Hollywood Tough

Chapter 44

The Day-Glo Dago's office was full of men in suits wearing cheap cologne. The room was starting to smell like a flower shop. There were two suits from the DEA, narrow-faced, sallow-complected attitude cases dressed in identical offthe-rack black numbers. They said they had picked up on this White Dragon smuggle from a street source, and were claiming jurisdiction. Shane had their business cards in his pocket but had already forgotten their names. The only way he could tell them apart was that one of them was chewing on a toothpick. There was another suit from the local FBI field office, Burt Semus, the special agent in charge for L. A. For some unknown reason everyone called him Shavo. He didn't look like a Shavo. He looked like an underachieving Burt.

Although Shavo was round-faced and ruddy-cheeked, he had expressionless eyes that belonged in a taxidermy shop, dark and hard as marbles. Of course, he was claiming jurisdiction for the FBI. He had no legitimate criminal standing in the case, but that didn't seem to bother him. The Frisbees were notorious claim-jumpers.

Also present were a few Brooks Brothers jobs from WITSEC, most likely the entire L. A. office. Carl was the one in charge, but he looked like a sales rep from Gold's Gym, with wall-busting shoulders and the pissed-off expression of a steroid jockey. He couldn't admit Farrell was in the program, but WITSEC wanted to manage this case anyway.

The roomful of hungry feds kept circulating around the office, hunting for a place they liked, but since Filosiani had no chairs, they simply looked unsettled and frustrated.

Shane, Alexa, and the chief represented the LAPD.

After Nicky the Pooh reported what he knew, he backed up and stood off to the side, trying to blend into the wall-a difficult task while wearing a flowered Hawaiian shirt and tennis shoes. Shane brought them all up to date on what he suspected. Then Filosiani took control of the meeting-or at least tried to. Problem was, nobody had much use for anyone else in the room. The DEA hated the FBI, and vice versa. They all hated the Marshals, who hated them back. Information was proving to be a scarce commodity. Adding to the confusion, everybody's beeper kept going off. They would glance at their little screens, then step out into the hall to return their calls in private. With all the paging going on, it was no secret that everyone's office was on Red Alert.

"You guys over at WITSEC must have some kinda ongoing management of your assets," Filosiani said.

"What assets?" Carl, the wide-bodied head marshal, deadpanned. "We don't control anybody named Zelso or Champion. Furthermore, even if he was on our list, which he isn't, WITSEC is constitutionally exempt from cooperating with other investigations in regard to our clients."

"Then why is the guy in your fucking computer?" Shane asked hotly.

"That's enough a that, Sergeant," Filosiani reprimanded, then turned back to Carl. "Then why's the guy in your fucking computer?"

"You telling me the LAPD has been hacking into a secure WITSEC computer and lifting confidential information?" Carl was glaring at Tony; then his beeper went off. He glanced at it, then handed it to another marshal, who left the office to return the call.

"Why can't we share what we have?" Alexa said, somewhat naively. But she had lost control of her gang war and was getting desperate. "This is red-ball. If American Macado abducted Farrell Champion, and the dope coming into Arizona is being supplied by Valentine, we could be headed for a bloodbath. So let's cut all this interoffice bullshit and try to work together."

"Are you somebody's secretary or something?" Shavo asked, looking appalled at her suggestion.

"This is Lieutenant Scully, the head of my Detective Services Group," Filosiani said angrily.

"Obviously, Lieutenant Scully has not worked on many cross-jurisdictional cases," the DEA suit said around his toothpick. "We're tasked out of Treasury, the FBI is outta Justice, and the Marshals here report to some intergalactic war council in outer space. I have serious jurisdictional issues. I have people above me who ask hard questions when I give up jurisdiction." His beeper went off. "Excuse me." He stepped out, passing the deputy marshal, who was just coming back.

"Listen," Filosiani said, spreading his hands in supplication, still addressing Carl from the Marshal's office. "I know you guys watch your assets. You've got video surveillance or bugs-something. You can't tell me you don't have a clue what happened to Farrell, that you weren't watching him when he was put in that boat in front a his house, that you haven't got a tail working."

"Farrell? Who is Farrell, again? Was he Zelso, or Champion? I'm confused," Carl asked, impatiently looking at his watch.

"I guess the meeting's over," Filosiani announced. "It's every man for himself." Tony walked to his office door and opened it. As they all headed out, another beeper went off, but in the crowd, it was impossible to tell whose it was.

Before he left, Shavo stopped and gave Tony a stern warning: "You are instructed to stay out of what is clearly an FBI situation. Don't get involved."

"What situation you talking about?" Tony asked. "Since there ain't no Danny Zelso, or Farrell Champion, why don't you buncha territorial assholes just eat me?"

"It would be a big mistake if you pursued this," the toothpick from the DEA said.

"Yeah, well, I'll live with mine if you live with yours," Tony replied. "See ya, boys." He was in the threshold of his office as the crowd finally left.

"What a waste of time," Tony said, closing the door. "They're all lyin'. They know a lot more than they're sayin'. But in the meantime, we're left standing in the rain here. We got no way to track this. It could be goin' down anywhere in Arizona."

"Well, bunky," Nicky said to Shane, "having done my civic duty, I think I'll just hit the road." Nicky started toward the door, but Shane pushed him back.

"You're not going anywhere yet." Then Shane's beeper went off. He looked at it and turned to Alexa. "Chooch." He pulled out his cell phone and hit a preprogrammed number.

Chooch answered immediately.

"You okay?" Shane asked. "Where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm at the hospital with Delfina. She's talking again… making sense."

"That's great."

"Dad, you gotta get over here. She knows most of what's going on."