“Get down.”
Rina slumped down in her seat without question, but lifted her head enough to see.
The Beemer passed behind Pike’s Jeep and Cole’s Corvette, then turned onto the next row and parked by the sidewalk. The driver got out, stepped over a low hedge, then crossed the street. Pike made him for his late twenties, maybe average in height but with a heavy frame. He looked like a hitter, and probably thought he was good at it. He let himself into the building with his own key.
Pike said, “Here’s where you leave.”
Rina went directly to Cole’s Corvette, and got in as they had planned. She did not dawdle, stare, or draw attention to herself. Pike liked that about her.
Cole’s voice came from the phone.
“You want Jon to come in?”
“I’m good. Get her gone.”
Cole backed away, and cruised out of the parking lot.
The bagman was inside for less than ten minutes. For him, picking up cash from four prostitutes was just another stop in a day filled with stops—something to be accomplished quickly, and without wasted energy. The girls probably felt the same.
When the man merged from the building, Pike stepped out of the Jeep, but hung back to be sure he was returning to his car. When the man angled toward the Beemer, Pike made as if he was heading for a nearby car, but Darko’s boy never once looked at him. He passed in front of Pike within ten feet and swung around the Beemer’s rear end. As he opened the door, Pike closed the gap. When the bagman slid in behind the wheel, Pike came up along the passenger’s side, and lifted himself over the door and into the passenger’s seat.
The man lurched in surprise, but by then it was too late. Pike showed him the .357, down low so no one could see.
“Sh.”
The man’s eyes went wide as oncoming headlights, but he was a burly guy who was used to muscling people. He lunged for Pike’s gun, but Pike rolled his hands down and away with a minor wing chun deflection, and snapped the Python up hard into the bottom of the man’s chin, popping his jaw like a rat trap. The Python flicked again, and this time Pike hit him in the Adam’s apple.
The bagman clutched at his throat, choking. His face turned bright red.
Pike took the key from his hand, fit it into the ignition, the convertible top. He had to keep the button depressed throughout the process, but that was okay. His arm was a steel bar with his tattoo in the bagman’s face. Pike wanted him to see the red arrow.
Pike didn’t move or speak until the top was in place and the windows were closed, and neither did the bagman. He was too busy trying to breathe.
Pike said, “Grab the wheel. Both hands.”
He grabbed the wheel.
“Try to escape, I’ll kill you. Try to grab this weapon again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
“This is a mistake, my man. I don’t know what you—”
Pike backfisted him hard on his temple, striking so fast the man had no time to react. His head bounced off the window, and Pike caught him again on the rebound. The second backfist made his eyes flag.
Pike jerked him upright, then dug his thumb into a nerve bundle between the man’s ribs. The man moaned, and pushed weakly at Pike’s hand, so Pike hit him again. The man covered his head.
Pike said, “Grab the wheel. Grab it.”
The man grabbed the wheel with both hands.
“Try to escape, I’ll kill you. Try to take this weapon again, I will kill you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Jesus, stop hitting me. Please—”
“If you let go of the wheel again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
The man’s knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip. Blood from his mouth dripped onto his shirt, and the corner of his eye at his temple was swelling.
Pike said, “What’s your name?”
“Vasa.”
“I’m going to search you, Vasa. Don’t let go of the wheel. Do not r esist.”
Pike went through Vasa’s pockets, finding a black ostrich wallet, a Nokia cell phone, and four thin vinyl billfolds.
Pike said, “One from each girl?”
“Yes.”
“They have the money ready? You stop by, they give it to you?”
“You know who this belongs to?”
“Me.”
Pike thumbed through the bills, mostly hundreds and twenties, and counted out thirty-eight hundred. He tucked the money into his pocket.
“Where’s the rest?”
Vasa blinked at him.
“What rest? That’s it.”
Pike stared into Vasa’s eyes, and finally Vasa sighed.
“Under the seat.”
Pike found another seventy-three hundred dollars under the seat, and added it to the cash in his pocket. That made eleven thousand, one hundred dollars of Darko’s money.
Pike studied Vasa. He stared at Vasa so long, the man turned away.
“Why are you staring at me? Who are you?”
“My name is Pike. Say it.”
“You are Pike?”
“Say the name. Say it.”
“Pike. I say it. You are Pike.”
“Look at me.”
Vasa cringed as if he was certain Pike would hit him again.
Pike touched the arrow on the outside of his arm.
“See this?”
Vasa nodded.
“Tell me you see it.”
“I see it.”
“Where is Michael Darko?”
Vasa’s eyes grew into saucers again.
“I don’t know. How would I know?”
“Call him.”
“I don’t have his number. He is the boss. Why are you taking his money? This is crazy. He will kill you for taking his money.”
Pike studied Vasa a moment longer.
“Tell Darko I’m coming.”
Pike got out, taking the money, the wallet, the keys, and the cell phone.
Vasa said, “What am I supposed to do without my keys?”
Pike returned to his Jeep, and circled the parking lot until he pulled up behind the Beemer. He wanted Vasa to see his Jeep, too. He motioned for Vasa to roll down his window.
Inside the BMW, Vasa couldn’t roll down the window without the keys, so he opened the door.
Pike tossed out his keys, then drove away.
Pike drove exactly two blocks, then pulled to the curb, and lifted his cell phone.
“What’s he doing?”
“Getting on the freeway. Jon’s three cars behind him, and I’m behind Jon.”
Pike pushed hard to catch up.
27
THEY FOLLOWED THE BEEMER east across the bottom of the San Fernando Valley, Pike watching Cole and Jon Stone take turns behind the Beemer. The BMW drove steadily, in no great hurry to get where it was going. Vasa probably wasn’t looking forward to explaining what happened to Darko’s money.
They stayed on the Ventura Freeway past the Hollywood split, but took the first exit, climbing up Vineland past the aging shopping centers and strip malls of North Hollywood. Cole tightened up on the Beemer when they left the freeway, and Jon fell back. Ten minutes later, Cole once more spoke in Pike’s ear.
“Blinker. We’re turning up ahead on Victory.”
Neither Pike nor Stone responded.
Three minutes later, Cole spoke again.
“Turning again. A place called the Glo-Room. We’re going past to the first cross street.”
Jon Stone said, “Sweet. Strippers.”
Two blocks ahead, Pike caught a glimpse of the BMW turning, and spoke to Cole.
“Does she know the place?”
“She’s heard of it, but never been here. It’s one of the places she told me about.”
When Pike passed, he glimpsed Vasa’s convertible parked in a narrow parking lot alongside a black single-story building. A marquee sign jutted out from the front of the building, saying GLO-ROOM GENTLEMEN’S CLUB—AMATEUR NITE WED. Pike co
ntinued past to the first cross street, where the other two cars were waiting. Cole and Rina were already waiting in Stone’s Rover. Pike pulled in behind them, parked, then climbed into the Rover’s front passenger seat. Stone immediately turned down an alley to circle around behind the bar. The alley ran between the shops and stores that lined the main street and a long row of additional parking spaces and Dumpster bins.
Pike said, “Stop short.”
Stone stopped three doors away, parking behind a pet store. A white delivery van was parked behind the Glo-Room, though the only person they saw was a middle-aged Latin man in a stained white T-shirt. He was standing between the truck and the building, smoking.
Pike turned in his seat so he could see Rina.
“Darko owns this place?”
“One of his men own it, but, yes, it will belong to Michael. The other men run it, but Michael he get the money.”
“You know the people who work here?”
She shook her head, then shrugged.
“No, I don’t think so. I know of this place, but I never been here. Michael, he have three or four places like this. Maybe more.”
They started rolling again, and drifted past the delivery truck. They drove all the way to the next cross street, turned around, and came back from the opposite direction. They stopped with an easy view of the side lot and delivery truck. A back door used for deliveries and service help was cracked open on the alley, but the white van blocked the building’s interior from view. The BMW was parked outside a door on the side of the building, which appeared to be the bar’s main entrance. A dark gray Audi sedan and a silver Mercedes were parked near the Beemer, and now three men were standing outside the door. Two of the three were large guys wearing loose shirts that hung over their bellies. The third man was younger, with hard, muscular shoulders.
Pike turned enough to see Rina.
“Know them?”
“That one in the middle, maybe I seen him before, but maybe not. Other two, no, for sure.”
The one in the middle wore gold chains, and appeared to be the focus of attention.
Stone said, “You see it?”
Pike nodded.
Rina said, “See what?”
Cole said, “The muscle has a gun in his belt.”
The three men finished their conversation, then the two big men went into the bar, and the muscular guy walked back to the delivery van. He slapped the side twice, then stepped away as the van’s rear door opened. A burly guy with a monumental belly climbed out, showing a mat of dark hair on his arms and neck. He hoisted three cases of Budweiser, and brought them into the bar. The muscular guy leaned into the van, came out with three more cases, and followed him inside.
Rina said, “They steal the beer to sell, you see? He buy some, but he have people who steal.”
This fit with what George described. Darko resold merchandise stolen by hijack crews. Alcohol went to his clubs. Everything else went to fences and flea markets.
Pike tapped Jon’s leg, and Jon rolled on, cruising back to their cars. Everything moved quickly after their brief reconnoiter, which was how Pike liked it. Speed was good. In armed confrontations, speed was the difference between life and death.
Cole immediately put Rina in his car and left the area. Stone motored away, but would circle the block to approach from the front. Pike returned to his Jeep, immediately pulled into the alley, and parked behind the bar. By the time he got back, the van and the back door were both closed, but the door was unlocked.
Pike hit the speed dial on his phone for Jon Stone, and Stone answered with a single word.
“Go.”
Pike closed his phone, stepped inside, and found himself in a hall crowded with stacked boxes. A larder to his left was filled with more beer, tap kegs, booze, and other supplies, and a tiny food and dishwashing area was to his right. The Latin guy who had been smoking out in the alley glanced at him with tired eyes from an industrial-sized dishwasher. Pike stepped into the door, and spoke quietly.
“Police. We’re going to arrest everyone here, but you can go. Walk away now.”
One look at Pike, the man did not hesitate. He put down his towel, squeezed past, and immediately left the building. Pike locked the door behind him.
Farther along the hall was a small dressing room for the dancers, a couple of restrooms, and a swinging door. The restrooms and dressing room were all empty. The dressing room smelled of mildew. Pike heard voices coming from the front of the club, but no music or other sounds.
Pike pushed through the swinging door. The lights were on, the stage was empty, and the music was off. The three men from the parking lot were crowded around a bar table with a fourth man and Vasa, who was holding a wet towel to his face. The furry man was behind the bar, maneuvering a beer keg into place. Pike had entered so quietly the men at the tables did not hear him, but the furry man caught the movement, and stood.
He said, “We’re closed. You’ll have to leave.”
The men at the tables all looked over, and Vasa saw Pike. He lurched to his feet as if someone had kicked him.
“That’s him. The fuckin’ guy—”
The four men at the tables didn’t move. The muscular guy didn’t reach for his gun. They sat perfectly still.
Pike said, “I’m looking for Michael Darko.”
The oldest was a heavy man with large bones, thick wrists, and small eyes. Three of the four wore short-sleeved shirts, two showing skin that had been inked up with Eastern Bloc prison tats back in the old country.
The oldest man said, “I have never heard of this man. You have come to the wrong place.”
Two vinyl billfolds identical to the ones Pike took from Vasa were on the bar, along with a brown leather briefcase. Just sitting there, as if someone was in the middle of business when Vasa rushed in to tell his story. Pike moved toward the bar, and the muscular man stood.
He said, “Get the fuck out of here.”
When Pike reached the end of the bar, the furry man behind the bar shoved the beer keg aside and charged. He threw up his forearms like an offensive lineman blocking a defensive back, but Pike slipped to the side, pushed the man’s elbow down and away, caught his head, and rolled him into the floor. Third of a second once contact was made, and Pike was on his feet, watching the muscular man rush toward him in slow motion as the three other men, even more slowly, jumped to their feet.
The muscular man reached under his shirt even as he pushed past the tables. Pike did not try to stop the gun; he rolled his hand under the man’s wrist, drove the man’s arm over and back, and pulled him backward and down. Pike had the gun before the man slammed into the floor, and hit him on the forehead with it two hard times, even as Jon Stone’s voice cut through the gloom.
“Freeze, motherfuckers!”
The three men at the tables, on their feet now, raised their hands.
Jon stood just inside the door with an M4 carbine, painted up nicely in desert camo. Never taking his eyes from the men, Stone closed and locked the door, sealing the building. He grinned at Pike.
“Always wanted to say that.”
Pike checked the man’s pistol, then went through his pockets.
The man with the gold chains said, “What is it you want?”
Stone stepped forward, the grin suddenly gone, all fierce lines in full-on combat mode.
“Shut it, bitch. You will not speak unless spoken to.”
Pike found a wallet, keys, and cell phone, then stood away. He waved toward the floor with the pistol.
“Knees. Fingers laced behind your head.”
Stone kicked the nearest man down, and the others hurried into position.
Pike returned to the man with the enormous belly. His eyes were open, but unfocused, and he made no move to rise. Pike came away with a neat little .40-caliber pistol. He put everything on the bar with the vinyl billfolds, then returned to Stone’s prisoners, and searched them as well. None were armed, and none spoke while he went through their po
ckets, collecting their things.
When Pike finished, he returned to the bar and checked the vinyl billfolds. They were filled with cash. He opened the briefcase. More cash, a metal skimmer used to steal credit card information, and what looked like business papers. He put the two pistols and the other things he had taken from the men into the briefcase, closed it, then carried it back to the men. They watched him the way a cat trapped by a window watches a bird.
Pike said, “Darko?”
The older man shook his head.
“You are making a mistake.”
Behind them, Stone’s voice was soft.
“Maybe these fuckers were there that night. Maybe one of them gunned Frank.”
Pike said, “Vasa, do you remember my name?”
“You are Pike.”
The older man said, “You are dead man.”
Stone snapped the M4 into the back of his head. The man fell like a bag of wet towels and did not move. Vasa and the other man stared at his unconscious form for a moment, and now their eyes were frightened.
Pike dangled the briefcase, showing them.
“Everything Darko owns is mine. Darko is mine. This bar is mine. If you’re here when I come back, I’ll kill you.”
The other big man, the one still awake, squinted as if Pike was hidden by fog.
“You are insane.”
“Close this place now. Lock it. Tell him I’m coming.”
Pike left with the briefcase, and Stone followed him out. They went directly to Pike’s Jeep, then drove around the corner to Stone’s Rover. When they stopped, Stone opened the briefcase. He pushed the cash packs aside, and frowned.
“Hey, what is this shit?”
Pike fingered through the pages, clocking the columns of numbers organized by business, and realized what they had.
“Our next targets.”
He opened his phone to call Cole.
28
THEY MET BACK AT Cole’s house to go through the papers. Rina recog nized them immediately.
“They are gas stations.”
Stone said, “What the fuck?”
Cole thought the pages were bookkeeping ledgers, accounting for income from All-American Best Price Gas, Down Home Petroleum, and Super Star Service.