Deadlock

56

Carrie had a suite for her and Lock, and a room for Ty, booked at the Argonaut Hotel on Fisherman’s Wharf. Pulling up on the street outside, she handed the keys to the valet, then headed up to the suite. The hotel itself was beautiful, with a hell of a view out across the bay to Alcatraz. These days, reflected Lock, he couldn’t seem to avoid prisons.

As Carrie ordered some coffee and sandwiches to be sent up, Lock laid out the pictures Carrie had amassed of the key players on the nautically themed king size bed that dominated the room. There was one of Reaper. One of his daughter, Freya, aka Chance. One of Ken Prager. One of Jalicia Jones. And, finally, one of Junius Holmes. Three of them dead. Two on the run.

Ty put his cup of coffee down on the nightstand next to the bed. ‘You getting anything?’ he asked Lock, rubbing his injured shoulder.

‘Not apart from the obvious.’

‘Which is?’

‘Junius Holmes had a track record of going after these guys. That’s one score settled right there for Reaper. Ken — that’s a slam-dunk too. And, Jalicia — revenge works as a motive for her as well, just like Coburn said.’ Lock picked up the picture of Reaper, tapped the edge of the paper against the desk. ‘So why the hell is he heading north when anyone in their right mind would either be staying put or moving south or east?’ He shuffled the pictures around like he was playing three-card Monte, then looked up to see Carrie filtering back into the room from the bathroom.

She tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Ryan, you need to get some rest.’

‘I think we all do,’ Ty said, with a grimace. Lock knew that his injured shoulder was playing him up.

He glanced back at the pictures. The clue to what was going on lay in front of him. But why couldn’t he see it?

‘You can play detective tomorrow,’ said Carrie.

Lock stood up, gathered the faces into a pile and put them on the desk. Carrie was right. He was exhausted. Maybe some rest would clear his mind a little.

Carrie’s cell rang again, Coburn’s name flashing up.

‘He wants to speak to you,’ she said.

Lock took the phone from her. ‘Reaper?’ he asked.

‘Maybe,’ Coburn said. ‘We got a tip-off a few minutes ago that someone saw an individual matching his description entering a building in the Tenderloin.’

‘Credible witness?’

‘Little old Vietnamese lady.’

‘The Tenderloin would make sense,’ Lock said slowly.

The Tenderloin had originally gained its name because cops patrolling its streets were paid more for the privilege, thus being able to afford a better cut of meat than their colleagues who patrolled more salubrious parts of the city. It was the kind of place where the mice wiped their feet on the way out of the apartment buildings. Now a haven for the destitute, deranged and the desperate, as well as a burgeoning influx of Vietnamese, most San Franciscans gave the relatively small area a wide berth, unless they had people visiting who wanted to pack in some gritty reality as well as the tour of Alcatraz and a snap of the Golden Gate. Given how paranoid the majority of residents were, not to mention the dim view they took of law enforcement, it was a place where a raid had the potential to go badly wrong.

Lock frowned as he worked through the implications. If they went in heavy, especially with racial tensions running high in the city and beyond, it could be the spark that provoked a riot. Even if they didn’t go in heavy, these things had a habit of getting out of hand rapidly. Anyone in their right mind wouldn’t want anything to do with such an operation unless they were being paid to do it.

‘So, you want to tag along?’ Coburn asked him.

‘I didn’t think you wanted me involved in this any more.’

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. ‘Like that’s going to happen. At least this way I know where you are and what you’re doing. Plus, you’re good at sneaking around. That’s the kind of expertise we could use right now.’

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

‘Hey, it’s up to you,’ Coburn said.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there,’ Lock said, reaching for his gun.