I took the call.
Jinx said, “Can you have dinner with me, tonight, Jack? It’s important.”
CHAPTER 84
At one-fifteen in the afternoon, Del Rio and Cruz were parked inside the big lot under the shadow of the 96th Street bridge. The lot was a mile and a half from LAX, bounded by the eight-lane Sepulveda Boulevard and a loop of the Sky Way. Limos, taxis, and other commercial transport continually streamed in and queued up under alphabetical signs, waiting to enter the airport.
They were watching one guy in particular, Paul Ricci, a bouncer from Havana, married to the tipster in the wheelchair. Ricci was shooting the bull with three other drivers.
Ricci glanced at the Private fleet car, then opened the door to his own car and got a sandwich out of a cooler. He called out to one of the other drivers, “Baxter. You got any Grey Poupon?”
Baxter laughed, said, “I’ll give you a little brown poop-on. How’s that?”
Watching this from inside the Mercedes, Cruz said to Del Rio, “That’s him. Ricci is the one in the cheap suit and the chauffeur’s hat.”
Del Rio put on his jacket, said to Cruz, “Can you see my gun under this?”
Cruz said, “You look like you’re packing even when you’re sleeping.”
Del Rio said, “That’s good, because I want Ricci to freeze in place. I don’t want to chase the guy. I kinda twisted my foot when I was rock climbing.”
Cruz said, “Aww. Face it, Rick, you’re getting old.”
Del Rio told Cruz that he wasn’t old and that he could still beat the crap outta anyone his size.
“You don’t have to do that, Rick. I’ll protect you,” said Cruz.
Del Rio gave Cruz an evil look.
Cruz laughed, tightened the band on his ponytail. When it was the way he liked it, he said, “Ready, pardner?”
Together, Cruz and Del Rio walked over to where the four men were standing under the D sign.
Two of them, including Paul Ricci, were limo drivers. The other two wore uniforms of “The Air Shuttle Guys.” The shuttle guys were fat, no problem. But the limo driver standing next to Ricci was ripped and young. Looked like he’d done some time.
Cruz said, “Paul Ricci?”
All conversation stopped.
Ricci puffed himself up. “I’m Ricci. Wha’chu want?”
Cruz said, “Don’t you remember me?”
He opened his jacket and showed the guy his gun, the one he’d had to give up outside the club.
Ricci looked at the gun, pivoted, and, his hat flying off his shaven head, took off toward the exit at a fast run.
Cruz shouted, “We just want to talk to you.”
The guy ran pretty fast.
“Shit,” said Del Rio.
CHAPTER 85
Paul Ricci, limo driver by day, bouncer by night, weighed two hundred pounds, a lot of it muscle. He steamed past the small administration building at the entrance to the parking lot, took a hard left on the sidewalk, and got his speed up on the side street.
Cruz took off after him.
Cruz was smaller but faster and was closing in on Ricci, who was running alongside a high vine-covered fence, heading due north toward Sepulveda Boulevard.
Cruz did not want to end up on the boulevard. A foot chase through eight lanes of traffic was a pileup waiting to happen.
Cruz shouted, “Ricci. Stop,” but Ricci ran out into traffic, showing some good open-field moves as he wove between fast-moving cars.
Horns blared, first at Ricci, then because traffic had slowed. A moment later, Cruz had lost sight of him.
Cruz stood in place for a few seconds, taking in nice deep breaths of diesel fumes, trying to see everything at once. Vehicles of every size and shape obscured his view, and now he was getting mad.
What was wrong with the guy, running like that?
Then Cruz saw Ricci’s shiny head. He was across the road at the base of the staircase leading from Sepulveda up to the Sky Way. There was no place to go once he got to the top, but Ricci was going anyway. Asshole.
Cruz waded out into the roaring traffic, holding up his cop-like badge so that cars would slow for him, calling out, “Ricci, for Christ’s sake. I’m not a cop.”
Cruz got across Sepulveda as Ricci was climbing the upper section of the switchback. Ricci turned his head, saw Cruz gaining on him-and lost his footing. He grabbed the handrail too late and went down, giving Cruz the chance he needed to close in.
Cruz took the stairs like Rocky and caught up with Ricci. “Okay?” he asked. “Is this enough running for one day?”
He reached to give the guy a hand up, and Ricci took the help. But as soon as he was on his feet, he swung at Cruz’s jaw. The bouncer was off balance, and Cruz easily ducked the punch, then he returned the favor with a punch of his own.
Cruz’s fist connected beautifully with Ricci’s jaw, and Ricci went down again, this time for the count.
“California light-middleweight champ, 2005,” Cruz shouted to Ricci. “That’s who you’re fighting with.”
Right then, Del Rio drove the Mercedes up the sidewalk to the base of the stairs.
He got out and straightened his jacket.
“The relief column has arrived,” he called out to Cruz.
Del Rio joined Cruz and Ricci on the steps, where a couple of people passed them without making eye contact.
Del Rio said to Ricci, “Listen, douchebag. We don’t care about your life story, okay? Just tell us what we want to know and we’re gone.”
Ricci rubbed his jaw. “You’re not cops?”
Cruz said to Del Rio, “You believe him?” Cruz put out his hand and helped the guy up again. “Listen, Paul. We’re not cops. We don’t want to hurt you or anyone. We paid Karen and Carmelita for information about five murdered johns in the LA area. We didn’t get it.”
“What information? What information?”
The guy was still panicky, and now Cruz was thinking that one of the people walking up to the Sky Way might have called the police.
He said, “Carmelita said a driver named Billy Moufan had told her that one of their drivers was the killer. She said that Billy OD’d. But there’s no such person as Billy Moufan and there never was. The thing she didn’t say is that you drive a limo. Big oversight. Are you ‘Billy Moufan’? Do you know who killed those johns?”
“No, no, no. It wasn’t me. I’ve only had my chauffeur’s license for six months. Let me show you my license. Lookit.”
Del Rio looked.
Ricci said, “If I tell you the guy’s name, we’re done, right? And you gotta keep us out of it. I don’t want Karen or Carmelita to get hurt.”
“That’s the deal. You never told us the name or where to find the guy.”
