legs,' I promised. He fixed a worried frown on me but seemed to get the message.

I got out of the Cherokee and walked along the sidewalk to the front of the huge brick-and-glass structure that went up thirty floors. I passed through inch-thick glass double doors fronting the lobby and walked into a cavernous reception area that had no sign of Stacy Maluga. A security guard watched me warily from behind a fortress-sized marble desk as I studied the building directory.

Halfway down, under L, I saw Lethal Force, Inc. Their offices took up two entire floors, twenty-six and twenty-seven.

I headed to the elevator and the cop on the desk called out, 'Gotta sign in, sir.'

I turned and walked over to him, pulled out my tin and flashed it. 'How's this working?' I said.

He held both palms out in a gesture of surrender and I took the elevator to twenty-eight. I got out into a brokerage firm's lobby, then found the fire stairs and went down one flight. I stopped just outside the twenty- seventh floor, then put the earpiece in and listened. Either I was too far away from the bug or the poured concrete walls were too thick, because all I heard was the soft hissing. I went down one more flight, paused behind the door on twenty-six, and listened again.

Now I could faintly hear Stacy Maluga's voice, tinny and far away in my ear. I rotated the receiver, trying to tune her in.

'I still got all my mad skills, baby,' she was saying. 'You gotta trust me.' I turned the unit again and finally got slightly better reception. Then I hit record on the tape. 'This ain't gonna go away 'less we fix it,' she continued.

'Yeah, but you talkin' about doggin' out Curtis and Lionel. Lotta heat gonna come down on that play,' Louis Maluga answered. 'You a good milk shake, baby, and nobody says you can't bring boys ta the yard, but we go up on those niggas and the cops gonna be in my face. I'm still pullin' a tail.' Talking about being on parole.

'Curtis went and got hisself some white boy accountants an' lawyers,' she persisted. 'They going after all those back royalties and performance payments and such. The fool's even talkin' about enforcing his key man escape clause over Dante Watts. I'm tellin' ya that Boon Johnny about ta raise up on us. If he can force an audit, them books won't hold. Fraud is a felony too, Louis. They file on that, you gonna get violated and be back in Q just the same.'

'Shit,' Lou said.

'Look, sugar, we ain't got much time. Once Curtis files a lawsuit, we can't do nothin' but watch that boy pick us clean 'cause if we move on him then, we'll look guilty. That means we gotta do this tonight. These two niggas ain't in no choir. Lionel may wear them nice white vines now, but he still just a street G went to city college. He still got that buncha nosebleeds on Sixtieth to deal with. We set this up right, it won't hit us. Hear me out, baby. Let me run it for you.'

'I don't wanta talk about this here. These offices ain't watertight. I got Rawson sweepin' 'em twice a week now. You wouldn't believe what we find in the walls.'

Then there was more muffled talk that I couldn't understand and a door slammed. I ran back up to twenty- eight, exited the fire stairs, and was back in the brokerage floor. I pushed the down button, but stood there for almost three minutes before the elevator arrived.

When I got back to the lobby, there was no sign of the Malugas. I thought I had beaten them to the entrance, but I didn't want to get busted standing here, so I sprinted for the parking lot. When I got to the car, I was relieved to see the tan Rolls still in its parking space. I jumped into the Jeep. Bodine was slumped down in the passenger seat with his eyes closed.

'Stay down, I don't want 'em to see us,' I cautioned.

'If you talking about that little blond spinner we followed over here she's gone.'

I looked over and he nodded.

'She and some brown-frown the size of a dump truck dipped outta here in a yellow Ferrari two minutes ago.'

Chapter 38

We sat in the parking lot for a couple of minutes while I tried to figure out a profitable course of action. For some reason, Bodine was now ranting about the African slave trade in the eighteen hundreds, which he called the Black Holocaust. I tuned him out and tried to piece together a plan. The tape I just made sounded like a plot against Curtis Clark and Lionel Wright set to go down tonight. The problem was, if I tried to book it into evidence and get a case number, I'd be signing up for a boatload of trouble with the department. Nothing on the tape was admissible because it had all been illegally acquired. With no warrant or even correct paperwork from Sally to get the bug installed at ESD, we would both get hammered. As John's voice continued to drone on about slave traders in 1820,1 tried to come up with a solution that wouldn't land me and Sally Quinn in a jackpot.

My tape was worthless in the criminal justice system, but it had to be worth something to Curtis Clark and Lionel Wright. Maybe it would buy me a place at the table. If I was going to clear Alexa! s name, I had to find a way to somehow get to the inside. Chooch told me that it was common knowledge that Maluga had been feuding with Curtis Clark, but he didn't know why. From what I'd just overheard, it seemed the feud was over stolen royalties and back performance pay.

John kept ranting.

'African slavers was kidnappin' our tribal warriors an' hiding them in the jungle in this old abandoned French village my great-great-grandfather, Chief O, chased 'em there. That village was a Dantean nightmare.'

Dantean nightmare? Where did he get this stuff? Had he actually read both Thomas Mann's Tonio Kroger and Dante's Inferno?

I dialed 411 and the exchange operator said, 'City and state, please.'

I told her what I wanted and she gave me the number, which I dialed into my phone. John kept trying to get my attention.

'Hey,' he said, but I ignored him. 'Hey, I'm talkin' at you.'

'WYD Productions,' a woman's lilting voice answered after two rings.

'Lionel Wright's office, please.'

'I'll connect you to his assistant, Miss McKenzie.'

As I was being transferred, Bodine got frustrated and slipped into one of his high-volume rants.

'This here be my legacy,' he shouted. 'It's what my life is about. I'm talkin' about a criminal catastrophe the fuckin' Black Holocaust and all you can to do is blab on yer phone!'

'Shut up, John,' I shouted back. 'I've got a situation here!'

He fell silent and began to pout.

'Lionel Wright's office,' a woman with a clipped British accent said.

'This is Detective Shane Scully with Homicide Special at the LAPD. I need to speak with Lionel Wright or Curtis Clark.'

'I'm sorry, Mr. Wright is not available and Mr. Clark doesn't record for us. Try Lethal Force, Inc. They can give you a number.'

'Lady, this is a police emergency. Your boss is about to get murdered tonight. I have a surveillance tape he should listen to. If you want him and Curtis Clark to see the end of the week, you'll put me through.'

There was a long pause. 'I'm sorry, what?'

'You heard me. If you'd rather let them get assassinated, I guess that's your call.'

I was putting some stress into her day. Her cool efficiency disappeared. 'I c-can't promise anything,' she stuttered. 'Mr. Wright doesn't '

'You call him. Tell him what I just said. I'll meet him anywhere. House, office, street corner. He can pick.'

'Where can we reach you?'

'I'll call back in ten minutes.'

I hung up without saying good-bye. John Bodine was staring at me wide-eyed.

'Bust A Cap is slammin'!' The Black Holocaust seemed lost in the wake of Lionel Wright's celebrity. 'You know

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