On The Grind

Chapter 25

This time I was very careful getting to Santa Monica and employed a freeway anti-tailing technique I'd discovered through hours of trial and error. Simple and impossible to defeat. I drove at over seventy in the fast lane until I finally saw a hole in traffic, then, without signaling, dove suddenly across three lanes and shot down an off ramp onto surface streets. Then I got back on the freeway going in the opposite direction. The idea was, any car attempting to follow would not be able to find a similar hole in traffic and would overshoot the exit. I repeated the maneuver three times.

I'd just rented the Mustang, so I knew both the car and my clothes were clean.

Twenty minutes later I was on the Coast Highway driving through Santa Monica. I turned into the parking lot by the Santa Monica Pier, looking for the LAPD eight-wheel truck that we used for clandestine meetings with undercover operatives. Because Switzerland was neutral territory, we had nicknamed the truck Little Swiss. Some smartass in vehicle maintenance had gone to the Swiss chocolate company for the decals that now decorated both sides of the cargo box.

I quickly spotted the truck looming above the other cars and pulled into an empty spot nearby. As soon as I got out of the Mustang, the back doors of Little Swiss opened and I was let inside. Seated in back were Alexa and Ophelia, two very tense-looking women.

I wanted to hug my wife and kiss her, but I could see from both their faces that they were in battle mode, so I just sat on the wooden bench opposite them. There were three television monitors on the front wall of the interior, which displayed surveillance views of the parking lot, being recorded by three roof cameras.

"Thank God you sent me that 911" Ophelia said without preamble. "Those guys were about to commit a mass execution."

"That's exactly what they were up to," I confirmed.

"This is supposed to be a country of laws," she stated vehemently.

"I'm running out of options," I said to get her off the 'country of laws' party line. "Alonzo Bell is all over me. He suspects I'm a plant. They even put a tracking device in my leather belt. I found it and left it in my room."

"Then we're pulling you out now, Shane," Alexa declared.

"I haven't gotten close to the real corruption yet. I haven't even met Mayor Bratano. If you pull me out now, we'll have accomplished nothing."

We sat silently on the hard wooden benches looking at each other across two feet of open space while the TV screens showed infrared panning shots of the parking lot.

"What about Rocky Chacon?" I asked Ophelia. "The way I see it, they're getting set to take him out."

Alexa said, "Maybe Ophelia can find a way to put more FBI security on him. But if you get involved, they're gonna know you're a plant."

Ophelia nodded. "I think Alexa's right. You're probably already compromised. Talbot Jones didn't believe my story about being there because of a street tip. He suspects somebody on the inside of leaking the ambush."

"I need a few more days."

Both women sat trying to decide what to do. I must have been frowning, because Alexa leaned forward.

"What?" she asked.

"Sergeant Bell knows I went to Manhattan Beach. He knows Deputy Chief Arnett has a condo in that building."

"Then you're definitely out of there," Alexa said, rising as if the meeting were over.

"Hold on," I said. "I told him I went to that condo to meet Tiffany-that we were using one of the furnished models. I told him Tiffany has a girlfriend at Century 21 who opened it up for us. He looked like he bought it, but he's going to check it out. We need to put a female FBI agent in at that real estate management company, somebody who can swear she opened the apartment for her movie star friend. If you guys can set that up, then my story will check out and I can give this a little more time." I didn't tell them that I'd lost my cell phone with the text message to Ophelia on it.

"They're bound to suspect you just because you're the new guy," Alexa rightly pointed out. "That's why they put a sattrack on you."

"I have some other action working. I put my street creds on display. I'm hoping to get an offer that will incriminate Mayor Bratano."

"What the hell does that mean?" Alexa said.

I waved this off. "I'm beginning to get a read on these guys. They think they have the game so rigged nobody can get to them. That' s why they pulled this bullshit tonight. They think they can't lose. It's making them careless."

"I don't think there's even a furnished model in that condo building," Alexa said.

"So what? Just put up a sign that says there is. I saw the Century 21 vacancy ads when I went there. All Ophelia's phony real estate agent has to do is say she let us use one."

"What happened to your face?" Alexa was staring at my swollen nose and the beginnings of two black shiners, slightly visible in the dim light in the truck.

"Slipped getting out of the shower."

"Shane, damn it!" Alexa was losing patience.

We all sat in silence for a minute.

"What's this work in progress you were talking about?" Ophelia finally asked.

"Can't tell. Sorry. It compromises one of my street contacts."

"That's such bullshit!" Alexa was now flat-out angry.

"Look, I think if this happens, it's gonna go down soon," I told them. "Give me two more days. After that, I'll fold up and get out."

"One day," Alexa said.

"Come on — "

"One," she said, firmly. "I'm not kidding, Shane."

She looked over at Ophelia, who, after a moment, nodded her agreement and said, "Listen, Shane. Put the belt back on. I can use that tracking signal just as well as they can. Til get the satcom guys at Quantico to dial in the frequency for me."

"What about Rick Ross?" I asked. "You just gonna leave him down there to sweat it out?"

"I'll talk to Tony," Alexa said. "We'll figure something out for him. You've got one day."