Robert Crais - The Watchman

“Yes.”

“Here’s what I think-I think the feds already know who they are. I think they just want us out of the picture.”

“You’re probably right, John.”

“I don’t get it. So they’re drug dealers. Why would the feds care if we ID some assholes from Ecuador? Our people work with international agencies all the time. I know some narcotics guys, they spend so much time in Mexico they damn near live there.”

Pike was wondering the same. Money laundering was money laundering whether the money came from Jersey mobsters or drug lords in Ecuador. The energy the feds were burning to cover their case against the Kings made less sense by the hour, and didn’t require freezing out the police. Pike trusted none of it. He believed Pitman was covering something else, but he didn’t know what.

Chen said, “You think if I ran the Eagle Rock and Malibu prints through Interpol, I’d get a hit? That would be a major coup, bro. That would be excellent.”

“Better to let it rest, John.”

“Better?”

“Let it rest, we might find it’s larger than we think.”

“You’re not telling me everything, are you?”

“I don’t know everything yet. I know some, but not all. I’ll tell you more when I know.”

Chen grunted, the grunt saying he was okay with gambling on an even bigger payoff down the line.

“Let me ask you something-these guys from Ecuador, what are they doing up here?”

Pike gave the best answer he could.

“Dying.”

Pike closed his phone, then glanced at the girl. She was watching him again.

“The full name is Esteban Barone.”

“It still doesn’t ring a bell.”

“The men trying to kill you work for Barone.”

“I thought they worked for Meesh.”

“He’s in business with Meesh. That’s what Pitman claimed-that Meesh was up here investing South American money.”

When she didn’t respond, Pike looked at her. She was staring at him in the same thoughtful way she had all morning, but now she didn’t look away.

She said, “I need to ask you something-what you said last night, that I want to be seen. Why did you say that?”

Pike thought it was obvious.

“You feel invisible. If no one sees you, you don’t exist, so you find ways to be seen.”

A soft line appeared between her eyebrows, but she didn’t seem angry or insulted. Pike thought she looked sad.

“I’ve been in therapy since I was eleven. You’ve known me three days. Jesus, am I that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“How? Because I was dancing on the bar? Go see what they do at Mardi Gras.”

Pike thought about it to give her an example.

“In the desert. How you looked at your father. Not looking to see him, but to see if he was paying attention. He was focused on Bud and his lawyer and me, so you would say something outrageous to get his attention. You needed to have him see you.”

She glanced out the window.

“I don’t care if he sees me or not.”

“Not now maybe, but once. You wouldn’t need it so badly if you didn’t care.”

She looked back at him, and now the line between her brows had softened.

“And you can see all that by watching me?”

“By seeing you. There’s a difference.”

“And how is it you see so clearly?”

Pike thought about whether or not he wanted to answer. Pike was a private man. He never talked about himself, and didn’t care much for people who did, but he figured the girl had a right to ask.

“My folks and I would be watching TV, my mom and dad and me, or we’d be eating, and something would set him off. My old man would knock the hell out of me. Or her. I learned to watch for the signs. How his shoulders bunched, the way his lips pressed together, how much booze he poured. Half an inch more in the glass, he was ready to go. Little things tell you. You see them, you’re okay. You miss them, you go to the hospital. You learn to watch.”

She was silent, and when Pike glanced over, her face was sad.

She said, “I’m sorry.”

“Point is, I saw the play between you and your father. You needed something from him you weren’t getting, and probably never had.”

Pike glanced at the girl. She was still watching him.

She said, “Thanks for seeing me.”

Pike nodded.

“Bud told Gordon and my father you would protect me. My father, he just looked at Gordon. Gordon, he just wanted to know how much. But Bud told him you were the one. I guess you are.”

Pike continued driving.

“Bud say anything else?”

“Just that he had worked with you. That we could trust you. He said you would get the job done. He guaranteed it.”

Pike took that in without comment or expression, hiding his sadness from the girl as he hid most everything else.

THE SHORTSTOP LOUNGE

0720 HOURS

The Shortstop was an LAPD tradition. Located on Sunset Boulevard in Echo Park, midway between Alvarado and Dodger Stadium, the Shortstop Lounge was convenient to Rampart Station and the police academy. Birthday parties were celebrated between dark wood walls lined with badges and department patches, as were divorces, retirements, promotions, memorials, and the supercharged hyper-life moments whenever an officer survived a shoot-out. Careers began at the Shortstop. Careers also ended.

At 0720 hours on his day off, Pike sat at a small table, the only man seated alone, ignoring the tense glances and comments. Pike had expected worse, but he was good with it. He had chosen this place to see Bud Flynn.

Pike now had three years, four months, and change on the job. His boot year ended twenty-eight months earlier. Of his academy classmates, Pike was the first and only to kill another human being in the line of duty, a distinction about which he held mixed feelings. Five weeks ago, he had become the first of his class to kill a second man. This second shooting occurred on a brutal afternoon at the Islander Palms Motel, a ragged roach trap where, by his own admission before an LAPD Board of Review, Joe Pike caused the shooting death of a decorated twenty-two-year LAPD veteran named Abel Wozniak while defending the life of a pedophile named Leonard DeVille. Abel Wozniak had been Pike’s partner. They had sat together at this same table many times, but now that was done.

BOARD OF REVIEW Inquiry into shooting death of Officer Abel Wozniak

Timeline of events (from the findings): 0925 hrs: Ramona Ann Escobar (5 yr, female) abducted fm Echo Park Lake 0952 hrs: APB Escobar; suspct L. DeVille, knwn pedophile, in area 1140 hrs: Ofcs Wozniak amp; Pike learn loc. of DeVille, seen by wit w/ minor female child 1148 hrs: Ofcs Wozniak amp; Pike arrv Islander Palms Motel 1152 hrs: Ofcs Wozniak amp; Pike enter DeVille rm; question DeVille; find photographic evidence of Escobar, but child is not present (note for record: evidence inclds photos of minor female Escobar sexually abused by DeVille) 1155 hrs: Ofc Wozniak threatens to kill DeVille unless DeVille produces girl; Ofc Wozniak strikes DeVille with service pistol (note for record: examining ER physician confirms DeVille injuries consistent) 1156 hrs: Ofc Pike attempts to calm Wozniak with no success; Ofc Wozniak aims weapon at DeVille; Ofc Pike intervenes 1157 hrs: Ofcs Wozniak amp; Pike struggle; weapon discharges; Ofc Wozniak DOA at scene (note for record: SID, CI amp; ME exam results consistent) (note for record: Ofc Woz prior hist. w/ suspect DeVille; two arrests) Finding: Accidental Discharge. No charges brought in above matter .

By seven-thirty that morning, the Shortstop was filled with night-watch officers anxious to burn off the street before heading home. Pike ignored the way they looked at him, the cop who had caused his partner’s death protecting a pedophile.

Bud had the grim look of a gunfighter when he entered the bar, thumbs hooked in his belt. He was one of the few officers present who still wore his uniform; everyone else had showered and changed at the station. His jaw was tight, and his mouth was a hard, lipless crevice. Bud squinted around the room, searching the crowd until Pike raised a hand. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks. Since before it happened.