She turned, spotted Bloom crawling over the broken glass toward the window, and shouted at her to stay down. But the repeater was back-the shotgun on steroids-ripping away at the chair and blowing out the lights. Rhodes signaled from the other side of the couch to hold her fire and take the shelling. After another barrage, the repeater shut down and the thunder faded out.
Lena could hear them priming semiautomatics in the hall and laughing like devils. Then the front door burst open and two men entered the foyer. They stepped through the French doors, eyeing the wreckage and searching for bodies in the darkness. And that’s when Rhodes reared up from behind the couch with everything his Glock had left. Thirteen rounds into the open targets. Thirteen shots finding their mark.
Lena unloaded her clip, the.45 pounding. She could see the two men taking fire and shooting at the phantoms in the room. The shadows in the night. Remarkably, they were still laughing when their pistols ran out. Still giddy until they finally dropped onto the floor. Then their bodies shuddered, their eyes blinked, and they lost their grip and passed into a sleep so dead, so silent and still, the blood stopped flowing from their wounds.
Lena gazed out the front door into the hall. A man sat on the floor leaning against the wall. She noted the wounds in his chest and stomach, the splintered wood on his suit jacket. As her eyes rose to his face, she realized that she knew him and that he carried a badge. The dead man had been Klinger’s young protege from Internal Affairs. The watcher, the listener-the one who helped Klinger do the dirty work at her house.
“You okay?” Rhodes called out.
“Yeah.”
She stood up and looked over at Rhodes in the muted light feeding into the apartment. The air was thick with plaster dust and the strong smell of fresh gunpowder. As she dusted herself off, she glanced at the two dead men on the floor but didn’t recognize their faces. When she turned to check on Bloom, her chest locked up.
Bloom wasn’t hiding behind the end of the couch. She wasn’t anywhere in the room.
Lena ran over to the window. The two guys she had shot through the glass were laid out on the ground, the fog sweeping over their dead bodies. Farther down the alley she could see a blur of motion rounding the corner.
“She’s making a run for it.”
“We’ll cut her off,” Rhodes said.
They raced into the hall, hit the stairs two at a time, and ignored Jones screaming at them in the lobby. Bursting through the doors, they looked up the street through the swirling clouds. Lena saw it and knew that Rhodes did too-Dobbs shoving Bloom into the Audi and jumping into the passenger seat, Ragetti throwing his gun on the dash and pulling out.
49
They were heading east on Westchester Parkway. Visibility was less than two car lengths through the murk, and the wipers on the Crown Vic were unable to sweep the ice-cold steam off the glass. All Lena could see through the windshield were the Audi’s taillights burning through the fog, then vanishing again. Rhodes pushed forward, concentrating on the road with both hands on the wheel. Every once in a while he would check the rearview mirror, hold the glance, then look back at the road.
“Who was in the Lincoln?” he said finally.
She turned and noticed that his eyes were fixed on the mirror again. When she gazed out the rear window, she understood why. The Lincoln was behind them, cruising eerily through the night with its headlights off.
“How long have they been back there?” she asked.
“Ever since we left Navy Street. Who’s in the car?”
“Chief Logan,” she said.
Rhodes opened the glove compartment and reached for his emergency pack of cigarettes. When he offered her one, she shook it off and watched him light up.
“Who else?” he asked.
“Somebody I didn’t recognize. Probably another empty suit from Internal Affairs.”
“Anyone else?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Barrera. He’s driving the car.”
It hung there for three or four beats. Out in the open and sharp as broken glass. Rhodes cracked the window, working his smoke and thinking it over.
“And you thought what?” he asked.
“That this is a guerilla war and I can’t tell who my friends are anymore.”
“They don’t call them guerillas these days, Lena. They’re insurgents.”
“Okay, then we’ve got two traitors with a hostage in front of us, and three insurgents behind us. If we try to shake the insurgents off our tail, we lose the traitors and the hostage. Does that sound any better?”
Rhodes looked at her and grinned. “Maybe we’ll get a drink later. Kick back and relax. I know a good bar down this way.”
The taillights broke through the fog bank, too bright and too close. Rhodes slowed down and got rid of the cigarette. They were passing signs for the Hollywood Park Casino and Race Track. The Avenue of Champions was lost in the mist just ahead. Lena suddenly thought she knew where Dobbs and Ragetti were taking Jennifer Bloom. When they made a right turn heading south, it became obvious.
The Cock-a-doodle-do was just two miles down the road.
“You see where they’re going?” she said.
Rhodes nodded. “The parking lot sweeps down from the building and sits against the 105 Freeway. Prairie runs over both. Across the street I remember seeing a vacant lot. I think we should park there and come in from the back on foot.”
Lena agreed. They had just reached the overpass and she could see the neon rooster glowing through the haze. As the building began to break through, she realized that the windows were dark, the parking lot underneath, empty. It was a Thursday night and the place looked like it had been shut down. Rhodes checked the mirror again. When Lena turned, she saw the Lincoln lose air speed and fade back until it disappeared.
Rhodes didn’t say anything, but appeared shaken by the image. Easing into the right lane, he let the Audi pull to the end of the lane divider and made his turn. The empty lot sat beside the building on the corner. Rhodes waited at the curb with the lights out until the Audi made its U-turn and doubled back. Once he saw the car pull into the lot at the Cock-a-doodle-do, he hit the gas and parked behind the building.
Lena climbed out and drew her pistol. Rhodes did the same and they moved swiftly and silently through the vacant lot. The traffic on the freeway was so light, Lena wondered if it hadn’t been shut down. She could see the pillars rising out of the mist at the back of the lot, the Prairie Avenue overpass clutching the clouds and holding them to the ground. As they approached, she saw the vapor in the air wash with bright light and realized that the Audi had driven off the parking lot at the Cock-a-doodle-do and was headed their way. Even worse, she could see a large object beneath the overpass. Something long and dark. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the shape took on more definition.
Dean Tremell’s limo was parked in the grass beneath the overpass.
She grabbed Rhodes and pulled him behind the first column. Tremell was there with his driver. She could see his son leaning against the hood with Klinger. The fact that it looked like a drug deal seemed only fitting for the CEO of a pharmaceutical company. But Lena knew exactly what was going on. Tremell was buying Jennifer Bloom. And Dobbs and Ragetti were making the delivery. The old man needed to talk to Bloom and find out who she may have spoken with. The interview would occur here because this was where he wanted the body found when he was through.
Lena felt the adrenaline spiking through her chest. She watched Klinger wave the Audi down the hill as he walked back toward the parking lot at the Cock-a-doodle-do. The clouds lit up with the approaching headlights. Lena moved to the other side of the column, watching Dobbs drag Bloom out of the car and throw her onto the ground. Bloom screamed, but it was pointless. And after a short time, she seemed to realize it herself and quieted down.