red zone in front of the cigar shop. Five minutes later, the limo backed out and rolled uphill toward him. Pike lowered the visor and slumped down behind the wheel. The limo stopped directly in front of him. Pike could make out the dim shape of the driver, but the dark rear windows hid whoever was in back. When a hole appeared in the traffic, the limo turned. Pike let two cars pass, then pulled out behind them.

The limo dropped through the city on La Cienega Boulevard, cruising slow and steady the way limos do. Pike followed them down to the I-10 Freeway, then west toward Santa Monica. When they crossed the 405, Pike thought they were heading to Venice, but they dropped off at Bundy and turned onto Ocean Park. Three minutes later, they pulled into the north side of Santa Monica Airport, and Pike was forced to drop farther behind. The limo drove to a gate that rolled aside to let them enter the hangar area, then stopped alongside a white Citation business jet. The jet's door was open, its stair down and waiting.

Pike pulled over to watch.

The limo driver popped out to open the doors, but the people inside didn't wait. Wilson, Miguel Azzara, the burly man, and the squat cowboy climbed out of the stretch. Dru had stayed at the house.

The four men gathered near the jet, and once more shook hands. The cowboy clapped Wilson on the shoulder like they were the best friends in the world, then climbed aboard. He pulled the steps up himself and closed the door as if he had done it a hundred times while the rest of them returned to the limo.

Pike noted the tail number. XB-CCL. The XB prefix meant the plane was registered in Mexico.

Azzara, the burly man, and Wilson stood by the limo as the jet spooled up its engines. Pike could see the pilot and copilot reaching for switches as they went through the start-up procedure. It took several minutes, but Azzara, the burly man, and Wilson waited. When the jet finally taxied away, they waved like flunkies, telling Pike the squat cowboy was a very important man.

Once the jet was gone, the burly man threw his arm around Azzara's shoulders and hugged him as if he had done a good thing. Azzara beamed his movie-star smile, then held the door as the burly man got into the limo.

Pike had seen enough. He made a slow U-turn as he drove away, and phoned Elvis Cole.

Daniel

Daniel glanced at the turd in the Monte Carlo as he walked past the house, dumb fuck so stupid he was falling asleep. Daniel loved fuckin' amateurs, them being so easy to kill, but the bangers had so many people around the house, they were cramping his style.

He continued downhill to the next street, then climbed into his van. Sign on the van was for something called Hero-Rooter-CALL A HERO TO SAVE THE DAY! DRAINS CLEANED AROUND THE CLOCK! Daniel had picked the van because there were no windows in the side panels and the vehicle would blend in anywhere. He had left the driver in a Dumpster behind a Nigerian restaurant in Long Beach.

Tobey was irritated.

"Why're we wastin' time?"

Cleo was annoyed.

"Fuckin' around, around?"

Daniel said, "Shut up. I'm tryin' to think."

Daniel had followed the Mexican and his dumb-ass banger entourage from the airport, so he knew the Mexican was inside with the cook and the waitress. The Bolivians had come through big-time with their tip about the Mexican, but reaching his targets had turned out to be a problem.

Daniel circled the block up to Sunset, planning to cruise through the alley beside Azzara's house, but that's when he saw the tall dude sliding out of a red Jeep Cherokee.

Tobey, suspicious.

"Lookit those arrows."

Cleo, alarmed.

"Dude on the bridge, bridge."

This made twice, and twice was bad. Daniel had seen him at the canal, and now here he was again, a block from the cook and the waitress.

Daniel let the van slow to catch the light. The man reached Azzara's street, rounded the corner, then did a fast one-eighty to blend in with a crowd of pedestrians.

"He must be a cop. Gang unit, maybe. How else would he know?"

Tobey whispered, "Looks like a cop."

Cleo hissed, "Smells like a cop, cop."

When the light changed, the arrow dude crossed with the crowd, walking along Sunset like he was normal. Daniel clocked the dude as he passed. Big guy, hard, but he moved as if he was floating. Nasty hands, though, with big, coarse knuckles and veins wrapped under his skin like vines.

Daniel turned at the first cross street, then powered around the block back to Sunset, looking for the Jeep. He found it quickly, copied the tag number, then maneuvered into a parking lot to call the Bolivian.

First thing the Bolivian asked was whether he had bagged the targets.

"No, sir, not yet, but I have them located. The Mexican led me right to them."

Cursing, screaming, the usual Bolivian bullshit. Daniel rolled his eyes.

"Sir, the situation is under control, but I do need your help with a matter. We have a man on the scene who may be a police officer or a federal agent."

More blah blah yadda yadda.

"No, sir, it won't affect the outcome, but I would like to know who he is. I have his license plate here."

Daniel read off the tag, then hung up before the sonofabitch could go on with more bullshit. Daniel was now officially concerned about the arrow dude, and didn't like not knowing where he was and what he was doing. The arrow dude was a wild card and wild cards could bite you on the ass. Daniel decided he would kill the fucker if he saw him again, even if he was a cop, so long as it wouldn't fuck up his shot at grabbing the cook and the waitress. Daniel didn't want to kill them. He needed to take them alive, and save the killing for later.