'You've got a bigger problem than Mingo,' Sabas said. 'If this fight is on an Indian reservation, you and Mrs. Scully got no jurisdiction;' He looked pointedly at Alexa then back at me. 'Indian reservations have treaty arrangements with the federal government. They're sovereign territories, governed by their own tribal councils and policed by Indian cops.'
'I think we can…'
'I know what I'm talking about,' he interrupted.
'What I was about to say is we can get plenty of cooperation. I've done it before. We just check in with the Indian police chief, show our warrant, accompany him while he makes the arrest.'
'I still don't get why Rick O'Shea would show up there,' Diamond said. 'If he's on the run, isn't that taking a big chance?'
'It's out of state,' Alexa said. 'Plus he knows it's going to take time for us to get a warrant and get it served in Arizona by tomorrow. That's if we ever even figured out he was going to be there.'
'According to Mingo, O'Shea hasn't pulled out of his match,' I added. 'He'll be there or his bout is a forfeit. It's probably wav too big a payday for him to pass up. He'll take his share of the purse, then get out of the country.'
Vargas finally broke the silence. 'So we go to Arizona and pop him there. That's the plan?'
'No,' I told them. 'You guys aren't going. The Pop Dix Homicide Steering Committee is officially disbanded.'
'Then let's get out of here,' Sabas said.
'Just like that? No argument?' I said.
'No argument. I'm tired of fighting with you about this. Let the Indian police handle it if that's your plan. We'll just wait and get our payback at the L. A. arraignment.'
I looked at Alexa. After a minute, she shrugged.
'Can we go now?' Sabas said. 'I still have a law practice to run. I have a conference in my office at four.'
Two hours later Alexa and I were back at our Venice house. I was sitting on one of the stools in the kitchen watching her prepare dinner.
'You want tomatoes and onions in this meat casserole?' she asked.
I nodded. 'And garlic.'
She peeled a clove then slammed the knife down on the cutting board and smashed the clove before chopping it and tossing the pieces into a saute pan with some sizzling butter.
'I don't trust Vargas,' I said.
'What makes you say that? The fact that he won't look you in the eye when he's lying to you, or that nervous little stutter when he got out of the van? Or the fact that he'd probably rather serve this warrant with a bunch of g- sters from Boyle Heights?'
'All the above. Plus, he's not used to being told he can't do what he wants. None of us are. After a promising start with that guy, it's sort of come apart.'
'We've got bigger problems than Sabas Vargas,' Alexa said. 'I think we need to bring in the FBI. Vargas is wrong that only Indian cops have jurisdiction on a reservation. The feds can also make arrests in conjunction with Indian authority.
'Not that I don't trust the Tohono Nation PD, but I'm thinking it sure wouldn't hurt to have a few federal cops with guns around.' Alexa put down the knife and faced me. 'Here's something else that might help. When I was talking to Chief Filosiani, he said that their local ASAC seemed very upset with those two guys. Apparently Agents Westfall and Faskin had Jack in custody a few hours after the Temecula bank heist before he even got out of Central California.
'The highway patrol picked him up in a freeway speed trap, ran him, and made the arrest. Our two local heroes had Jack in the back of their car in cuffs and were transporting him to L. A. to get booked when somehow Jack managed to drain their car battery by pulling out the cigarette lighter in the backseat and cross-wiring it, or dead grounding it, or some damn thing.'
My respect for Jack Straw took another leap forward.
Alexa continued. 'I guess the way it happened, they pulled off the road to eat, took Jack out of the car and into the restaurant in cuffs, not noticing he'd rewired the cigarette lighter. They came back an hour later and the car wouldn't start.'
'Ya gotta love that Jack,' I said, smiling.
She nodded. 'While Westfall and Faskin had the hood up trying to figure out what was wrong, Jack took off with their cuffs still on and escaped.' She smiled at me. 'Needless to say, this was not met with much enthusiasm at the 11000 building on Wilshire. Westfall and Faskin are cooking over a slow fire down there.'
'And you think I should use this?' I said, smiling.
'No,' she replied sarcastically. 'Give it to TMZ or the National Enquirer, why don't you?'
Chapter 49
'What's this all about?' Kurt Westfall growled as I slid into a Dennvs restaurant window booth directly across from chunk); red-faced Leo Faskin. It was a little past nine the same night. We were at Denny's because it was right across from the federal building on Wilshire, and they said 011 the phone they were hungry.
Since these two guys had already made it very clear they didn't like me, it didn't surprise me they'd already ordered. But I'd just eaten anyway, and if I played this right, maybe I could get them to lose their appetites.
I waved the waitress off as Leo Faskin poured about a half a pound of sugar into his coffee and Westfall shifted his string-bean body, trying to find a comfortable spot in the booth for his bony ass.
'Guvs, I think what we need is a come-to-Jesus meeting,' I said pleasantly.
'What we need is a fuck you meeting,' Westfall shot back.
'C mon, Kurt, that's a little extreme,' I said, holding his gaze.
Agent Faskin leaned forward. 'We been told Chief Filosiani wants us to back off, and for some reason, our wussy ASAC s going along. That means we're on the sidelines. What more do you want?'
'Here's the full and complete update 011 Jack Straw,' I said. 'Contrary to what you were told, I don't exactly have custody of him anymore.'
'We know that, Scully,' Westfall said. 'You took him awav from those cops on Wilshire last Wednesday night, and before sunup he gave you the slip. You been running all over L. A. like a blind rat trying to find him and so far don't have a clue. We're just waiting for this bag of shit to land 011 you where it belongs.'
'I hope you guys have been playing fair and aren't abusing the Patriot Act, listening in 011 my phone calls.'
Faskin set down the sugar and slid it angrily across the table, where it hit some napkins and stopped abruptly. 'We don't have to tap your phones to know what an incompetent piece of shit you are.'
'Have we finished with the fuck-you part ot the meeting yet?'
'No we haven't,' Westfall said. 'That guy, Straw, popped two federal banks in Central California. He stole ten grand from one, fourteen from the other. He knocked out a sixty-vear-old security guard during the Temecula heist. Poor old guy had to get twenty stitches. Straw is a bleeding sore with a yellow sheet that goes back ten years. He should be sitting in our cooler right now, but you cut him loose from Acosta and Moon and, dumb asshole that you are, promptly lost him. And that, my friend, is the full and complete update 011 Jack Straw.'
'You left out the part where you two brain trusts let him hot-wire your backseat cigarette lighter and escape up in Temecula.'
They both just sat glowering, their faces getting redder.
I leaned forward. 'In the interest of lowering your blood pressure, I might be in a position to help. I know your ASAC is grinding you up over losing Jack. I also know firsthand what turds these administration guys can be. All they gotta do is come in late and make sure the Internet is connected. Field guys like us, were the ones that do the real work, and if things don't go perfect, we always end up taking the heat.'
'What do you want?' Westfall said. He'd clearly had enough of me.
'Even though I don't have physical custody, I know where Jack is. I'm willing to help you two get him
