T. Parker - Cold Pursuit

"To tell you the truth," she said, "Andre's sell-by date was already up."

"You can do a lot better than him," said Hector. "And be careful of him. These roosters, when you ruffle their little feathers…"

"Thanks, Heck," she said with a weak smile. "Well, back on the chain gang!"

She gulped the water dramatically, messed up Hector's shining black hair, kicked McMichael's leg and edged back into her crowd.

Just after ten the Axelgaard brothers and two other men walked in, all smiles for the ladies in Teofilo's. One of the women held open the door and in walked the four men. The brothers were well muscled and walked with an air of importance. Mason- balding, mustachioed- wore a black leather sport coat and jeans. Golden-haired Martin, the U.S. Customs man, was dressed in a black suit that swayed expensively as he walked. The other two were Mexican and dressed for nightclubbing. Could be anything from DEA to cartel enforcers, thought McMichael; this close to the border, the lines got blurred.

Hector buried his face in a magazine. McMichael headed for the restroom on the other side of the room. He didn't think that Martin remembered him from the border crossing, which suggested arrogance and a low level of attention. McMichael had often found dull people to be the most explosive and, oddly enough, the most successful criminals.

Hector met him in the bathroom. McMichael leaned against the door and Hector hit the hand dryer. "If we stay, they'll make us," he said.

Hector nodded. "Let's wait outside and tail them."

"I'll get Raegan's keys. We're dead in the Ford."

They sat across the street in Raegan's ride, a little BMW sports car with nifty analog gauges and a red leather interior. An hour later, the brothers came out with two pretty women and got into a black Mercedes four-door parked in a red zone. The men took the front seats, women the back. A moment later the car slid away from the curb with a chirp of tires.

"Maybe the other two guys are looking for people like us," said Hector. "Is there a back way out of Raegan's?"

"Yeah, but she won't let customers use it."

"Smart girl. I wonder where the party is."

It was at the Hyatt, site of Jimmy Thigpen's attempted celebration back in December. The Mercedes pulled into self parking so McMichael did, too, finding a space far enough away to watch. The fab four walked across the lot, each brother coupled up with one of the women. The women both wore high-heeled shoes and their long blonde hair shone in the lot lights.

McMichael and Hector climbed out of the little car and followed at a distance, talking loudly about the Super Bowl- it would come down to defense and special teams if you asked Hector, McMichael braying about the underdogs and five points but sticking with the overs and unders for serious money.

They stopped and backed into the shadow of the big building when the brothers and their dates turned for the lobby.

"I don't think we're invited," said Hector.

They stood in the shadow for a while, watching an occasional car head past them for the parking lot. McMichael looked up at the clear sky and the stars sprinkled in the dark, saw a falling star and wished his son would become a good man.

"I wonder what Jimmy did with his cash," said Hector. "All those border runs. Something tells me he made a lot more than three hundred grand."

"Yeah," said McMichael. "If you're running cartel loads across the line with a Mack truck, you're in for some good money."

They had just stepped out of the shadows when a familiar Ford sedan glided down the drive toward the parking lot. Just instinct, then, as McMichael saw the radio antenna on top and pulled Hector back into the darkness.

They waited two minutes to see Jerry Bland come marching toward the lobby, dressed in a gray suit and carrying a leather briefcase. McMichael had to stare at him an extra beat just to believe his own eyes.

Half an hour later Bland strode back across the parking lot and let himself into the sedan as McMichael and Hector watched from the cramped little sports car. Bland swung the briefcase into the back, shut the door quietly and climbed into the driver's seat.

"He was in on it with Thigpen," said Hector. "That's why he's been riding your ass about what Jimmy knows. So worried about how his department is going to look. Assistant goddamned fucking chief of police."

McMichael just stared. Bland pulled from his space and swung onto the drive. McMichael started Raegan's car and followed a long way back.

"And he had IAD take those pictures of you and the nurse, just to keep you busy with something else," said Hector.

McMichael watched the sedan roll toward the boulevard. He let a Caddy that was leaving the hotel go in front of him, then a Porsche.

Then a clear picture cracked in McMichael's mind, like lightning in a black sky.

Boom.

"What about this, Hector- Pete went to Bland about Jimmy . That's why nobody else at San Diego PD ever knew. But Pete wondered why Bland didn't do anything. Pete wanted action. Bland put him off as long as he could, then had him shut up."

"How?"

"He went to the Axelgaards for help- it's their problem, too, right?- and they put him onto a clean cartel boy from south of the border- no prints, no record. Get him up for the job, get him back the same night. Pete got hit on a Wednesday night. That's Tijuana night. Everybody was in place. Clean."

"Bland," muttered Hector. "What's he do to earn his keep with these guys?"

"He's police protection upstairs, seventh floor," said McMichael. "He keeps the department off of Jimmy and the brothers. And what about the distribution end- they're moving seventy-five kilos of something through the border every week. It's got to make the streets here. Bland knows what Narcotics is up to- the assistant chiefs have full access to all department operations except IAD's. With him on the inside, the sellers know where the heat's going to be."

"Oooh," crooned Hector. "This is getting good in lots of bad ways."

"Why not?"

"I didn't say I didn't like it. Keep going, Mick."

"Let's get particular- Bland took care of Zeke at the party. He knew about Sally being with Pete five days a week and figured she was good to hang a frame on. He set her up with some stolen property. Like you said, I walked into the mess and got my picture taken. More diversion. More clutter."

"Sure. Okay."

"And I think you were right, back in Rattlesnake Gorge- these guys took out Angel because Victor would tell her anything to get a date. Victor's the liability but Angel paid the price. I like that. It lines up."

Hector exhaled, shaking his head. "None of them drives a wine-colored sport ute with Pete Braga plates."

"I can't explain that yet," said McMichael. "I'm going to lean on the dealership guy, though."

"How did Bland get the earrings out of Pete's place?"

"Same way the hitter got in. He just waited until Sally and Pete went on an errand."

"He wouldn't know the combination to the floor safe," said Hector.

"The earrings weren't in the floor safe. They were in the jewelry box in Anna's old dresser."

Hector looked hard at McMichael. "But why would Bland frame the nurse with a cheap hummingbird instead of the real one?"

"So he could pocket the real thing."

"Who spiked Pete's wine?"

"The hitter, on his way out," said McMichael. "Just like Bland told him to."

"The hitter, not the nurse?"

"No meperedine in Pete's system, right? That's because it was a postmortem spike. The drug wasn't for Pete, it was to implicate Sally. Just like the two fish clubs were for us. That's the beauty of it- Bland knew the layout at Pete's place, right down to the Fish Whack'r. I'm liking this, Hector. You're liking it, too, I know you are."