I drove with the windows down, and the clean roaring wind, until I was free of the desert, and called Joe Pike.
17
The silky night air was cool as I drove west toward Los Angeles. The wind’s heavy scream carved a peaceful place in the world when Joe answered my call.
“You on the hat?”
“The hat joined up with the Beemer, and followed it to a soju bar on Vermont north of Olympic. The hat and the suits went in, so I’m watching the bar.”
Soju was a Korean liquor.
“Is that in Koreatown?”
“Yes. The Blue Raccoon.”
I jotted the name.
“What are they doing?”
“Unknown. They’re inside, I’m a block off. The bar’s in a two-story strip mall. A barbeque place. Noraebang studios. A couple of businesses. Valet. Upscale place.”
I sketched out what I had learned from Rudy J about the Koreans and Sinaloas, and how the brothers were caught in the cross fire.
Pike said, “Is he telling the truth?”
“I think so, yes. The police are on them, the Koreans are jamming them for the two hundred thousand, and the Sinaloas are letting them hang. That can be good for us. If the Sinaloas told the truth about this guy they call the Syrian, it’s possible the Syrian scooped up Krista and Berman along with the hijack. Rudy confirmed his father sometimes used the crash site as a transfer point.”
Pike grunted.
“Would the Syrian take them south?”
If they were south of the border, it would be more difficult to find them and reach them.
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about the Syrian, and neither do the brothers. All they know is what the Sinaloas told them.”
“Can you find out?”
“I’m on it. I’m calling Locano as soon as we hang up. If he can’t help, we’ll find another way. If we have to, we’ll go straight to the Sinaloas.”
Pike grunted again, and this time I knew he liked it. Pike was a straight-ahead person.
I said, “We need intel on the Koreans, too. Can you get the tags off the Subaru and the Beemer?”
“Stand by.”
Pike recited the two tags as I copied them.
“How long can you stay with these guys?”
“Whatever it takes.”
“Stay with the Beemer. He goes home, get the address.”
Pike hung up without another word, and I called Thomas Locano. It was after office hours, but I called his office first, and left a long, meandering message. I wanted to give him time to pick up in case he was working late, but he didn’t. I looked up his unlisted home number, and that’s where I reached him.
Mr. Locano sounded disturbed.
“We’re unlisted. How did you get this number?”
“I’m a detective, Mr. Locano. I had it in two calls.”
He still didn’t like it, and now sounded impatient.
“Well, what? We have guests. We were about to sit down.”
“Rudolfo Sanchez is dead. He was murdered on the same night Krista Morales and her boyfriend disappeared.”
“Oh my God. Hold on. I have to move to another room.”
I heard movement, then he came back on the line, talking as he walked, though his voice was low and guarded.
“All right, I can talk. Are these two things connected?”
“I believe so. Sanchez wasn’t a freelance operator like you were told. He used to be, but a cartel took over.”
“Which cartel? The Bajas, Tijuana, the Beltran-Leyva, who? There are many.”
“He was bringing people north for the Sinaloas. They believe he was hijacked by a bajadore they call the Syrian.”
“How do you know these things?”
I told him about Rudy J and his brothers, and how Rudy Senior had sometimes used the crash site as a transfer point to deliver the people he brought north.
“We know Krista and Berman stayed at the crash site after their friends returned to town. If they were at the scene when Sanchez arrived, it’s possible they were swept up in the hijacking.”
“You believe the bajadore has them?”
“Yes.”
I described the cartridge casings and tracking patterns Pike and I found in the desert, and how they indicated three smaller vehicles had assaulted a larger vehicle. I told him about the brown stain Pike found, and the footprints indicating a large number of people had clustered at the back of the larger truck.
“It would explain the ransom calls Nita received from her daughter. That’s how bajadores work their kidnappings, isn’t it? They force the victims to call their families.”
“Yes. This is how it is done.”
“Have you heard of this guy before, the Syrian?”
“Never. Is he from Syria?”
“No idea. They didn’t use his given name or say why he was called the Syrian, and Rudy didn’t ask. He just wanted them to leave.”
Locano was quiet before speaking again.
“Were the sons involved?”
“Rudy says they weren’t, and I believe him. They’re scared. They’re caught between the cartel, the police, and Korean gangsters who had people on the truck. I need a lead on this guy, Mr. Locano. If he has Krista Morales, then I need to find him.”
Mr. Locano was quiet for several long moments, but I knew he was thinking, and I knew he would help.
“I have helped people who were with the Sinaloas. Let me speak with them.”
“That would be great.”
“May I have your home phone? I might call tonight, or early tomorrow.”
I gave him my cell and my home, then asked for a second favor.
“I’m going to phone Nita, but I would like you to call her, too. She could use some reassurance.”
“Because she has no documents?”
“Yes, sir. She has enough on her mind without having to worry about losing her home and her business.”
“She’ll lose neither. The Immigration courts are overloaded with violent criminals they can’t deport fast enough. A woman like Nita with an established business and employees can easily get a stay of removal. These things are at the judge’s discretion. We see this all the time.”
“Will you explain this to her?”
“Should it come to that, I will represent her.”
“Thanks, Mr. Locano. For that, and for everything. Anything you find out about the Syrian will help.”
“I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
I put down the phone, and took a deep breath. I wanted to call Nita Morales, but wasn’t yet sure what I was
