Killer Karma

at Razor. “You positive you don’t have any ideas about this?”

Razor shook his head. “I haven’t touched the computers either.”

Touched the computers! Inspiration hit Cole. Maybe that would do the trick!

Once when he and Razor broke up a fight and chased one of the combatants to his house, the glass panel in the door triggered an idea. He had nudged Razor and shined his flashlight at the glass. “Make a shadow dog.” Razor understood immediately. Grinning, he put his hands in the light beam, creating the silhouette of a dog’s head on the glass. While Razor made deep barking sounds, wiggling his little fingers to work the dog’s jaw, Cole called, “Don’t make us send in the dog!”

Incredibly, the subject had slunk out and surrendered. The phrase sending in the dog had been a running joke with them ever since.

Cole jumped off the desk and thrust his hands into the computer screen from the side. The screen went crazy, creating a dog head-shaped area of chaos. “Don’t make me send in the dog, Razor!”

Dennis and Hamada blinked. “What the hell…” Dennis began.

Razor stopped breathing. “Oh, shit.” He stumbled backward. Hamada and Dennis turned to stare at him, but he left the office walking as fast as someone could without running.

Cole chased after him. “Razor…”

Razor began running. At the elevators he almost collided with a pair of waiting Robbery detectives as he pushed past them to the stairwell.

Swearing silently, Cole followed but said nothing until Razor reached the ground floor and bolted out through the rear entrance into the parking lot. Then he raced ahead and planted himself in Razor’s path. “Damn it, stop running away!”

Razor halted, squeezing his eyes shut. “This isn’t happening.”

Which meant Razor still saw him! Cole grinned at him. “Yes it is, old buddy. Dennis and Hamada saw what happened to the computer screen, too, so you know you’re not flipping out. Admit it. I’m here and you see me. Now let’s talk.”

Razor dug out his cigarettes and lit one, hands shaking so much the lighter flame scorched the middle of the cigarette before connecting with the end. Even while taking a deep drag, he shook his head. “I need a drink.”

“That won’t make me disappear.” Cole slugged Razor’s shoulder in exasperation. “Why are you being so damn pig-headed!”

Razor reeled back, though Cole doubted he felt the blow.

A trio from the decoy squad eyed him as they headed for the rear entrance. “You okay?” asked one with a two-day stubble and the grimy clothes of a vagrant.

“Fine.” Razor dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his heel. “I need to quit these things.”

The three exchanged raised eyebrows as they went on inside.

Razor frowned after them, hunching his shoulders. “Even if I’m not nuts, I look it.”

“So pretend to be talking on your cell phone.”

Razor glanced at him, then quickly away. He fumbled the cigarettes out again and lit another. “This is crazy.”

It was maddening, all right. “Terrific. What a welcome. You moan and groan and want me to go away. I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

Razor took a shaky drag on the cigarette before answering. “Alive, yes. But…” He grimaced.

“So till death us do part applies to friendship, too?”

Razor stiffened and flushed. “It’s just…” He shook his head.

“Impossible? But…ta-da…” Cole spread his arms wide. “Here I am. What’s that Shakespeare quote you use, about Heaven and Earth being full of weirder things than we ever expect.”

“I never expected anything like this.” Razor took another long drag. “But maybe that is really you.” The wry tone steadied his voice. “If you were my imagination, I’d have the quote correct.” He paused. “So…that wasn’t a dream last night? Even walking on the ceiling?”

Cole quashed his impatience. Of course Razor needed time to accept this. Except…if Sara were still alive, how much time did they have to pull her out of danger. “I wasn’t a dream. And now there’s more to tell you. But first…the guys from the decoy squad are coming back. Pretend to be on the phone.”

“So they won’t think I’m talking to myself? But hell, I probably am.” Still, he pulled out the phone, and as the trio passed him, held it to his ear. “What more?”

Cole filled him in about Irah, the conversation with Flaxx, her house, Carrasco’s record, and Sherrie overhearing Brewer at the hospital.

Razor listened without interruption, though he punctuated the recitation with grimaces and twitches suggesting a continued internal struggle to revise his concept of reality. When Cole finished, he shook his head. “I don’t know. Even if you’re right about Flaxx’s sister, we can’t get into her place without probable cause.”

Cole snorted. “I know that. So help me find some.”

“You have any ideas?”

“Call one of your Pig Bowl friends in L.A. and have him run Irah’s name. Maybe she’s had arrests without charges. I’d also like a copy of hubby’s record, including known associates.” Cole lifted his brows. “Maybe she keeps in touch with old friends. She could be fencing the stuff from the burglaries through one of them.”

“Okay.” Razor pitched his cigarette butt and brought up the names list on his phone. After calling one and identifying himself several times to individuals on the other end he finally said, “Yo, Pascullo. This is Kevin Rasgorshek in San Francisco. How they hangin’, man. Are you still working on that Cobra replica? … Great. How’d you do? … That isn’t bad. Say, I wonder if you can help me out.”

Minutes later he had his notebook open on the hood of a car, taking down what the L.A. officer read off his computer. Cole read as Razor wrote. They had nothing on Irah, except as Scott Carrasco’s wife, but plenty on Carrasco himself. Suspicion of auto theft, burglary, suspicion of burglary, suspicion of receiving stolen property, passing stolen checks, forged checks. All his sentences were served in the L.A. county jail. Where his last cellmate shanked him for a carton of cigarettes.

Then one comment from Pascullo pleased Cole. They suspected Carrasco of having an accomplice, possibly a small, thin male. Carrasco denied it, however, and they were never able to make him give up the name. Small and thin. Cole grinned. Irah. Carrasco might well have played the gallant knight and taken the fall by himself to protect her.

According to Pascullo, Carrasco gave his profession as a stunt driver and movie extra. Working as an extra would give Irah experience with makeup and disguises.

“Got it. Can you fax me all that?” Razor gave a number. “Just mark it for my attention. Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Where’s it going?” Cole asked when Razor disconnected.

Razor flinched. Still spooked by his presence, Cole guessed. “The Central Station. It should be waiting when we get there.”

“You’re thinking of going now?” Cole raised his brows. “What about shadowing Hamada?”

“After the way I bolted out of there?” Razor grimaced. “He’ll expect an explanation.”

Cole grinned. “You could always tell him the truth. He won’t believe you.”

Razor grunted. “Right. Then he’ll have me hauled away to the funny farm.” He sighed. “Maybe I should be.”

Give him time, Cole reminded himself. “So make him think about something else. Tell him you’ve had a tip that Flaxx’s sister has criminal connections. Say your CI — which I am — heard she did burglaries and auto theft with her husband, though she never got caught because hubby always took the fall alone.”

Razor shook his head. “He’ll be interested for maybe five minutes…until I tell him Carrasco is dead and I don’t have anything more than rumor about Irah.”

“That’s fine. The point is…” Cole slung an arm across Razor’s shoulders. “…you’ll be back there. By this time Hamada could be ready to have the warrants signed. But when he goes to the apartment, he won’t be looking for evidence that someone besides Sara packed.”

Razor eyed him for a long minute. “I need my head examined, taking suggestions from a ghost.” Still, he headed back for the Hall.