Savages

154

The myth about drug-trade hijacking is that it’s the perfect crime because the victims can’t report the theft to the police.

Uhhhhhhhh …

They might not file a police report, but that doesn’t mean they won’t report it to the police.

It just has to be the right police.

Alex happens to know a few.

For example, Deputy Brian Berlinger of the Orange County Sheriff’s Department has a nice A-frame in Big Bear that he likes to go to on weekends and holidays. Which is why right now he’s on his computer researching which stores in the OC stock Leno and Letterman masks.

155

For the next hijacking, Ben decides on movie stars.

“I think I’m going gay,” he tells Chon.

“No surprise, but specifically …”

“I’m frighteningly into this theme thing,” Ben says as he looks at his choices on an Internet catalog. “If the dope and robbery don’t work out, maybe I could go into event planning.”

“Or suck cock.”

“There’s always that,” Ben admits. He studies the offerings. “You want to be Brad Pitt or George Clooney?”

“Beyond gay. You make gay look straight.”

“Choose.”

“Clooney.”

Ben hits “Buy.”

Chon’s on his own lappie.

Google Earth.

Aerial view of the next crime scene.

156

They’ll be looking for it this time.

They’ll be alert.

No shit.

Lado has put the word out, you see something on the side of the road, you don’t stop, you don’t slow down, you hit the gas, ese.

You keep driving, no matter what.

157

Ben and Chon finish laying the spike strip across the dirt road, and then shovel a light layer of gravel across it.

Like everybody else, they watch Cops. (“Bad boys, bad boys, whachoo gonna do …”)

Then they go back to the work car, pulled off into an avocado field near Fallbrook.

“Guacamole?” Ben asks.

Yeah, okay, not funny.

The pregame nerves are starting to kick in. Chon’s jaws look like they’re tightened with an Allen wrench and Ben’s knee bobs up and down like a jackhammer with a bad jones.

Yeah, but he gets off on it.

Why they call it “high-jacking,” he thinks. He gets high jacking.

Ben hears car tires on the dirt road.

“Game,” Chon says.

They hear the tires pop, Chon pulls the work car onto the road, and they’re on them. Same drill (practice, practice, practice)—Chon on the driver, Ben on the rider.

And it goes like that.

158

820K is a crap payday for Clooney and Pitt.

Lunch money for the Ocean’s boys, but not bad for a jacking among the avocados.

159

“Brad Pitt and who?” Lado asks.

“George Clooney,” the driver says.

“Ocean’s Eleven,” the rider adds.

“And Twelve.”

“Shut your stupid fucking mouth.”

He gets on the phone to Alex.

How are we coming on those masks?

160

They’ve narrowed it down to five stores and Berlinger is checking them out.

Is the answer to that question.

Lado drives to the parking lot at Aliso Beach.

“What?” Ben asks. Haven’t I been—

—producing my dope, haven’t I been—

—turning over my retailers, haven’t I been—

—talking to my customers, haven’t I been—

a good boy?

Lado looks Ben in the eyes. “Where were you last night?”

Ben doesn’t blink.

Lado’s looking, too, ese. His black eyes have stared a lot of men down, seen the lies in their eyes, on the street, in the rooms, seen them lie hanging from meat hooks. Hard to look back into those black eyes and lie.

But Ben does. “I was home. Why?”

“One of our cars was hit last night.”

Ben toughs it out. Keeps his eyes right on Lado’s. “We had nothing to do with it.”