“Really? You boys’ll give him to me, just like that?”
I sat in the backseat as it all played out, stunned at Mack’s arrogance and bravado. Mack, you son of a bitch. You better not overplay your silly little game.
“I’ve been up all night on a surveillance. Just stopped in for some coffee to keep me awake on the ride home,” said Mack.
The tall cop turned to his partner. “I don’t want to give up a federal fugitive arrest. We don’t get them very often.”
The short one replied, loud enough only for his partner and not Mack to hear. “We get off in an hour, and I’m taking my wife and kids and my boat to Silverwood Lake. I’m not going all the way into LA. Fifty miles there and fifty back, that’s a hundred miles. No way. And on top of that, who knows how long we’ll be there booking this mope in?” He left his open door and came around to where his partner stood talking to Mack, their words too low to hear.
Mack shook his head, playing it to the hilt. He spoke louder than the others, loud enough for me to hear. “But I just came from LA, I don’t want to drive all the way back there.” He leaned over to the side and smiled at me. The two blue suits talked to him some more. The short one, talking fast using his hands, took some money from his uniform shirt pocket and handed it to Mack.
“Okay, I’ll run him in, but you guys are going to owe me,” said Mack.
The two cops came over, opened the back door. I slid out. They took off their cuffs and put on the ones Mack handed them. They escorted me over to Mack’s Thunderbird and slid me into the front seat. Mack stood by the open front door, sipping his coffee, and whispered, “You can thank me later for saving your ass.”
“Don’t let them look in my valise.”
Mack threw down the coffee. “Shit.” He walked fast over to the cop car. “Hey, what about his bag?”
The short cop had the valise out of the car on the hood, trying to jimmy the latch with a double-edged knife. Mack made it to his side and took hold of the handle. “I got this.”
“Wait a minute,” the short cop said. “What if there’s a couple of kilos of coke in there? This is our bust, and if there’s dope we can book him in our jail.”
Mack didn’t let go of the handle and stared down at the shorter man. “This isn’t Let’s Make a Deal. You only get to see what’s behind door number one if you take the body with it. And you said you don’t want to make the trip. So make your choice.”
The short cop hesitated, then shoved the bag toward Mack. “See you guys,” said Mack. He walked back to the car unrushed and got in. The two cops stood and watched. They had to be wondering if they’d made a mistake. Mack started up, dropped the handcuff keys in my lap, put it in drive, and pulled out onto the street.
I didn’t like the feel of steel on my wrists, not one bit, and fumbled to get them off. Mack took my last Sno Ball sitting on the dash and bit into the soft cake. He laughed with his mouth open. “Man, Bruno, you should have seen the look on your face when I told those two blue-bellies you had a murder warrant. I thought I’d pee my-”
I reached over and shoved the Sno Ball in his face. He wasn’t ready for the move. The car swerved and his head jerked around to look at me, flecks of coconut clung to his cheeks. I laughed. “Now that’s funny.”
He didn’t miss a beat. He laughed louder and playfully backhanded my shoulder.
I said, “Leon Byron Johnson-LBJ-you really thought hard on that one.”
“Hey, it was an impromptu thing.” Now he laughed so hard that we swerved inside the lane.
The mirth died a natural death as the serious business at hand sauntered in and smothered us both. The thought of those two kids in the hands of a freak. We drove into the night, down Waterman, to westbound on the I-10, the San Bernardino Freeway.
Mack said, “I hope you don’t have something I’m going to regret in that grip of yours.”
“Does it matter? Your ass is already hung out a country mile for aiding and abetting a fugitive.”
He shook his head. “Nope, I never ran you for warrants. I don’t know that you’re wanted. You’re just an informant that Chief Wicks asked me to work with.”
“Really? That’s your defense? We get caught, you’re going to burn along with all the rest of us chickens.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“You have any line at all on Jonas Mabry? Has he been in contact other than that note?”
“Sorry, not yet. You have any ideas on where we can start to look while we wait for him to make contact?”
Outside the car the dark freeway zipped by. We were passing through Colton. “I’ve got a couple of ideas. My mind’s mushy right now. I need a couple hours’ sleep.”
“You didn’t sleep on the plane?”
I didn’t answer. Who could sleep? I didn’t know what I’d find when I walked off the plane. And even if I’d made it that far, how long could I possibly keep moving around SoCal, where there were thirty- to forty thousand cops?
“I have us a room at The Fontana Valley Suites,” said Mack.
“I hope it’s a nice place. I’m not up for some fleabag with a swayed mattress and bed bugs.”
“It’s on the county’s dime, so you know it’s not going to be a five-star joint.”
“County’s dime? Are you crazy? You don’t want a record of me anywhere around you. If you have the county pay for it, it goes on the expense account report.”
He took his eyes from the road for a second, long enough to pick off some larger chunks of Sno Ball from his shirt and stick them in his mouth. “‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ my Aunt Millie used to say.”
“You fall down and hit your head or something? You nuts?”
He put on the turn signal and changed lanes right over to the off ramp exiting at Citrus. At the bottom of the ramp he turned right and then left at the first light to Valley Boulevard. He made a left turn into The Fontana Valley Suites’ parking lot. Dirty and dented cars predicted the décor I’d find in the room.
“Okay,” he said, “I need you to follow my lead.”
“Follow your lead? We’re just going for a quick nap, right? It’s four o’clock in the damn morning. What’s going on, Mack?”
“Take it easy, big man. I got a handle on this. Here, put on this ball cap and these glasses.”
I hated the Dodgers and he knew it. The glasses were stylish and clear. I checked the mirror behind the fold-down visor. The props did change my appearance. I looked a little like a stockbroker out for a weekend pretending to be a sports fan.
Mack pulled in and parked next to a black Toyota Camry with an Asian male sitting in the driver’s seat. Mack shut off the T-Bird. “Come on, you can have a couple hours, then you’re going to have to work some of this magic Wicks is talking about until Jonas contacts us.”
Mack knew how I worked. I’d met him on the Ruben the Cuban murder investigation nine months ago. In fact, when he and I finally ran Ruben down, Ruben threw a can of gas on Mack and was about to light him off, turn Mack into chicken flambé, when I’d intervened. Mack would have been a piece of shriveled-up charcoal.
We got out. Mack went up to the driver’s window of the Toyota. The window whirled down. Mack turned to me. “Leon, I’d like you to meet Special Agent Wu with the FBI.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FBI, really? My knees wobbled. I was too old and tired for this kind of bullshit. What the hell was Mack doing? Every FBI agent had to have seen my ugly mug on a wanted poster at one time or another. I put on my best game face, smiled, and reached out and shook Wu’s hand proffered through the window. “Nice to meet you,” said Wu.
“Likewise,” I said, and kicked the back of Mack’s leg.
“Ouch. Man, what was that for?”
“Sorry, didn’t see you there.”
Wu got out, stretched. “I see you guys have worked together before. So, Leon, you’re just joining this investigation?”