The Rescue

22

Strickland has guessed right, twice.

I should be in Vegas he thinks, watching as Bettina and Joe walk into the Coastal Eddy newsroom at eight o’clock sharp.

Escorted, as before, by the same Cowboy in the same brown blazer, whom Strickland found on the Laguna PD website. Billy Something, who patrols town on a fucking bike.

And now takes a stool at the Havana Café coffee bar on PCH, three empty stools away from Strickland himself.

“Nice morning,” says Billy.

“Perfect,” says Strickland.

They converse, then Strickland orders up a Cuban breakfast sandwich to go with his café con leche. Calls Charley Gibbon and gets him to teach the Apex class today: it’s heavy on hand-to-hand, right in Charley’s wheelhouse.

He reads the print edition of Coastal Eddy while through the noisy clatter of dishes and conversations, he eavesdrops on Billy the Bike Cop.

...a fugitive from you guys...

Why should she risk her life for bureaucrats?

...quit being a condescending asshole...

Then Billy pays up, gives Strickland a nod, and dashes across Coast Highway and into the Coastal Eddy offices.

So, Billy the Bike Cop is putting Bettina in a risky situation, Strickland thinks. Involving you guys, who include at least one condescending asshole, probably in law enforcement. To do what? Take down the two Sinaloans allegedly in Laguna Beach right now? What else could it be?

Billy, Bettina, and Joe are a fairly easy follow down Interstate 5. Strickland knows from his Strickland Security days that it’s easier to tail yapping distracted people than a solo driver. Off and on, he sees the back of Joe’s head and his outstretched ears, or his powerful, ingenious snout taking in the world through the cracked 4X4 windows.

Strickland is thinking the obvious — DEA — and when Billy takes the Balboa Avenue exit in San Diego, Strickland feels like he’s just put three rounds through the heart of a moving silhouette at a hundred feet.

Billy’s pickup pulls onto Viewridge Avenue. As he drives by, Strickland sees the guard booth and the flank of the DEA building on a tree-lined rise beyond it. Would like to be a fly on the wall in that place, he thinks. He wonders if Bettina Blazak is bonking Billy the Bike Cop. Cute couple. Hope not. He tells himself to keep his eyes on the prizes: Joe and Bettina.

Strickland U-turns at the next light, wishing he could tell her that Carlos Palma has sent two of his best men to protect her from the Sinaloans, but of course he can’t.

Strickland reminds himself to be patient, let Frank and Héctor swipe Joe as planned, then he can get out of Laguna and back to work. He doesn’t want to leave Bettina to deal with El Gordo’s people — or Frank and Héctor — but he’s got no choice. He could shoot all four of them dead before they touch Joe, but that would draw replacements from both Godoy and Palma. The key is El Gordo, he thinks. The Fat Man holds the cards.

He parks where he can keep an eye on the Viewridge exit.

Asks Charley Gibbon to cover his Apex classes for the next three days. Strickland shoves a lot of money at him to make it happen. Charley is not a people person.

A long three hours later, Strickland has tailed Joe, Bettina, and Billy back to the Canyon View Apartments in Laguna Canyon. The onshore afternoon breeze has kicked up, and the eucalyptus trees shimmer in cool sunlight.

He parks at some distance and watches them walk toward the building. Stopping at a cluster of mailboxes, Bettina hands the leash to Billy, then removes a thick handful of flyers and envelopes.

Then they head up the stairs, Joe apparently happy to be here. Strickland tries not to let this trouble him. Jealous of a dog? Joe’s got good taste, he thinks: Bettina Blazak is beautiful.

He walks briskly to the mailboxes, gets her apartment number, then continues on to her red Wrangler in the parking garage. Attaches the Mole GPS vehicle tracker under the rear bumper. It jumps to the chassis with a magnetic clunk.

He’s back to his car in three minutes. A beat later, Billy comes back to his truck, climbs in, rolls down the windows, but doesn’t start the engine. He leans his head back on the rest, facing Bettina’s apartment. Strickland waits a couple of minutes, wondering if Billy the Bike Cop will make him from the Havana earlier today or not. Strickland has to figure, yes, a cop will remember him, that’s what cops do.

Strickland uses his distance from Billy to sidle along the Stan Oaks storefronts and take a different, out-of-Billy’s-view stairway up to Bettina’s place.

Looking into her Ring camera, Strickland knocks. Hears Joe woof softly, then footsteps, and the door opens a little. Joe squeezes through and leans into Strickland’s leg, wiggling like a puppy.

“This is strange,” says Bettina. “You just keep showing up.”

“You’re not safe,” he says, his voice soft but urgent. “Let me help. I’m legally armed and can protect you until professional bodyguards can get here. I trained them and they’re good. No expense to you, as I said. Or you and Joe can come with me back to Apex. There’s a secure guest flat on the second floor. The building is full of weapons and people learning how to use them. Door number three, we can get separate hotel rooms anywhere that takes dogs. I’ll have your back, believe me. Bettina, I’ll do anything to protect you and Joe. If you’re working with DEA to set up El Gordo’s people, you need a man with a gun by your side. I’m offering my services to you.”

“Why?”

“I like you. And I love Joe.”

Bettina isn’t just tongue-tied; she’s heart-tied too. She can’t quite believe this guy is as generous and protective of her as he seems. Is all of this just to get his hands on Joe? Strickland has given her no reason to doubt him. Yet...

She orders Joe back inside and speaks through the cracked door. “No. El Gordo will contact me soon. DEA says he’ll keep his people on a leash until then. I really do appreciate what you’ve offered. You are very generous.”

Strickland puts his foot between the door and the jamb. “Are they going to let you deal with El Gordo’s people directly?”

“Yes, and they’ve guaranteed protection for me and Felix.”

“Guaranteed? God, woman, be careful. El Gordo never stops and never loses his nerve or his luck.”

This guy’s more worried about me than Billy, she thinks.

Through the cracked door, she holds his look.

Then nudges his foot out the door and shuts it.