The sentry

6

Mikie Azzara met Pike at a coffee shop on Abbot Kinney Boulevard, not far from the Venice Canals. The afternoon sky there near the beach was clear and blue, and the temperature was in the mid-seventies. Pike was surprised when Artie told him where Azzara wanted to meet. Abbot Kinney was an upscale area of restaurants, designer shops, art galleries, and bars, and now here at the coffee shop, seated outdoors, he was surrounded by attractive affluent women who went well with the surroundings. Most were tanned, and most were between their twenties and forties, and most were fit. Most wore light summery dresses or shorts and sandals, and none of them smoked. It wasn't a place a V13 veterano would frequent.

Pike arrived early, and sat outside as had been agreed, sipping black coffee. The coffee was weak, but he didn't care.

At three-oh-five, a black Prius pulled to the curb on the opposite side of the street. A man in his late twenties got out, checked for oncoming traffic, then strolled across to the coffee shop. He wore a lightweight Hugo Boss sport coat over an AC/DC T-shirt, tailored jeans, and huaraches. He was fit, clean-shaven, and handsome enough to be a Esquire model. The women seated around Pike watched him approach.

The man searched the crowd when he reached the curb, saw Pike, and came to the table. He smiled as he offered his hand, flashing perfect teeth and dimples.

"Mr. Pike? Michael Azzara. Father Art told me I'd spot the arrows. May I sit?"

Pike nodded, noting he had introduced himself as Michael, not Mikie or Miguel. He was slick, clean, and as different in appearance from the street-dog veteranos at the body shop as the Prius was from a candy-red '56 Bel Air. Miguel Azzara looked like a frat boy from USC, built strong, though, as if he had been a pretty good high-school wrestler.

Azzara sat, laced his fingers, and looked at Pike with an innocent curiosity.

"I love Father Art. He does so much for our community."

Pike nodded, and waited for Azzara to continue.

"How can I help you?"

Now, seated, Pike noticed the skin on the side of Azzara's neck was mottled with faint blemishes. When he was fourteen or fifteen, he had the ink, but sometime between then and now, he'd seen the laser. Small scars laced the knuckles of his left hand and split the line of his left eyebrow. Maybe he hadn't always looked so different from the men at the body shop.

Pike lifted his cup.

"Want something?"

"That's all right, thank you. How can I help?"

"You speak for Malevos?"

Azzara checked to see if the nearby women were listening. A woman in her late thirties saw him glance over, and smiled. Azzara smiled back, and looked like a movie star.

"Hey, how're you doing?"

She blushed and turned back to her friends, pretending she wasn't drooling. Azzara turned back to Pike.

"That's why I'm here, yes. How can I help?"

Third time he'd said it-how can I help?

"Reuben Mendoza and Alberto Gomer."

"Those guys are idiots. Mendoza was just arrested."

"You know why?"

"I know I had to cover his bond. Is this about that?"

"I'm the man who put him down. Is that going to be a problem with us?"

Azzara looked surprised.

"Depends on what you want. If you want money for some reason-say, a payoff so you'll refuse to testify-then, yes, it's going to be a problem."

"Nothing like that."

"I didn't think so. Not with Father Art vouching for you."

Pike went through the events exactly as he had with Hydeck, Button, and Artie Alvarez. He told Azzara that Wilson Smith was a friend, and that now, early that morning, someone had vandalized his shop.

Azzara listened with a thoughtful frown, nodding occasionally in the way people do, and did not speak until Pike finished.

"Uh-huh, okay. I get it. These people are your friends. You don't want them hassled."

"That's right."

"Done."

Pike waited, thinking there would be more, but there wasn't. After a few moments, Azzara realized Pike wasn't going to say anything, so he explained to fill the silence.

"This nickel-and-dime stuff is bullshit. It draws heat, pisses off the CRASH units, and for what? So an idiot like Mendoza can bag a free sandwich or shake down some dude for twenty bucks? Is it worth twenty dollars, that kind of trouble, me sitting here with you? Please."

"Trece will leave Mr. Smith's shop alone. No more vandalism. No trouble."

Azzara shifted, irritated he had to deal with small-time stuff like this.

"It's done. This nonsense with the paint? What are they, in the sixth grade? Look, I don't know if it was Gomer or whoever-this is the first I've heard of it-but I'll find out, and this will stop. I don't want these vatos out doing things like this. I mean, this is the lesson right here-me and you, right here right now, wasting our time. This is absurd."

Pike said, "Thank you."

Azzara checked the time, sighed, then studied Pike for a moment. Pike wondered why he hadn't left. They were finished. Miguel Azzara could leave.

Then Azzara leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"The Father told me you're a dangerous man. I said, Art, what are you, crazy? Is this guy trying to front me off?"

Pike shook his head.

"I'm not fronting you."

Azzara raised his palm.

"Art covered that. He specifically said you told him this wasn't a threat, and you told him to make sure I understood. I'm cool with that. These matters of respect are important."

Pike knew more was coming, and waited it out.

"He says to me, listen, I just think you should know, and then he tells me some things. I don't know if he's making these things up, but he tells me these crazy things about you, and I don't know if he wants me to be scared or what, so I tell him to stop."

Azzara made a big show of holding up both palms this time, reliving his conversation with Art.

"I say, what are you saying here, Art, this man will go to war with me? I don't give what he wants, he'll come for me, me and my homes, all of the Trece?"

Pike waited for it to pass.

"And Art, he says no, no, no, nothing like that, he just felt obligated because he was putting us together, so this wasn't coming from you. The Father wanted me to know who I was getting involved with. Can you imagine that guy?"

Azzara paused for a response, but Pike didn't respond.

"You don't say much."

"What do you want me to say?"

"You don't have to say anything. But if there are things I must understand, then there are things you must understand, too."

Azzara leaned forward, and now he stared.

"You look dangerous. You look like everything Art said, but looking is different from being. I know what I look like, too."

"Is there a problem?"

"I want things clear between us. I understand you're not threatening me. You're coming to me like a man, asking me to help your friends."

"Yes."

"I'm not going along with this because of an implied threat."

"I understand."

"You know La Eme?"

"Of course."

"Then you understand why I have no fear."

La Eme was the Mexican Mafia, so strong in numbers they controlled the drug trade in the southwestern United States and virtually owned the prisons in California and Arizona. They were an existing criminal army within the borders of the U.S.

"I understand."

Azzara flashed the dimples and stood.

"Man to man, you ask. Man to man, I answer. It's done. Tell your friends to relax. I'll talk to my homes. This will never happen again."

Pike glanced across the street.

"You like the Prius?"

"Love it. It's important to be environmentally conscious. What do you drive?"

"Jeep."

"Go green, Mr. Pike. The planet needs love."

Azzara flashed the dimples, once more offered his hand, then made his way to his car.

One call. Simple. It's done.

It should have been finished, but wasn't.