“You’re being awful pessimistic,” Frankie commented.
“No, just realistic,” Art countered.
“So, what? We take this nowhere?”
Art’s face twisted in a grimace. “No, we take it. But we have to approach this as if Barrish is just a possible source of information — not a suspect. Otherwise Horner will be down on our asses for harassing Barrish quicker than either of us can spit.”
Malcolm Horner, the judge who had reluctantly dismissed charges against the leader of the AVO, would probably like to see him staked out on a hot day in the desert and left for the buzzards. But that was a desire, not the law, and Frankie knew from experience in the judge’s court that it didn’t matter if you were a racist or if you wore a badge — if you violated someone’s constitutional rights you were likely to feel his wrath. Barrish was cleared of a crime Frankie knew he was guilty of, and even insinuating that he was still being investigated for such would violate the constitutional guarantee against double jeopardy.
“Are we going to talk to him?” Frankie asked.
Art tapped the top of the car and climbed in, his partner following his lead. “As soon as I get out of these sweats and into something decent.” He motioned to the road, signaling his partner to head for his place. “And as soon as we can find him.”
“I heard he lost his house and just about everything else,” Frankie said.
“He has to be somewhere.”
“And how do we find him?”
“The same way we find every self-respecting criminal,” Art said. “Through his lawyer.”
SEVEN
Oil and Water
Chimps were not peaceful, cuddly little creatures, Toby thought as he watched the simians battle and fornicate in the Los Angeles Zoo enclosure they knew as home.
“You know what these little guys remind me of, Stan?”
“Don’t,” Stanley said, avoiding looking at his brother. “Dad doesn’t like that kind of talk.”
“I know, but he’s not here. Lighten up.” Toby ribbed his brother with an elbow. “Hey, maybe these little suckers are the guys we’re supposed to meet. Huh?”
Stanley turned away from the exhibit and leaned his back against the railing, watching the families and groups of friends stroll lazily by. A typical Sunday, the kind he had never known. “Toby, I think they’re here.”
Toby held his position, still watching the animals with amusement. “Turn around, Stan. Be cool.”
“There’s three of them,” Stanley said after turning back to the chimps. “One is hanging back.”
“Be cool,” Toby said, sensing with little difficulty the shake in his brother’s voice. “Don’t talk unless I tell you to.”
“All right.” Gladly.
Darian Brown walked without fear toward the two men who could only be there to see him.
“The banker,” Mustafa Ali observed as he walked with his leader. Thirty feet behind, standing near a popcorn vendor, Brother Roger was watching closely, noting the same thing. All three men had guns, but it was Roger’s job to be aware of any attempt by police or anyone else to accost them. Bullets are better than bowing.
“I’ll handle this,” Darian said. His .357 was within easy reach under his loose coat.
Toby leaned easily on the railing, his hands clasped as they drooped over the metal bar. Stanley was to his left, and in an instant there were two Africans assuming the same position as he to his right. “Nice day.”
Darian looked left at the one who spoke. He wore a baseball cap and dark glasses, as did the second one farther down. Simple measures to conceal their identity, but effective. All he could tell was that they were white, and that was enough. “You look different than when you dropped by our place.”
“It’s called shaving,” Toby said, looking right.
“And the little boy?” Darian asked.
“He’s with me,” Toby answered, still meeting the African’s unseen stare. “We’re here to do business.”
“Well, I’m here deciding whether I should trust you or kill you,” Darian said, seeing the second white boy finally look his way.
“And what’s your decision?” Toby asked without hesitation.
“We’re not cops,” Stanley said, earning himself a brief, slow look from Toby.
“Cops?” Darian chuckled, showing some teeth now. “Yeah. You two.”
“Look, you said you guys would be interested in something big,” Toby said with measured impatience. “As long as it was worth your while.”
“Big is good,” Darian quasi-agreed. “But why don’t you just do it yourself?”
“Let’s just say that one of our group draws attention real easily,” Toby answered. “We can supply the weapons and the plans, but we need the muscle.”
Darian let the smile soften to barely a grin. “Muscle, huh? Like these well-developed calf muscles of mine?”
Toby smiled fully. “Hey, why fight nature?”
The prick at least didn’t waver, Darian thought. “So why should we do this for you?”
“Not for…with,” Toby corrected. “Hey, we have one very big thing in common: we both reject the rule of our so-called government.”
“Without a doubt,” Darian agreed.
“We want to start hitting them hard,” Toby explained. “Doing big things.”
“Things?” Darian asked. “I didn’t know this was more than a one-shot deal.”
“Are you saying you won’t go for doing more?”
“That depends on what more is,” Darian answered. “ ‘Cause I don’t even know what you want us to do in the first place.”
Toby held back for a moment, knowing he couldn’t give the Africans everything at once. “Does killing a shitload of folks, mostly white ones, sound like anything you’d be interested in?”
This motherfucker was for real, Darian was beginning to think. “Define a shitload.”
“A couple thousand,” Toby clarified. “All at once.”
Darian considered the white boy’s proposal. He hardly knew anything about him or the group he supposedly belonged to. Probably one of those freedom-fighting, tax-protesting bunches. But what he was saying definitely had possibilities. Big ones. It might be just the way to get his group’s militant actions off to a thunderous start… if this all wasn’t just hot air.
“Maybe more than that,” Toby added as further incentive. “What’ll it be?”
Mustafa leaned in and whispered something to Darian, pulling back after a brief exchange. “If we do this thing for you, we want the credit.”
“That’s no problem with us,” Toby said. That would only move their plan along all the faster. “We’re interested in the end, not applause.”
“I need applause,” Darian said. “I like applause.”
“This’ll get ‘em for you,” Toby assured quite truthfully. “And after this first job?”
“After the first one we’ll talk,” Darian said.
“Fair enough.”
“When is this going to happen?” Darian asked.
“The day before Thanksgiving.”
Darian nodded. “I like it. And the details? Like the money?”
“Both on Friday,” Toby answered. “How do I reach you to set up a place and time?”
Darian hesitated just a moment, feeling Mustafa shift behind him. “Cannon’s Liquor on South Vermont. Call there and tell them you’re leaving a message for Brother D. Leave a number and I’ll call you back.”
Smart and safe, though it would mean waiting by a phone booth for a callback from the African. “Okay.”