White sister

Chapter 55

We met in my backyard in Venice. It was three o'clock the following afternoon. Rafie and Tommy both reread the last e-mail from Alexa's computer, while Rosey and Dario stood in the afternoon heat contemplating the sunlight reflecting silver-white off the mirror-flat water in the still Venice canals. Sally Quinn sat in a lawn chair, fanning herself with a handful of gang intel reports. She had been very quiet since arriving ten minutes ago. I had a strong feeling she was busy reevaluating our potential partnership. I had already run all of my theories by everyone here and I wasn't getting much in the way of positive feedback.

"Tell me again, what we're supposed to do about all this?" Tommy finally asked, after he finished reading the edited messages for the second time.

"Shane is looking for backup," Rosencamp interjected. "He thinks we're gonna be his posse." He was showing me a game face that I couldn't read at all.

"Except these rappers all have their own private security," he continued. "We ain't gonna get close 'cause cops make these dirt-bags nervous. 'Less they're dirty cops. Which we ain't."

"The whole thing comes down to street cred," I countered. "Lionel doesn't want to look weak to his own people, so despite the threat, he won't cancel this event. He intends to go to Vegas and make the announcement tonight as planned. I'm pretty sure the Malugas are gonna do everything they can to stop it. Lethal Force can't take another big defection like Floor Score. It would signal weakness; other acts would bolt. Everything is on the line for them. That's why I think they have to make a careless, violent statement. They have a financial motive as well."

Then I told everyone about the twenty songs that Curtis had already recorded and how much money was at stake. When I finished, they were all quiet.

"Who handles Lionel Wright's security?" Rafie asked.

"He's got some personal bodyguards and he's contracted Fruit of Islam. They're good, but the event is at the Mandalay Bay and that makes it tougher. According to Elijah Mustafa at FOI, most Vegas casinos don't allow any firearms inside. They make all of their patrons go through metal detectors. But Mandalay Bay is an exception. They don't use metal detectors or wands. They're on the honor system, so it's safe to assume that all the principle players in Lionel's party, plus any hitters the Malugas send are gonna be packing."

"Are you actually asking us to show up in Vegas and join a parade of armed street G's so we can save some rap asshole's life?" Dario asked.

It was the first thing he'd said since he'd shown up here half an hour ago. He was in off-duty clothes and his blue golf shirt was stretched tight against his impressive weight lifter's body. "Slade was a bad cop. How can we trust anything that dirtbag wrote in these e-mails?"

"David Slade wasn't who any of us thought he was." I filled them in on what I'd learned about Slade's dangerous UC assignment and how the department had set up all the road-rage complaints and the 911 call. I knew that OJB had been concerned about him and the effect he had on all their reputations. I speculated that when this information clearing his name was made public it would be good for all of us.

"He was risking his life reporting back to Alexa," I concluded. "Slade worked UC for over two years. The guy sacrificed his reputation, his promotions, and ultimately his life. He was a hero, but Chief Filosiani's got his own game working. Alexa's in a coma and can't vouch for him, and I can't prove he wrote those Dark Angel e-mails, so unless we come through, I will never be able to prove she didn't kill him or that he spent two years risking his life to bust the Malugas."

The silence following that soliloquy hung in the afternoon heat like rotting fruit.

Rafie was still studying the e-mail. Finally, he closed the computer and looked at me.

"Forgetting for a minute that we don't have an ounce of jurisdiction in Nevada, and forgetting that if we go proactive out there, this could spark up into the mother of all gang wars, tell me again how we're supposed to protect Lionel Wright and Curtis Clark." Rafie leaned back and continued. " 'Cause I agree with Rosencamp. If Lionel or Curtis start traveling around with a bunch of off-duty cops, they look like pussies. That's why those guys all use FOI Security. It's perfect for them because they get good protection, but Fruit of Islam is outside the system. It fits with the gangsta image and flips off the straights. Those two won't let us anywhere near this."

"I can get us in," I said. "The guy owes me. I can make us part of his entourage."

They all looked at me like I was smoking something.

Then Rosey looked at his watch. "It's three now. If we was actually gonna do this dumb-ass job, how long do we have to get our act together?"

"Lionel is flying to Vegas on his private jet at five this afternoon. They're having a security meeting in the hangar before take-off in an hour. I want us to be there."

As they all continued staring at me, I realized that everybody was thinking it was just this kind of behavior that had filled up my 181 file at PSB and got me in so much trouble over the years.

Rosey finally spoke. "I can't expose the other OJB members to something like this."

"You guys are my only hope," I said and then turned to Tommy. "I thought you said you and Rafie wanted to solve this case. I guess what you meant was you were looking for a safe way to solve it."

"That's not fair, Shane," Tommy said. I could tell I'd hurt his feelings.

Then Sally Quinn stood, and my heart sank. She was my partner and if she turned on me, they all would. Her freckled schoolgirl face looked solemnly toward us. "Who ever promised police work was gonna be all neat and tidy?" she said. "I love this department. We're all members of an exclusive club that is totally getting pissed on right now. Extraordinary times demand extraordinary measures. I think we should do what Shane suggested and take a flyer here. What's one trip to Vegas, more or less? At least this time, you guys won't lose any money or get the clap."

I could have kissed her.

Rafie stood next. "I'll go," he said.

"Okay," Rosey said. "But only me and Dario, if he agrees."

Dario took a moment, but then shook his head. "My dad told me to go into the grocery business 'cause people always gotta eat. I chose police work 'cause people also gotta have protectors who enforce the rules. I live by the rules. I believe in them. I can't do this, man. I won't blow ya in, but I can't go along either."

I told him I understood. Then we all watched in silence as he got to his feet and left my yard by the back gate. He walked slowly down the canal path and around the corner to where his squad car was parked.

"I guess that means all the rest of us are in," Tommy said, and one by one they all nodded. I walked inside and grabbed my last back-up piece. It was an S amp;W Airlight revolver which I kept locked up in my gun safe in the living room. The rest of them followed me into the house and watched as I clipped the fifteen-ounce round-wheel onto my belt.

"Thanks," I said, feeling a wave of gratitude.

"I'm not doing it for you," Rosey said. "I'm doing it for my friend, Alexa." Then, because that sounded so sentimental, he pointed at the small thirty-eight riding my hip and quickly added, "If that's your version of firepower, we're gonna be seriously outgunned. I hate gettin' in a face down with a Crip crew that's packin' choppers. All we got is department-issue iron and a pocket full of light loads."

"I know where we can pick up some heavy firepower," I said.

We left Venice in four cars with red lights flashing, sped down the 405 Freeway and made a quick run through Compton, where I shimmied through the broken back window of the house on Cypress. Once inside, I retrieved David Slade's fully automatic AR-70 from the deep recesses of his bedroom closet.