Cold Hit

Chapter 56

I headed back to the Shutters Hotel in Santa Monica. All the way there I kept my eyes on the rearview mirror. No white vans. No black Cadillacs.

Before transitioning onto the Santa Monica Freeway I pulled a lane change maneuver that an old motorcycle officer in the traffic division taught me. He swore it would shake any tail. You stay in the fast lane going about sixty and look for a pattern in traffic that allows you to abruptly cross all four lanes in one move, and shoot down an off-ramp. No car following will be able to find a similar hole and will overshoot the exit.

I executed the maneuver twice and then drove on surface streets to Shutters, which sits right on Santa Monica Beach and, in my opinion, is one of the most delightful little hotels in Southern California.

I handed over my car to the valet and went upstairs to our ocean-view suite on the second floor. Delfina and Chooch were both inside doing their homework.

"Hi. Where's Mom?" I asked, as I came through the door.

"Gonna be late," Chooch said. "She called and said she wants us to get dinner without her."

Franco was out on the balcony leering at seagulls swooping in over his head, turning back and forth, watching them with hungry eyes. I got a beer from the minibar and joined him. The beautiful white sand beach stretched out beyond the bike path where the surf thundered in, making turquoise and white foam. Off to the right was the Santa Monica Pier where we had our disastrous noontime meeting.

I sat on the balcony taking in the view as the afternoon sun set; thinking about the events of the afternoon.

A wasted day.

Worse still, we'd exposed ourselves without any result and put the Russian mob on alert, giving them the opportunity to destroy key evidence.