Robert Crais - The First Rule

“Look at me.”

Vasa cringed as if he was certain Pike would hit him again.

Pike touched the arrow on the outside of his arm.

“See this?”

Vasa nodded.

“Tell me you see it.”

“I see it.”

“Where is Michael Darko?”

Vasa’s eyes grew into saucers again.

“I don’t know. How would I know?”

“Call him.”

“I don’t have his number. He is the boss. Why are you taking his money? This is crazy. He will kill you for taking his money.”

Pike studied Vasa a moment longer.

“Tell Darko I’m coming.”

Pike got out, taking the money, the wallet, the keys, and the cell phone.

Vasa said, “What am I supposed to do without my keys?”

Pike returned to his Jeep, and circled the parking lot until he pulled up behind the Beemer. He wanted Vasa to see his Jeep, too. He motioned for Vasa to roll down his window.

Inside the BMW, Vasa couldn’t roll down the window without the keys, so he opened the door.

Pike tossed out his keys, then drove away.

Pike drove exactly two blocks, then pulled to the curb, and lifted his cell phone.

“What’s he doing?”

“Getting on the freeway. Jon’s three cars behind him, and I’m behind Jon.”

Pike pushed hard to catch up.

They followed the Beemer east across the bottom of the San Fernando Valley, Pike watching Cole and Jon Stone take turns behind the Beemer. The BMW drove steadily, in no great hurry to get where it was going. Vasa probably wasn’t looking forward to explaining what happened to Darko’s money.

They stayed on the Ventura Freeway past the Hollywood split, but took the first exit, climbing up Vineland past the aging shopping centers and strip malls of North Hollywood. Cole tightened up on the Beemer when they left the freeway, and Jon fell back. Ten minutes later, Cole once more spoke in Pike’s ear.

“Blinker. We’re turning up ahead on Victory.”

Neither Pike nor Stone responded.

Three minutes later, Cole spoke again.

“Turning again. A place called the Glo-Room. We’re going past to the first cross street.”

Jon Stone said, “Sweet. Strippers.”

Two blocks ahead, Pike caught a glimpse of the BMW turning, and spoke to Cole.

“Does she know the place?”

“She’s heard of it, but never been here. It’s one of the places she told me about.”

When Pike passed, he glimpsed Vasa’s convertible parked in a narrow parking lot alongside a black single-story building. A marquee sign jutted out from the front of the building, saying GLO-ROOM GENTLEMEN’S CLUB-AMATEUR NITE WED. Pike continued past to the first cross street, where the other two cars were waiting. Cole and Rina were already waiting in Stone’s Rover. Pike pulled in behind them, parked, then climbed into the Rover’s front passenger seat. Stone immediately turned down an alley to circle around behind the bar. The alley ran between the shops and stores that lined the main street and a long row of additional parking spaces and Dumpster bins.

Pike said, “Stop short.”

Stone stopped three doors away, parking behind a pet store. A white delivery van was parked behind the Glo-Room, though the only person they saw was a middle-aged Latin man in a stained white T-shirt. He was standing between the truck and the building, smoking.

Pike turned in his seat so he could see Rina.

“Darko owns this place?”

“One of his men own it, but, yes, it will belong to Michael. The other men run it, but Michael he get the money.”

“You know the people who work here?”

She shook her head, then shrugged.

“No, I don’t think so. I know of this place, but I never been here. Michael, he have three or four places like this. Maybe more.”

They started rolling again, and drifted past the delivery truck. They drove all the way to the next cross street, turned around, and came back from the opposite direction. They stopped with an easy view of the side lot and delivery truck. A back door used for deliveries and service help was cracked open on the alley, but the white van blocked the building’s interior from view. The BMW was parked outside a door on the side of the building, which appeared to be the bar’s main entrance. A dark gray Audi sedan and a silver Mercedes were parked near the Beemer, and now three men were standing outside the door. Two of the three were large guys wearing loose shirts that hung over their bellies. The third man was younger, with hard, muscular shoulders.

Pike turned enough to see Rina.

“Know them?”

“That one in the middle, maybe I seen him before, but maybe not. Other two, no, for sure.”

The one in the middle wore gold chains, and appeared to be the focus of attention.

Stone said, “You see it?”

Pike nodded.

Rina said, “See what?”

Cole said, “The muscle has a gun in his belt.”

The three men finished their conversation, then the two big men went into the bar, and the muscular guy walked back to the delivery van. He slapped the side twice, then stepped away as the van’s rear door opened. A burly guy with a monumental belly climbed out, showing a mat of dark hair on his arms and neck. He hoisted three cases of Budweiser, and brought them into the bar. The muscular guy leaned into the van, came out with three more cases, and followed him inside.

Rina said, “They steal the beer to sell, you see? He buy some, but he have people who steal.”

This fit with what George described. Darko resold merchandise stolen by hijack crews. Alcohol went to his clubs. Everything else went to fences and flea markets.

Pike tapped Jon’s leg, and Jon rolled on, cruising back to their cars. Everything moved quickly after their brief reconnoiter, which was how Pike liked it. Speed was good. In armed confrontations, speed was the difference between life and death.

Cole immediately put Rina in his car and left the area. Stone motored away, but would circle the block to approach from the front. Pike returned to his Jeep, immediately pulled into the alley, and parked behind the bar. By the time he got back, the van and the back door were both closed, but the door was unlocked.

Pike hit the speed dial on his phone for Jon Stone, and Stone answered with a single word.

“Go.”

Pike closed his phone, stepped inside, and found himself in a hall crowded with stacked boxes. A larder to his left was filled with more beer, tap kegs, booze, and other supplies, and a tiny food and dishwashing area was to his right. The Latin guy who had been smoking out in the alley glanced at him with tired eyes from an industrial-sized dishwasher. Pike stepped into the door, and spoke quietly.

“Police. We’re going to arrest everyone here, but you can go. Walk away now.”

One look at Pike, the man did not hesitate. He put down his towel, squeezed past, and immediately left the building. Pike locked the door behind him.

Farther along the hall was a small dressing room for the dancers, a couple of restrooms, and a swinging door. The restrooms and dressing room were all empty. The dressing room smelled of mildew. Pike heard voices coming from the front of the club, but no music or other sounds.

Pike pushed through the swinging door. The lights were on, the stage was empty, and the music was off. The three men from the parking lot were crowded around a bar table with a fourth man and Vasa, who was holding a wet towel to his face. The furry man was behind the bar, maneuvering a beer keg into place. Pike had entered so quietly the men at the tables did not hear him, but the furry man caught the movement, and stood.

He said, “We’re closed. You’ll have to leave.”

The men at the tables all looked over, and Vasa saw Pike. He lurched to his feet as if someone had kicked him.