growled, they all took a moment and listened like teenage boys to the throaty rumble of the blown 257 flathead. Shane was pushed into the enclosed backseat of the boat, which was separated from the front by a teak deck and a second chrome windshield. He found himself wedged in tightly next to Sheets and the silent man named Rich from the helicopter.
Marvin angrily slammed down the throttle with his good hand caught the wheel, and the boat roared away from the dock, picking up speed as they headed across the lake in the shimmering light of a three-quarter moon.
Shane could see Arrowhead Village twinkling across the water, about half a mile to the right. Finally Marvin slowed the boat and turned the wheel. Ray's party house and dock were ahead, about a hundred yards away. Seconds later they were slowing down, and Shane could feel the heavy inboard bumping softly against the wood dock.
'Out,' Sheets ordered, again jamming the pistol in Shane's ribs.
They walked up onto the porch. The door was unlocked and they went inside.
Coy Love was waiting in the living room. Shane had only seen his picture, and the photo didn't begin to capture the essence of him. At least six foot six, he towered over all of them, wearing a blue windbreaker and jeans. His thin, lipless mouth, oversize head, and stringy, muscled neck dominated an overpowering physical presence. He stood Lurch-like and speechless until they all got inside and closed the door. 'This doesn't have to end badly,' b. said. His voice was rough hard and dusty, like boots marching through gravel.
'That's good news,' Shane replied.
'I want to show you something,' Love said. 'Follow me.' He turned abruptly and led them through the hall into the master suite.
The lights were all on in the room. Shane tried not to look at the mirror, which, he knew from before, fronted the hidden room with its glory hole. A small suitcase was open on the bed, and it was full of cash. The used bills were stacked and banded. As soon as he saw the money, Shane was sure that he was being videotaped.
It seemed that Coy Love was in charge, which momentarily surprised him, because Love had been only a rookie patrolman when he'd been terminated. Sheets had been a sergeant, a watch commander. Yet Sheets seemed content to stand in the background and do his funky gun-poking routine while Love ran the show. Shane figured the shift in roles was primal the law of the jungle. Love was more dangerous and brutal and, therefore, the alpha male. 'Don't fuck with Love' the message machine had said. Love was the hammer.
'We need to come to terms,' Coy Love said, his bloodless lips stretched tight across tombstone-shaped teeth.
'Good,' Shane said. A one-word answer keep it thin; don't volunteer anything.
'That's yours,' Love said, indicating the cash in the suitcase on the bed. 'A hundred grand in tens and twenties.'
'Lucky me. Did I win the lottery?' Shane asked.
'Yeah, you were down to your last ticket, and then you got lucky, hit the number. If you start acting smart now instead of just running around like a hard-on with dirt for brains, then maybe there's another suitcase like that one in your future.'
'I like this so far.'
'We got some rules that go with giving you this hat.' Police terminology for a bribe.
'Rules? Okay.'
'One. You go home, you sit in your house, and you stay there.'
'Trouble with my house is, it's full of nine-millimeter federals. The Major Crimes dicks have been digging them out of the walls like fruit seeds.'
'That was a mistake. We apologize.'
'I accept.' Shane was beginning to think that maybe he might actually get out of there alive.
'Two. You stop messing around in Long Beach. Stop going to the naval yard.'
'No problem there. I didn't like it much anyway.'
'Three. Whatever you think you've figured out about Mayor Crispin or the top floor of the Glass House forget it.'
'Okay… it's forgotten.'
'Let me explain to you why you are being offered this hat instead of a plot at Forest Lawn.'
'Okay.'
'Since you shot Ray, you have been in the press a lot. We're trying to keep a low profile. You get to live as long as you play ball.' Love moved around Shane, forcing him to turn sideways to the mirror while keeping his own back to it. This was definitely being videotaped. Shots of Shane Scully taking a suitcase full of cash. Damning evidence if he ever changed his mind. On the plus side, it also probably meant the murder one charge wasn't coming. If the DA had what he needed, these guys wouldn't be doing this.
'Okay, since we're playing ball, I assume I'm the catcher,' Shane said.
'That's what you are. You just caught a break. If you're smart, you won't catch a bullet.'
'I'm gonna be smart. I'm gonna just take my suitcase of untraceable cash and go home and sit in my bullet- riddled living room until you tell me it's okay to come out.'
Love closed the suitcase, snapped the clasps, and handed it to Shane, spinning him slightly so that he was looking more toward the glory hole. Love kept his back to the bedroom mirror the whole time.
'Is that it?' Shane asked. 'Is our business concluded?'
'Not quite yet. Come in here.' Love moved out of the bedroom and back into the living room. Shane followed him, carrying the suitcase, thinking the hundred thousand in small bills was surprisingly light. Sheets, Marvin, and Rich stayed behind him.
In the living room Coy took a videotape box off the TV, opened it, slid the tape into the VCR, then turned his frightening, bloodless smile on Shane.
'I think it's important that you do not mistake kindness for weakness,' Love said as he grabbed the remote off the TV and turned the set on. He punched PLAY.
Suddenly Shane was looking at Chooch and Longboard Kelly on the videotape. They were tied to wooden chairs in Shane's rented apartment on Third Street. He recognized the faded wallpaper and frayed blue drapes. Both Brian and Chooch had silver duct tape across their mouths. A man was offscreen holding a shotgun, the barrel of the weapon sticking about an inch into the frame.
Shane felt his guts tighten into a knot. Bile instantly flooded the back of his throat. 'He's a fifteen-year-old kid,' he protested weakly. 'Brian Kelly is just a surfboard shaper. He doesn't know shit.'
'You go home and stay quiet for two or three days. Then, if everything goes right, you get them both back. Otherwise, I'm gonna put these cowboys on the ark,' Love said.
On the tape Chooch was struggling against his ropes. Long-board looked dazed and had blood on the side of his head.
'Seen enough?' Coy said, and when Shane nodded, he turned off the TV and handed Shane a set of car keys. 'There's a department car parked in the driveway. Take it back and leave it in the motor pool at the Glass House. Then take a cab home and pull the grass up over your head.'
Shane took the keys and the suitcase and walked on wooden legs out of the house. They all followed. There was a gray Crown Victoria with blackwalls in the drive. He got behind the wheel, started the car, and pulled out of the driveway. The headlights swept across the four ex-cops as he backed into the street, turning right. He was operating on autopilot… his mind on the sickening video images of Chooch and Brian tied to the chairs.
He drove down Lake View Drive, the black suitcase full of cash jiggling on the seat beside him. He took the correct turns from memory and found himself back on 1–7, heading out of Arrowhead toward L. A.
As he drove, he could picture Chooch's black Hispanic eyes staring out at him from the recesses of his memory. He remembered the boy's swarthy, handsome features as he sat in the Little Bruin deli in Westwood, looking out at the traffic, his gaze averted so Shane wouldn't see his pain.
'Do you know who my father is?' the boy had asked. 'Did Sandy ever tell you?' Hurt and longing in the question.
Shane had wanted to fill the void in Chooch's life, just as he had wanted to fill it in his own. But he had been slow out of the blocks and running two steps behind, a clown in swim fins, flapping along, heels down while the rest of the field breezed past him.
