mind in the bedroom.'
'You mean sexually entertain your division commander in an attempt to affect a duty assignment?' 'Something like that.'
So we went into our bedroom, took off our clothes, and lay on the bed holding each other. She nuzzled my neck.
'This is beginning to make my Southwest crime problem seem irrelevant,' she said, reaching for me.
I was already breathing hard when she stopped suddenly and looked into my eyes.
'Sometimes we're going to be on opposite sides of things.'
'I understand,' I said softly.
'But I want you to know I respect where you're coming from. What I treasure most are your complexities.'
Chapter 25
The next morning I drove down Abbot Kinney Boulevard heading toward IHOP for a stack of cakes and some coffee, before going into the office. As I pulled into a parking space in the adjoining lot, a tan Fairlane that looked like it had been painted with spray cans from the drugstore, screeched into the space next to me. The doors flew open and Rowdy and Snitch got out.
'This is nice down here,' Broadway said. 'Smell the ocean and everything.'
'I'm assuming this ambush is because your lieutenant signed off on me,' I replied.
'You buy the grits; we'll see how it goes,' Emdee said and turned to lock the door of the car. It had to be force of habit, because there was nothing worth stealing on that wreck. It didn't even have hubcaps.
The IHOP was strangely quiet for 7 A. M. We found a booth in the back and settled in. Broadway and I ordered pancakes, bacon, and coffee. Emdee Perry had what he called a hillbilly breakfast. Pork sausage, oatmeal, and Red Bull.
'Alright,' I said, taking out my spiral pad and pen. 'No notes,' Broadway said.
'Why not?'
'In this game we don't put stuff on paper. Nobody wants t' face a bunch a subpoenaed notes we can't explain in federal court.'
I put the pad away.
Emdee said, 'We done some background checking and it seems you're okay, but we also found out Detective Farrell's bread ain't quite out of the oven. Frankly, you bein' hooked up with him makes us wonder how loose your shit is. The Loot says you been in some tight scrapes and didn't leak, but what we're gonna tell you's gotta stay with you. You can't go blabbin' none a this to the task force, or yer partner, or anybody else and that includes your wife.'
Roger Broadway leaned forward. 'Most a this shit won't stand up under a policy review. That's why we need your word.'
'You got it.'
The food came and everybody dug in.
'Okay,' I said between bites. 'Why don't you start by telling me why half the L. A. intelligence community was at Andrazack's funeral?'
'That wasn't half,' Roger Broadway said. 'That was just Russians, Jews, CIA, us, and two guys from the French embassy. You didn't get no pictures, so you musta clean missed the Frogs. They were up on the roof of the main building.'
'I can't believe this dead Mossad agent was that popular.'
'Classified information is getting out,' Emdee Perry said. 'Even our shop is leaking. The embassy players in town are freaking. All we got in this business is our secrets, and all of a sudden, it's like nobody's data is secure. We think Davide Andrazack was over here to help the Israelis find out who and how.' He pushed his plate away. 'We're getting fucked worse than sheep at an Appalachian barn dance.'
'Andrazack must have found out something,' Broadway added. 'We think whoever is bugging these embassies caught Andrazack and whacked him to keep it quiet.'
'So who's planting the bugs?' I asked. 'Russians or Israelis?'
'Them two ain't the ones doin' it,' Emdee said. 'You sound pretty sure.'
'Behavior indicates result,' Roger explained.
'I love when Joe Bob talks pretty like that,' Emdee drawled. 'But he's right. If they's the ones planting bugs, they wouldn't be running around like their hair's on fire.'
'Andrazack had Cyrillic symbols tattooed on his eyelids,' I said. 'Translation: 'Don't wake up.' I got a call from a friend on the Russian gang squad this morning. He says that's a Ukranian hitman's curse. Sounds like Andrazack was more a Russian than a Jew.'
'He was both,' Broadway said. 'Russian Jew. He repatriated from Moscow to Israel when he was nine. Joined the Israeli Army when he turned nineteen, then he joined the Mossad. He was fluent in Balkan dialects, so they sent the boy back to Moscow when he was twenty-five. His specialty was assassinations. Close kills behind the Iron Curtain. In the early eighties he botched a hit in Moscow and was sentenced to twenty years in Lefortovo Prison. Since Andrazack's criminal specialty was murder, he used his skills on the inside to stay alive. He was whackin' enemies of the Odessa mob for smokes. Ended up being the most feared killer in that prison. That's why he had the Russian tatts on his eyelids. After the Soviet Union fell, somebody in the Mossad paid off a Russian commissar and he got released, went back to Israel. By then he was almost blind and became a computer geek.'
'With a history like that, sounds to me like he would've had a lot of Russian enemies,' I said.
'Bam-Barn Stan wouldn't have been at that funeral if his Black Ops guys did the hit,' Broadway answered.
'Who the hell is Bam-Barn Stan?'
'The whale wearing the burlap tent. Stanislov Bambarak. Ex-KGB. 'Course nobody cops to being a KGB agent anymore. Stan says he works for the Russian ballet and symphony, but according to our intelligence file he wouldn't know an oboe from a skin flute. He went to the Russian language and culture schools in the Balkans in the early sixties. He came out and mostly worked infiltrating MI-5 until they moved him back to Moscow. Guy speaks English like a Saville Row faggot. Putting the cultural stuff aside, the fact is, he's still a frontline Kremlin operator. Back in the eighties, before his ankles started swelling, that bad boy was an fire-breathing sack of trouble. Still wouldn't want to go up against him.'
'And the guy from the Israeli Embassy?' I asked.
'Jeez, you sure want a lot for a crummy stack of cakes,' Broadway complained. 'Maybe you got something to tell us about the Andrazack murder first.'
I gave it a moment's thought. 'Okay. The bullet we dug out of Andrazack's head was a five-forty-five caliber. We think it came from a PSM Automatic.'
'The best damn piece ever for close kills,' Emdee said. 'You get a ballistics match?'
'Still waiting. I'll let you know if the slug ties up to any old cases.'
They both nodded.
'This gun was issued to KGB agents, but you still say the Reds didn't pop him?'
'Theoretically, anything's possible,' Roger conceded. 'But Bambarak was at that funeral to make sure Andrazack was really on the Ark. He's too hands-on for one of his agents to have done it and him not know.'
'So who's the Israeli with the bald head who left in their embassy car?'
'The guy ain't no Israeli,' Emdee said. 'He's a U. S. citizen of the Jewish persuasion-a retired LAPD sergeant named Eddie Ringerman. Worked Homicide before nine-eleven. He pulled the pin two years ago. Now he's a consultant for the Israelis. Helps them get favors and information out of the Glass House. Not a bad guy. He just forgot which flag he's supposed to salute.'
'I think we need to talk to Ringerman and Bambarak,' I said. 'Can you get them to open up?'
'We're tricky bastards who have good relations all over town,' Emdee said. 'In the spy business, a guy does you a favor, you owe him. Reds, Ruskies, CIA, Frogs, Germans, us-everybody keeps track of old debts and pays off.
