“Right. So?”
“So what most people don’t know is the percentage of contacted businesses of all types that support the SYP. You want to guess?”
“All businesses?”
“Right. Asian cleaners and restaurants, Hispanic mom and pops, Muslim shop owners, law offices, cigar stores, everybody. Take a stab.”
Hunt shrugged. “Forty percent.”
“Close,” Gina said. “A hundred percent.”
Hunt was silent for a long beat. “They’re selling protection,” he said.
“No, they couldn’t be,” Gina responded. “The city would surely bust them, would it not? Oh, except if they somehow had enough political influence to just let the practice remain a necessary evil, the cost of doing business here. The SYP is really doing a world of good for a lot of people, and that’s true. So businesses should be glad to pony up twenty bucks for such a good cause. Plus, they get the nice sign in the window.”
“That can’t be the entire Battalion.”
“No. It’s not. It’s only a few who go out if somebody doesn’t pay.
Trusted senior guys. In other words, professional muscle. On the payroll, and paid for by your tax dollars, by the way.”
“And you think Turner’s got access to these guys?”
“Not exactly. No.”
“Well, then…”
“Wyatt, I know it. Fifteen years you’re a public defender here, you learn a few things. These kids aren’t angels to begin with, you know. Como gives them the jobs, strictly legit, tutoring and cleaning up at Ortega, passing out political pamphlets and like that. Eventually the promising ones are in the Battalion, moving up, getting paid decent money. AmeriCorps money, by the way. Life’s good. Turner picks a few every year and just tells them if they want to stay on, they’ll just do this or that. Break the window on this store, vandalize that flower shop, strong-arm some liquor store clerk. Otherwise, they go back to jail.”
“And Como didn’t know about this?”
Gina shrugged. “Maybe he did. I don’t know. But he wouldn’t have had to. Or maybe it was his cost of doing business and he thought it was a fair trade. Or maybe he just found out last week and he called Turner on it.”
“You’re saying Turner could have one of these Battalion kids kill for him?”
“I’m saying if I were Juhle or Russo, at least I’d try to rule it out. Oh, and if it turns out this is any part of it, I told Jeff Elliot I’d split the reward with him.”
“I’ll put that in my report if the time comes. With a strong recommendation.”
“I’ve got a strong recommendation for you.” Roake drained the last of her Scotch, and placed it down on the lamp table with finality. She reached over, took his hand, and stood up. “If you want to get the lights.”
26
It was by no means the obvious choice.
In fact, it was risky and desperate, but Mickey couldn’t think of another solution.
Alicia had abandoned her own digs. If Juhle and Russo were planning to put her under arrest, the next place they would look would probably be Ian’s, who was listed at Morton’s as her primary contact in case of an emergency. As she’d told Mickey, none of her girlfriends lived alone, so they were out. And once they realized that Mickey had disappeared from the hospital, they would undoubtedly come to his place. They could go to a motel, of course, but that was both expensive and impractical-they would have to register and he, with a black eye and his arm in a cast, would be easy to identify.
Eventually he formed his plan, and under his direction, she took the 280 Freeway to the Sixth Street exit and turned right onto Brannan, then made a U-turn and pulled into the depressed curb space outside an industrial roll-up garage door to a good-sized and completely darkened warehouse. Mickey got out into the now frankly bitter night and pushed the button on the box next to the metal door adjacent to the garage’s entrance.
When no one answered, he got back into the car and directed Alicia to turn right at the next corner, then to take another quick right into the alley behind Brannan. She pulled over and stopped by a low stoop under a darkened door that he knew to be painted bright orange by day. The light over the door, and all the windows in a row high along the wall, were dark. But Mickey knew where he was going as he got out of the car again and found the key right where it was supposed to be, tucked into a magnet case that was stuck against the upper inside edge of a floor vent on the side of the stoop.
He told Alicia to wait where she was. Then, opening the back door, he let himself into Hunt’s warehouse on the residential side. He deactivated the alarm, and then, turning on lights as he walked through the kitchen, den, hallway by the bedroom, he let himself into the massive basketball court side, then crossed to the door next to the garage and unlocked it. Retracing his steps, in spite of his gimpy walk, he was in seconds back in Alicia’s car, directing her down to the end of the alley, then through another couple of right turns back onto Brannan, and then waiting by the curb while he let himself in again, and pushed the button to raise the garage door. As soon as she was all the way inside, with Mickey getting her parked so she’d be out of the way of Wyatt’s Cooper, another push of the button let the garage door down.
Alicia let herself out of the car and stood dumbstruck, turning all the way around as she attempted to take it all in-the half basketball court, the guitars and audio stuff, the computers against the opposite wall. “Where are we?” she finally asked.
“My boss lives here. Pretty cool, huh?”
“Unbelievable.”
It may have been unbelievable, but it was also very cold on this side of the warehouse, and in another minute they were inside the living area, where the temperature was close to seventy degrees. Alicia found herself a seat in a leather- and-chrome reading chair in the den and Mickey went to help himself to a couple of beers from Hunt’s refrigerator. He brought back the Pilsner Urquells and a corkscrew that doubled as a bottle opener. “I could open these,” he said, “but I bet you could do it easier.”
“I bet I could too.” She opened both bottles, passed one to Mickey, who gingerly sat on Hunt’s tan leather couch. “So did I miss something?” she asked. “Does your boss know we were coming here?”
Mickey tipped up his bottle. “I don’t see how he could have, since I didn’t know it myself until about a half hour ago.”
“But-”
“Yeah, I know. It could be a problem, but I don’t think so. Wyatt’s a good guy and he’s on the right side. Besides that, and more important, Juhle wouldn’t ever believe that he’d be keeping you here. Not without telling him. And at least until there’s a warrant out for you, there’s no legal issue. You can stay anywhere you want.”
“So we’re staying here?”
“That’s my plan.” Mickey sipped more beer. “For a few days anyway. It’s the safest place I can think of. Plus your car’s off the street. Presto, you’re disappeared.”
“That’s scary.”
“Maybe. But a lot safer for you. And not just because of Juhle.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean whoever killed Dominic and Neshek. If they know you’re a suspect and you, say, show up dead, looking like a suicide, well, now, wouldn’t that be convenient?”
“Now you are scaring me.”
“Well, that’s one of the reasons I thought of coming here. You’re safe here. From everybody.”
Alicia digested that for a long moment. “So when is Mr. Hunt getting home?”
“I don’t know. Sometime.”
“You don’t want to call him and leave a message we’re here?”
“I don’t think so,” Mickey said. He didn’t want to give Hunt the option of ordering them out-not an impossibility-before he’d had a chance to argue for his position. “It might be better as a surprise.”