“The judge issued,” he said. “We’ve got an arrest warrant for Coleman Draper, on suspicion of transporting cash from the sale of narcotics to Mexico.”
“But let me guess. You can’t find him.”
“We staked out his home and business in Venice. He hasn’t shown in three days.”
Hood thought of the Laguna and the Azusa properties that Draper owned, and of Juliet Brown and Alexia Rivas. “I’ve got some ideas where he might be.”
“The next time your ideas are dangerous, Hood, wait for backup.”
“I thought it was then or never.”
“Bullshit. That was a Renegades thing to do. Trust me, Hood-life is much better when you’re alive.”
“I can’t argue that.”
“I’m teaming you up with Stekol. You two have one assignment-bring in Draper.”
Hood knew that Brian Stekol was the bald black man in the sharp suit who was driving Warren’s car the night Terry Laws had died. And that Stekol was a distinguished marksman on the LASD shooting team, and a black belt in judo.
“Whose whirlybird came to my rescue, Lieutenant?”
“A joint task force.”
“Which one?”
“Nobody will say because they poached on Mexican soil in order to salvage you.”
“Why do that for me?”
“They thought you were an Arellano Cartel captain, being chased down by Herredia’s bad guys. The task force had heard about a hot new tunnel-probably the one you found. If they’d have known who you really were, this would be a Mexican morgue and you’d be dead.”
Hood thought about this unsettling truth as they headed north for L.A.
Warren said that the joint task force had made no arrests the night of Charlie’s shooting, and had not questioned a single suspect. Not Draper, not Castro, not anyone. They had all scattered into the boulders and barrancas and tunnels on the Mexican side-the forbidden zone. The overturned SUV had Mexican plates and had been stolen off a street in La Jolla two years ago.
Warren’s real news was that Londell Dwayne had been released on bail the day before. His alibi with Patrice at the Palmdale motel had checked out and the murder rap for Terry Laws had been dropped. He was still up for the Mace and the machine gun and unlawful sex with a minor, but he’d come up with enough cash for the bond.
Hood dozed in the sun coming through the window. His pants got wet and he dug into his bag of tricks and changed the bandage. He had a brief glimpse of old age. It seemed better than the alternative. It was painful when he reached behind him to press the new dressing against his skin. A bullet hole is an ugly thing.
“I want that son of a bitch,” he said. “Draper.”
“If we share with the DEA they’ll nail his ass at the border if he tries it again.”
“No. I want him. For us.”
“That’s interagency rivalry, Hood. It’s selfish and counterproductive.”
“I know what it is. But the Feds don’t care about Eichrodt and Vasquez and Lopes.”
“I want him for us, too,” said Warren.
“Damn, this thing hurts.”
“Get some rest. Take a few days off.”
Hood got up early and drove around the city. The late winter light was beautiful in Silver Lake, and the Sunset Strip seemed docile in the early morning, and even the dark corridors of downtown had a wholeness he had never seen. He had breakfast, then drove up to Terry Laws’s ranch.
Delilah was a brindle pit bull, a former warrior by the look of her. She greeted Hood with a placid stare from the kitchen floor, where she lay beside Terry’s dog, Blanco.
“At first they wanted to kill each other, then they sniffed around and got friendly,” said Laurel. “Now I can’t keep them apart. Dogs need dogs.”
Hood held out one hand and the dogs came over and he bribed them with treats from a pet store. He bribed them more. He slipped a light nylon lead over Delilah’s head and wasn’t surprised that she barreled along beside him to the Camaro.
“Thanks for taking care of this,” said Laurel. “Terry loved dogs.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You going to be okay? Marlon told me.”
“Healing up already.”
She shook her head. “You guys don’t get paid enough. I mean that with all respect.”
“Then I take it that way.”
With Delilah on the passenger seat beside him, Hood headed north for Lancaster. Gradually the green of L.A. flattened into desert, and Hood saw the yuccas and sage, and the poppies beginning to bloom on the shoulders of the highway. He saw the subdivisions, some populated and some still being built, stretching for miles across the beautiful, affordable desert. He drove past the substation and the park. He realized he wanted to see all the things that he would miss if he had died back in Mexico.
Londell met him in the Subway parking lot. Hood got out of his car and brought Delilah but he had to let go of the leash when she spotted Londell. Londell ran toward her and swept her right off her feet. Hood had the thought that Londell ran differently from the shooter who had killed Terry. Londell looked like the shooter, but he didn’t move like him.
“Thanks.”
“Glad I could help.”
Londell kissed the dog on the nose and swung her around like a dance partner, then set her down. “I didn’t kill that muscleman.”
“I guess I should thank you.”
“And I’m gonna beat that machine gun rap,” he said. “I have no idea how it got there. I got no idea how to even use it. None of my prints are on it. No prints at all-wiped clean, right? My belief is the shooter framed me.”
“That’s not as ridiculous as it sounds.”
“It’s not ridiculous at all. What’s ridiculous is how beautiful Delilah is. Don’t she make you happy, just looking at her?”
“Well, she’s a good dog, Londell. Didn’t give me any trouble at all.”
“See you around the ’hood, Hood. Me and Patrice are going to get married soon as it’s legal. I’ll be a union man by then.”
That eve ning after dark, Hood and Stekol got a beat-up Taurus from the motor pool and drove to the Laguna Royale. They made Laguna in a little over an hour. They followed a resident into the parking lot and cruised the place but there was no M5 in sight.
But Juliet was working at Del Mar again.
“Hello, Rick.”
“I changed it to Charlie. But this really is Brian.”
She looked at them with accustomed doubt. She wore a black sleeveless dress and a string of pearls. “Still in security, or did you change your business, too?”
“It’s similar to security.”
“I hear a lot of lines.” She shook her head and escorted them to the bar.
“You’re moving kind of slow tonight, Charlie-Rick.”
“Dinged myself.”
“I’m reluctant to ask how.”
“Coleman knows.”
Hood opened his badge wallet and let her read the shield. She studied him more closely now. “Is he dead?”
“I doubt it.”
“You’re like him.”
“Not really.”
“I can’t talk until later.”
“Is he coming in tonight, Juliet? I need to know.”
“There’s a chance. He usually calls.”
“You tell me when he does. No reason for a scene here at work.”
“You’re like him.”
After Juliet’s work they sat at a corner table in the Marine Room. It was late and the evening was cool and downtown Laguna was quiet. Juliet had put on a black faux fox-collar coat that Hood found to be striking.
He told her they were IA, and what that meant within their department, and some of what he knew about Reserve LASD Deputy Coleman Draper. He told her about Draper’s home and business in Venice, his probable connection to the deaths of two men in Los Angeles County, his apparent affiliations with recently murdered Hector Avalos, and with Carlos Herredia’s North Baja. He told her that Draper was manipulative and potentially violent. He didn’t tell her about Alexia Rivas or the warrant for Draper’s arrest.
She looked at him and Stekol with genuine bewilderment but said nothing when Hood was finished. She sipped her wine and stared out the window.