“We can eliminate any franchises,” James provides. “You’re required to pay royalties, and you run the risk of inspections.” I nod. “That’s good. So?”
“It’s better than nothing,” Alan agrees. “Start printing, James. We’ll divvy it up and see what we see.”
Five miles yields nothing. Excitement wants to die, to become discouraged, but we’re used to this. Sift through the useless, nine out of ten times you find nothing but more useless. One time in ten you find a diamond. We’ve all found enough diamonds over the years to keep going.
We widen the diameter to ten miles. Alan grinds his heavenly grounds and brews coffee for all of us except James, who drinks green tea. He’s always been that way. I’ve never seen him drink whiskey or Coke or take a sip of coffee. Tea and water, that’s it.
When it does appear, it stands out in neon, and it makes my stomach dip. It’s too simple, far too cute, and it makes me wonder again about Dali and the truth of what drives him.
Meet Storage Solutions, the entry says.
I’m just storing meat. Those were his words.
I check the distance. Just eight miles away from the library.
“I think I have it,” I tell them.
I explain. Callie makes a face of disgust. “‘Storing meat’? Gross.”
James takes the address and types something into his computer. A page comes up with a list of facts. “It’s been in business for more than twenty years. The building itself has been there longer than that, but not by much.”
“He could have converted an existing structure,” Alan points out. “Lot cheaper to do that in Los Angeles.”
“Building permits were pulled twenty years ago,” James confirms. “Doesn’t say what they were for, but there were quite a few. The building was a concrete structure from the beginning.” He taps a few more keys. “No income information. That’s all I have. Not enough to be sure or to get a warrant, on the face of it.”
“Let’s go see it,” I say. “I’ll know if it’s the place, and my testimony will get us a warrant if it is.”
Space exists at a premium in Los Angeles, as with any large city. The best butts up against the worst, as all try to live in relative harmony. The address we find ourselves at sits on a large lot on a side street off Victory Boulevard. Next to the structure is a fenced-in, boarded-up gas station. A sign asks patrons to PLEASE BE PATIENT WHILE WE UPGRADE OUR FACILITIES! The sign is rain-battered and sun-faded, as though the upgrade of the gas station is long forgotten.
A half block away is Victory Boulevard, busy at all times of the day and night. Just around the corner is a bustling adult-video store, a fish-and-aquarium shop, and a haberdashery, just to name a few. Most signs are in English, some are not, but other than the gas station, every storefront seems occupied.
We’ve parked on a side street, and I stare at the structure from a distance. I’m standing outside the car. It’s late afternoon now. The sun is still up but is lower in the sky, and a cool breeze kisses my baldness.
Is that it? Is that where it happened?
The fence looks the same, but I’m starting to understand just how little I actually got to see. Dali’s brilliance, as James had said. The chain-link gate is padlocked.
“Well?” James asks.
“I can’t get the angle I need to be sure.”
“Then get the angle you need.”
I raise an eyebrow. Sweat beads on my upper lip. I am a dichotomy of emotion. Flippantly afraid. “You mean climb over? That’s breaking the law, James.”
He looks away. “Leo Carnes was an agent. You’re an agent. If we don’t make someone pay for this, then we’re all in danger. I’m going to emulate Dali’s pragmatism on this one.”
I look at Callie and Alan. “How do the two of you feel about this?”
“Hell is freezing over.” Callie winks. “I agree with James.”
“You know where I’m at,” Alan says.
I examine my injured finger, flexing the hand. It hurts.
“I don’t think I can climb it.”
“We could cut the lock,” Alan offers.
“No. What if he’s there and watching the entrance? Even if he’s not, what if he comes back while we’re trying to get a warrant, sees that we’ve cut the lock, and bolts?”
“Good point. Then what?”
I use my hand as a visor, scanning the surrounding area. The gas station sits to the right. “What if we cut the lock to the gas station instead?”
We find a hardware store just a block away and buy a pair of bolt cutters. We cut the chain rather than the lock, so we can make it seem as though the fence is still buttoned up tight. “Here goes nothing,” I say. I enter the lot.
I make my way past the side of the station, parallel to the Meet Storage Solutions building, until I reach the back of the lot. I put my face close to the chain-link fence and peer at the concrete structure. I see a roll-up door that’s big enough to let a car through. I turn around, putting it and the fence to my back. I crouch down, trying to get myself to the level I would have been when I was in the trunk. I stare at the sky, searching for certainty. I see nothing I could swear to recognize under oath.
But you know this is the place. Do what’s right.
In my years as an agent, I have always prided myself on the truth that never once have I bent the law to serve my own ends. Searches have always been preceded by a warrant cleanly gotten. Arrests have always included a reading of rights, and those rights have been respected.
What’s a little lie if the plan is to kill him anyway?
Something inside me answers, but I block it out. I walk back to the front of the lot and exit the gate.
“This is the place,” I say. “This is where Dali took me.”
“Goooood,” Callie purrs. “Let’s go get our warrant, my hubby’s team, and a bunch of guns.”
I’m going to voice my agreement when we hear a loud bang, as from a gunshot. Everyone reaches for their weapon.
“That came from the Meet Storage building,” Alan says.
“Sounds like probable cause to me,” I say. “James, cut the lock.”
He doesn’t hesitate—none of them does—and this, if nothing else, gives me pause. I am the leader. The shot caller. We should call it in, ask for backup. Let the guys with the big guns do the job they’re trained for.
Another gunshot goes off, obliterating my doubts. We draw our weapons. Another gunshot.
“Jesus,” Alan mutters. “What if he’s executing prisoners in there?”
“Go!” I say.
James shoves the gate open and we make a beeline for the building’s front door. I try the knob.
“Locked!” I whisper. I wave to the right. “Let’s go around.”
We head at a dead run toward the right side of the building. Sweat runs freely down my scalp. My heart hammers in my chest. My teeth chatter, and I feel cold and hot at the same time.
We get to the roll-up door. “Try it,” I tell James.
He reaches down and, to our surprise, it opens without difficulty.
I recognize the space immediately. My heart does a jig. This is where the darkness came.
“This is where he brought me,” I say. “Entry into the main part of the building is through that door.”
James rushes forward and tries it. Again, it opens without a problem. My finger throbs and, for a moment, I wish I could take a Percocet after all. Bells of alarm clang away in my head.
“Too easy,” I tell James, putting my free hand on his back. “Let’s go slow.”
He frowns back at me. Nods. He takes the lead, entering. I am behind him. Callie and Alan are behind me. We head down the hallway, passing the three doors that I remember, turning right to find the stairs. We climb the stairs until we reach the top. To the right is the door that leads to the hallway my cell was in. To the left is another door.