“You have brothers or sisters?”
“I’m it.”
“When will your mother be back?”
“A couple of weeks. Two.”
Rojas studied Jack, and Jack wondered what he was thinking. Then Rojas glanced in his notebook, turned a page, and looked up.
“The Mustang is a nice vehicle. How did you pay for it?”
“My mom bought it for me. Why does this matter? Why are we talking about this?”
“You had no driver’s license. Don’t you have a driver’s license?”
“I left it in the car.”
Rojas shook his head.
“There was nothing in the car.”
“Dude, I left it in the car with my wallet. My wallet, my credit card, my money. What happened to that stuff?”
Rojas told Jack to stay where he was, and joined the tall man and the man with bad teeth. Jack did not understand what they were saying, but the tall man frowned at Jack, and seemed to do most of the talking. Rojas did most of the nodding, as if he was receiving instructions.
Jack was watching them when the tough Korean shouted, his words exploding like rapid-fire gunshots. The Korean was on his feet when Jack turned. Two guards hit him with their shoulders down, driving him into the corner. A third guard joined in, jabbing a shock prod into the Korean’s ribs that crackled so loud when the current discharged, Jack heard it across the room. A second shock prod appeared, and the third guard swung a club. The Korean went down, but the club kept falling and the shock prods popped and snapped as the Korean pulled himself into a ball. The kicks and punches and electric snapping went on forever, until Jack lurched to his feet.
“Stop it! He’s down!”
Jack took a step, but something hit him hard from behind, and staggered him forward. An arm wrapped his throat and lifted him off his feet.
“You want some?”
He crashed belly down on the floor. The man with the bad teeth was on top of him, raspy voice in Jack’s ear.
“You want it like him? I got some, you want it.”
In that moment, Jack saw the Korean. They were both belly down on the carpet. The Korean was looking at him. The three men on his back were tying his hands behind his back.
The man with bad teeth punched Jack in the side, the back, and the back of his head, and Jack clenched his eyes. He was jerked to his feet, spun around, and the man slapped him. Jack tried to cover his face, but the man slapped him again, then pushed down his hands.
“You want me to tie your hands? I tie your hands, you’ll shit in your pants. You want that?”
“No.”
“What did you say?”
“No, sir.”
“You gonna give me trouble?”
“No, no trouble.”
The man held Jack by the back of his neck with a grip like pliers. He pushed Jack out of the living room, down the hall, and into the bedroom. He stopped in the open doorway, holding Jack as he stared at Krista. He was very close. His teeth were so jagged and crooked they looked like the teeth carved in a pumpkin. He looked from Krista to Jack, then leaned so close the warmth of his breath tickled Jack’s ear.
“I got my eye on her. You give me bullshit again, we see what happens, huh?”
The man shoved Jack hard into the room, then slammed the door. The lock bolt thudding home sounded like a headsman’s ax hitting the block.
Jack tried to make it to the bucket before he threw up, but didn’t.
Elvis Cole: four days before he is taken
16
The police stayed with the Sanchez brothers as the day settled into darkness, and the cooling air grew silky. I bought a Diet Coke and two chicken tacos while I waited. The tacos were Mexico City style. Two small corn tortillas wrapped around chicken, onions, and cilantro, with a generous helping of fresh jalapeno and salty green tomatillo sauce. No beans or cheese. Beans and cheese were for sissies. The tacos were hot and juicy, and the heat increased as I ate. So good I ordered two more. Delicious.
I saw movement in the office from time to time, but my angle was bad to see more. Eighteen minutes after I ate the last taco, the red-haired cop came out to their car. He took a briefcase from the back seat, took out a folder, then put the briefcase back. He started back to the office, but abruptly stopped and studied the street as if he sensed someone watching. I stepped farther behind the taco stand, watching him through the sliver of space between the stand and a telephone pole.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I did not move.
He did a slow three-sixty until his eyes settled on the taco stand. A middle-aged Latina was ordering food. The red-haired cop was forty yards away, but I still saw the lines that trapped his eyes like spiderwebs.
The phone buzzed like an insistent alarm clock. I worried the woman would hear it, and turn from the window to look. I covered the phone with my hand, and waited.
He stared at the stand for eight or ten years, then abruptly returned to the office.
I checked the call, and found a message from Carol Starkey.
“Dude. What the fuck? Call me.”
Starkey talks that way.
I called her back.
“It’s me.”
“Are you trying to fuck me, you moron?”
She didn’t sound happy.
“What’s up?”
“I had the Feds in here, man. ICE. The Immigration police? They pinged my search on your boy, Sanchez. They wanted to know my fucking interest.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Oh, are we worried now? Are we scared I ratted you out?”
“I know you wouldn’t rat me out, Starkey. What’s the fallout on you? What did you tell them?”
“The name came up in a Green Light hit I’m working in Hollywood. Told’m I ran the name for due diligence, but my Rudy Sanchez lives in Venice, not Coachella. He wasn’t my guy.”
Green Light hit meant Mexican Mafia. La Eme. Dropping their name lent credibility to her search for a Spanish surname.
“Good dodge.”
“Did you know he was a coyote?”
“Yeah.”
“You asshole.”
“I wanted to find him, Starkey. What difference is it the kind of criminal he is?”
“Yeah, well, ICE was all over this fuckin’ criminal. He was involved with the Sinaloa cartel. Is there anything else you should tell me?”
“Who killed him?”
“If they know, they didn’t tell me. You got an idea?”
“Did they mention Korea or gangsters from Korea?”
“What are we talkin’ about here, the U fuckin’ N? Do you know something about this?”
