'What else did your tip say?'
'Asked if we were looking for Timothy Johnston. I said, 'The T-man? The Tunnel?' He said, 'That's the man.' I said, 'Yeah, we're interested in him.' He said, 'I know where he was.' I said, 'Where's that?' He gave me the address and I asked him why he was telling me. He said, 'Do we want this mo-fo or not?' I said, 'Yeah,' and he said, 'Now you know where to find him,' and hung up.'
The fifty-five hundred area of Reston was deep with Bloods who hated the LAPD, and Frank considered the possibility of an ambush.
'Did you recognize the caller at all?'
'Yeah, Frank. It was my dead grandfather calling from the grave.. .I don't know who it was.'
Johnnie slapped the warrant impatiently and said, 'Are we gonna move on this or not?'
She thought a moment longer, then replied, 'Suit up. Everybody roll. Check out the Kevlar and thigh holsters. Get some jackets. Johnnie, put that warrant in your pocket.'
He rolled his eyes, 'Yes, mother.'
Two years ago they'd gone out to bust a dealer who'd killed three kids who were working for him and ripping him off. As they were scrambling out of their units, Johnnie had patted his pockets. No arrest warrant. They had to call the bust off, and their man walked. They were still looking for him. Frank wouldn't let Johnnie forget it.
Noah, Jill, Johnnie, and Frank were the only detectives in the office. And Kennedy.
'Suit up,' Frank said to her.
'Naw, Frank. She doesn't need to go on this,' Noah interjected.
Frank turned to him.
'Why not?'
'Yeah, why not?' Kennedy echoed, facing him, fists on hips.
'It's not her gig. We got enough people from here, we don't need to be dragging in narcs from Parker.'
Frank tilted her head toward Johnnie's retreating back and told Kennedy to go help him. She readily followed. Noah asked again, 'Come on, Frank, leave her out of this.'
Frank had already started walking to her office. She had to let Foubarelle know what was going down, but now she paused.
'Is there something I should know about? A problem?'
'No. It's just that this guy's a bad dude, and Reston's a really bad place. She shouldn't have to help us with our dirty work. The four of us can handle it. And we'll have back-up, too.'
Frank seemed to mull it over, but then hoisted him on his own petard.
'Would you be this concerned if Kennedy was a man?'
'Touche. But maybe I would. Hell, J don't want to go there and it's my case. I'd just rather leave her, that's all.'
Frank shook her head.
'She's going. I want to see Gidget in action.'
Frank went to make her call, hearing Noah hiss 'Shi-it' behind her. She was amused by his concern, but Frank was eager to see Kennedy under pressure. Truth to tell, she wouldn't mind seeing Kennedy sweat a little and have that damn cocky smile wiped off her face. It briefly crossed Frank's mind that she was being petty again, but she didn't pause to examine the thought and dialed her captain instead. When he didn't answer, she stalked back into the squad room. Noah, on the phone arranging for back-up, looked grim. Jill seemed worried.
Frank crossed the room and asked her quietly, 'Okay, Fire Truck?'
Jill smiled wearily, 'Right as rain.'
She slipped into an extra-large flak jacket and Frank gave her a quick pat on the shoulder. Glancing at Johnnie and Kennedy, she recognized their excitement. Though her own composure was still unflappable, Frank was excited and slightly apprehensive. Busts like this were inherently risky and made the adrenaline flow. She mentioned her concerns about an ambush, briefly scanning Kennedy's reaction, but the young cop's enthusiasm didn't waver.
'Can we try and draw him out of the apartment?' Noah asked.
'Are you kidding? Into this weather?' Johnnie laughed at the idea. 'I say we just go in and take him.'
Frank sided with Johnnie. 'We don't know enough to draw him out. It's a pretty mellow day, and he's probably just hanging inside, chillin'. Unless it's a set-up, I think we've got surprise on our side.'
Noah made a wry face as Frank outlined their strategy. The Reston Arms was a concrete, two-story apartment complex, with walk-ups and a balcony around the front. The front door was the only entrance, and depending on how Apartment D was situated, the back-up would cover the windows to the rear and/or side of the building. Technically, Noah and Johnnie would go in first because it was their case, but Frank wanted a better shooter up front. She and Johnnie would flank the door, with Noah and Kennedy behind them. Jill would back up the uniforms behind the apartment.
'Alright. Questions?'
Moving, Johnnie said, 'Yeah. You buying lunch afterwards?'
'I thought you were on a liquid diet,' Jill shot back.
Filing out in their navy windbreakers, with LAPD stenciled boldly across their backs, they looked like a ball team taking the field. Outside, the rain fell straight and steadfast, a resolute army of droplets streaming unwaveringly to the ground.
'You sure these apartments aren't inside?' Jill asked in the Mercury, squashed between Kennedy and Briggs.
'Don't worry, you ain't gonna melt.'
Frank could see the radio units following them in the side mirror. It felt good. They had the advantage of surprise and lots of manpower. Frank's stomach rumbled. She was looking forward to lunch. She cut Noah a glance and could tell he was still upset. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and he hunched over it in bleak determination. He hated busts.
'What's for lunch, Watson?' Frank asked.
He just shrugged, concentrating through the flapping wipers. Frank twisted around with a sharp glare for Kennedy. 'Are you ready for this?'
'You know it,' Kennedy grinned, making three loud pops with her gum.
She apologized sheepishly when Jill said, 'If my kid does that, he'll never chew gum again.'
'How come he's called Tunnel?' Kennedy asked.
'Cause he's long and black,' Johnnie chimed.
As they approached Reston, Frank went over the plan one more time. The detectives squinted through the rain at the crumbling apartments. Five units stacked over five, spalling gray concrete dotted with bullet holes, rusted stairs at either end providing access to the upper apartments. Some of the windows were covered with tin foil or cardboard. Some were intact but cracked. A few held sagging Christmas decorations.
They parked on the street and scrambled through the maze of crumpled lawn chairs, sprung couches, and garbage. It was hard not to step on shattered Olde English or Cobra bottles. While Jill and two of the cops scrambled around to the back of the building, the other two stayed with Frank's group. They took their positions under the balcony at the apartment's door, hands loosely next to their holstered weapons, radios on. Johnnie pulled the warrant out with a flourish and winked at Frank.
She knocked loudly, and a woman's skinny face peered from behind a sheet in the window. They heard muted voices, then after an inordinate amount of time bolts were slowly drawn back. The woman who'd appeared in the window opened the door a few inches and peeped out from under a chain lock.
'We have a warrant for the arrest of Timothy Johnston,' Johnnie growled.
'He ain't here.'
'We have reason to believe he is. Unchain the door and step outside.'
'I gotta get my coat,' she said fearfully, starting to close the door.
'STEP OUTSIDE NOW!' Johnnie bellowed.
The woman glanced over her shoulder, then closed the splintering door and fiddled with the chain. Like a high-speed computer, Frank's brain processed reasons for the delay—getting rid of a stash, trying to get out the back, hiding, positioning for fire. The former seemed the most likely scenario. As the door started to open, the radio blared that a black male, not the suspect, had jumped from a rear window and was in custody, but that there was at least one more black male inside the apartment.
