'And what are you going to tell him?'
'I was just about to wake you, because I need something to trade.'
'Now we're giving him inter she said. 'It was supposed to work the other way.'
'Honey, it's a negotiation. He's not gonna let it be a one-way street.'
She sat down at the kitchen table and rubbed her right forearm. Shane knew it still went numb at times from the shot she took in the shoulder at Lake Arrowhead, when she'd saved his life at the end of the Molar case. 'You're nuts, you know that?'
'I know. It's why I'm seriously considering a posting at Internal Affairs. I should fit right in with that bowl of fruits and nuts.'
Then, slowly, a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth and he knew he had her. 'Okay. I don't have much, but we did pick up one piece of interesting street info. There's some new heroin that's supposed to hit the street soon. It's called White Dragon, and according to our source, there's a huge shipment coming in from Mexico. I think the Crips are moving it. We don't know who's sending it in, but we've had the product line described to us. It's snow-white heroin, probably China White, wrapped in cellophane with a white dragon outlined in red on the bag. Also, there may be some kind of Arizona connection. The Clip banger we got this from had a stolen credit card. For the last two months this guy, who's never been outside South Central since he was born, has been making more trips to Arizona than the Monsanto regional sales rep. We've traced him through the card charges: motel rooms, gas, restaurants, like that. The Arizona cops also picked up a rumble that Arizona is the new point of entry for this White Dragon line, probably the general distribution site as well. But most of this is more gossip and guesswork than fact.'
'It'll have to do.'
She followed him to the front door. 'I really hate this,' she said. 'I'm just supposed to wait here and pray for your safety?'
'Honey, no prayers necessary. Amac is guaranteeing my safety. That's the way it works.' He turned and smiled at her. 'Didn't you ever see that 1950s classic Western Broken Arrow? Cochise guarantees Tom Jeffords that he can ride safely into the Apache camp and trade wampum. The next thing you know, they're best buds, and there's peace in the Valley. Simple as that.'
'Get the fuck out of my house,' she said in mock anger. But as he turned to leave, she grabbed him and hugged him. 'Shane, you see? This is exactly what I meant about not being risk-averse.'
'Yeah, maybe, but let's not forget whose idea it was.'
He left the house and walked toward Abbott Kinney. He knew without looking back that she was still on the porch, still had her eyes on him until he turned the corner at the end of the street.
Chapter 9
The Impala low-rider with a yellow-and-green glitter paint job made one slow pass down Abbott Kinney Boulevard without stopping. It was a show car, a lowered '63. It finally came around again, then stopped half a block away. Two vatos got out dressed in baggy jeans and barrio coats buttoned at the top gang-style; a fashion that allowed easy access to belt-holstered weapons. They walked toward Shane, moving deliberately. As they drew closer, he could see they were both in their middle teens. One was dark-skinned, almost black; the other had Inca- Indio features, common to Central Mexico.
'Hola,' Shane said as they approached.
'Chupame, motherfucker,' the darker one replied. 'Not unless I get a ring first,' Shane quipped.
The Indio pushed Shane toward the building. 'Turn around. Hands on the wall.'
Shane did as instructed. They quickly found the ankle holster and stripped it off.
'No cuetes, asshole.'
'I'm a cop. We're required to pack,' Shane said, cursing the decision because he had just lost a four- hundred-dollar Beretta Mini with a custom grip and laser sight.
They waved at the Impala, which made a U-turn, then came back. There were two more Mexicans in the low-rider, both heavily sleeved with interlocking M and 13 gang tatts. Amac was not in the car. Shane was pushed into the back and a black pillowcase was put over his head, then he was shoved down onto the floor between the seats.
The next half hour was an uncomfortable ride across town. Then they were leaving the freeway, moving slower as they headed down bumpy-surface streets. He heard the distant wail of a siren and laughter from a passing bar. Then the car finally slowed and came to a stop.
'Manolo, to ranfla adentro,' a new voice said through the window, instructing the driver to move the car inside. A ran, la was a cherried-out low-rider.
The Impala started again, drove about twenty feet before the engine was shut off. Shane heard metal hinges squeaking and a heavy wooden gate close. Then he was yanked into a sitting position; the pillowcase was snapped off his head, and he was being pulled out of the low-rider, pushed up against the passenger door.
'Stand there, gabacho,' one of the vatos ordered.
He was in a Spanish-style courtyard reminiscent of a fortress that looked as if it took up the better part of a city block. There was an old three-tiered stone fountain dripping water in the center of a tiled patio. The building that surrounded the courtyard on all four sides was three stories high and constructed of tan California adobe. Tile roofs sloped down toward the patio. Shane could see several Ernes lying prone up there, armed, their muzzles pointing down into the street outside. Shane guessed by the architecture that he was in the heart of L. A., probably somewhere down by Alvarado Street, one of the few places where these two-hundred-year-old Mexican buildings still existed. He saw a brass plaque on the wall identifying this landmark as Plaza ParaIso-Paradise Square.
A large wooden door opened behind Shane, and Amac stood on the threshold, flanked on two sides by Eme guards. He wore baggy jeans and a gang-tank jacket with '18th Street Suretios' on the back. As he walked across the tiled courtyard, his booted footsteps echoed against the adobe walls. Shane pushed away from the fancy low- rider and crossed to meet him at the fountain. Finally, they were face-to-face.
'Que pasa, hombre?' Shane said softly.
Amac shrugged. 'Asi es, asi sera.' This is how it is and how it's gonna be.
'You got that right,' Shane answered.
'Like I said on the phone, ese, I got my hands full right now. We're down with this shit, so you got something to tell me? Let's hear it.'
'I need some insight, Amac.'
' 'At's why they got churches, Scully.'
'Somebody killed Kevin Cordell; lured Stone into an avocado orchard and assassinated him. Now O. G.'s from both the Crip and Blood sets are starting to get shot. At first we thought Stone's death had created a power vacuum between those two sets, but yesterday somebody witnessed a drive-by. Two Crips went down. They said the shooters were La Eme. Alexa thinks this might be turning into some kinda intercity drug free-for-all. That's not gonna be good, man. Innocent people start dying and the governor could call out the Guard. There could be some serious shit to pay. I want to stop it before that happens. To do that, we need to know what's going on and why.'
Amac looked at him for a long moment. 'Que jodido!' he blurted. 'So you come down, pull on my coat.' 'Yeah, that was my plan.'
'Maybe while I'm at it, I should grab the vatos who did that piece a work, turn them over to you?'
'I got some useful stuff to trade.'
'You got shit. You're so far behind the curve, you ain't approved to do business.'
'Who shot Kevin Cordell? At least gimme the spill on that.'
'Kevin Cordell…' He spit the name out like a fruit seed. 'That transforming piece a shit sure deserved to die, but now I'm beginning to think we was all better off when he was alive. At least he kept them dedos locos a his from goin' off the reservation. Now we got a fucking street war with mayates rollin' around in work cars, shootin'
