Pike said, “Up in the canyon. Angeles Crest. Jon?”
“I know where.”
Cole held out his hands for the boy.
“Here, I’ll take him.”
“I got him.”
“How you going to drive, just you?”
“Go.”
Stone ripped away before the door was closed, throwing up gravel and dust.
Pike ran hard to his Jeep, and saw the oncoming flashers as he pulled into traffic, heading for the mountains, the old guys at Mom’s Basement watching him peel away. Three sheriff’s cars flashed past a quarter mile later, so Pike pulled to the right like everyone else. The kid was scared, and screaming, and Pike felt bad for it. He repositioned the little guy on his shoulder, and patted his back.
“It’s okay, buddy. Gonna be fine.”
They slipped under the Foothill Freeway, and climbed into the Little Tujunga Wash. The road rolled through the bottom of the ravine, and something about the motion settled the boy. He lifted the big head to look around.
Pike drove exactly six-point-two miles up the canyon, then turned onto a gravel road. He knew the distance because he made the drive often, coming up to the middle of nowhere to test-fire weapons he had repaired or built. He followed the gravel another two-point-three miles over a gentle rise, and saw Stone’s Rover parked on the flat crest of the hill. Stone and Cole were already out. Yanni was belly-down on the ground, and Rina was cross-legged beside him, hands still cuffed behind her back.
Pike turned to join the Rover, and the rocky ground crunched beneath his tires. The earth was littered with thousands of cartridge casings. Maybe hundreds of thousands, or millions. Most so old and tarnished, their once gleaming brass was black.
Cole came over as Pike got out with the boy, and painted him with a ragged smile.
“We could be professional babysitters. I hear there’s good money in that.”
“He’s loud.”
The boy arched his back again, and turned to see Cole. Cole wiggled his fingers and made a face like a fish.
“Cute kid.”
The baby broke wind.
Pike glanced at Yanni and Rina, and lowered his voice.
“Is she the mother?”
“None of that was true. They work for Jakovich. I don’t know who his parents are, but she isn’t the mother. Maybe Grebner was telling the truth.”
“Is Darko the father?”
“All I know is she isn’t the mother. Ana told a friend named Lisa Topping that Rina couldn’t have children because she was cut. That’s probably why she was so protective. That’s the only part of Rina’s story that was true.”
Pike watched Rina while Cole described what he knew and how he knew it. Rina had told the truth about Ana and their relationship, and about being a prostitute for Serbian mobsters, but she worked for Jakovich, not Darko. Rina Markovic had lied about damn near everything, and had been good at it, mixing her lies with the truth the way all the best liars do. Pike nodded toward Yanni.
“What about him?”
“Real name is Simo Karadivik, originally from Vitez. That’s Jakovich’s hometown. Yanni there-Karadivik-is one of Jakovich’s enforcers. He shows three arrests back in Vitez, and two under his true name since he arrived in Los Angeles. That’s why nothing popped up when I ran his alias. Janic Pevich doesn’t exist.”
Pike realized he had a long way to go before the kid was safe. Everything he thought he knew was lies, and the only truth seemed to be that Darko and Jakovich hated each other, and were willing to murder a ten-month-old baby to further that hate. Pike sensed this was something he could use, and stroked the baby’s back.
“Is his name really Petar?”
“I don’t know.”
Pike considered Rina and Yanni as he stroked the boy’s back. Her legs were twitching as if a nervous fire burned in her belly. Yanni’s face drooped, making him appear sleepy, but his eyes tocked from Pike to Stone to Cole like gleaming ferrets in twilight caves. They were scared. That was good. Pike wanted them scared.
The boy quivered, and, a moment later, Pike smelled a strong odor.
“He messed himself.”
“How do you know?”
“I felt it. Now I can smell it.”
Pike thought for a moment.
“We need to get some stuff for him. We have to get something for him to eat, too. He’ll get hungry.”
Cole came around and stood in Pike’s line of sight, blocking his view of Rina and Yanni.
“Are you serious? We can’t keep this kid.”
“I’m going to keep him until he’s safe.”
“I know people in Children’s Services. I’ll call someone.”
“When he’s safe.”
Pike rubbed the boy’s back, then held him out to Cole.
“Take him, okay? He’s getting cold. Get whatever he needs, and we’ll hook up back at your place. You can take my Jeep. I’ll ride with Jon.”
Cole glanced at Yanni and Rina, and Pike saw he was worried.
“What are you going to do with them?”
“Use them.”
“For what?”
“To meet Jakovich. I have something he wants.”
Cole considered Pike for a moment, then took the boy. Pike watched them go, not moving until the Jeep disappeared. Pike wanted Cole gone, and now he was, so Pike walked over to his prisoners. He took Yanni’s arm, and Stone pitched in, and they pulled the big man into a seated position. Yanni didn’t make eye contact, but Rina straightened her shoulders.
She said, “You are making mistake. Petar is mine. Why are we tied up like this?”
Pike didn’t say anything. There was no point. He had crossed paths with so many people who did and would do the most heinous atrocities that none of it left much of an impression anymore. Here was this woman, and she would have murdered a child. Here was someone named Jakovich, who had probably ordered her to do it, and Darko, the same. People willing to do this terrible thing.
Pike stretched his back where Yanni shot him. It hurt. He thought the impact had probably cracked a rib.
“Whose baby is it?”
“Is mine!”
“No, not yours.”
“I am saying the truth. What you think is happening here? Why are you acting like this?”
Stone prodded Yanni with the M4.
“Maybe because this asshole shot him.”
“That was a mistake. He got confused.”
Pike looked at Yanni.
“Was shooting me a mistake, Simo?”
Yanni’s eyes fluttered at the mention of his true name.
“I get confused. Who is this Simo?”
“A soldier for Milos Jakovich. From Vitez.”
“This is not me.”
“Ran your prints, Simo. We know.”
Rina’s voice grew.
“I don’t know why you are saying this things. I am the mother-” Pike drew the.357, put it to Yanni’s head, and pulled the trigger. The blast echoed off the surrounding hills like a sonic boom. Rina jerked sideways, and shrieked, but Yanni simply slumped.
Jon Stone said, “Ouch.”
Pike thumbed the hammer, but he did not have to ask Rina again. The words spewed from her like lava.
“No, no, no, no-is not mine, isn’t, but is Milos’s. That is why Darko take him. It is true.”
“You work for Jakovich?”
“Yes!”
“Jakovich is the father?”
“No, no! The grandfather! He is the boy’s grandfather!”
These people lied so much they might not even remember the truth.
“Where’s the boy’s father?”
“He is dead! In Serbia! The boy is here because he has no one else. Even the mother is dead.”
The newest story rattled out, but this time Pike believed her. Milos Jakovich’s actual and only son was a forty-two-year-old man who had been incarcerated in a Serbian prison. Petar had been conceived during a conjugal visit, only to have his mother die in childbirth. Two months later, the boy’s father, Stevan, was murdered in his cell by a Bosnian-Croat who was serving time for the mass murder of sixty-two Bosnian Muslims at the Luka detention camp. This left Petar Jakovich as the old man’s lone remaining male heir, so he had the boy shipped to the U.S.