“I’m committed to this, Boone.”
Famous last words. Like guys who commit to the wrong line on a wave—once you’re in it you might realize that you made the wrong choice, but it’s too late. You’re going to ride that line all the way to the wipeout.
“Just put it under the bumper,” Boone says, “onto anything metal. I can track her movements from my van.”
“A 007 kind of thing.”
“Yeah, okay,” Boone says. “How long are you out of town?”
“Two or three days. Depends.”
“I have your cell?”
“Yup.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks for this, Boone.”
Thanks for nothing, Boone thinks as Dan heads out.
And speaking of thanks for nothing . . .
47
Boone meets Johnny at The Sundowner.
Now, Boone has met Johnny at The Sundowner, like, a lot. You wanna run the numbers, Boone has probably met Johnny at The Sundowner more days than he
And he usually looks forward to it. Why not? The Sundowner is cool, Johnny is cool, it’s all skippy.
Not gonna be this time.
So Boone is the opposite of stoked about it.
“You rang?” Johnny asks as he sits down at the table across from Boone. Johnny has his summer homicide detective uniform on—blue cotton blazer, blue shirt, khaki pants. He takes one look at Boone and says, “You’ve been in a fight.”
“A couple of them.”
“Did you win anyway?”
“Neither one.”
“Then it hurts worse, huh?”
Boone doesn’t know if it hurts worse, but it definitely
As does what he’s about to tell Johnny.
“You want a beer?” Boone asks.
“Oh, yes, I want a beer,” Johnny says. The G2 on the street is that Cruz Iglesias has slipped into San Dog to escape the heat in TJ, and if that’s true, it’s alcohol-motivating news. It means that the Death Angels will be on the hunt, and they’re not exactly SEAL-like in their target selection process. It could get sloppy ugly bloody. So Johnny would like a lot of beers. “Most definitely I want a beer, but I’m going on duty so I can’t
a beer.”
Boone signals the waiter and orders a couple of Cokes.
Johnny says, “You wanted to see me about something?”
“Yeah. Thanks for coming.”
“Are we in the business or personal realm here?”
“Business,” Boone says, although he’s worried it’s going to get personal. Murky border there, as easy to cross as the one with Mexico just a few miles to the south and, just like that border, hard to cross back from.
“Shoot,” Johnny says.
“Red Eddie told me he’s going to kill Corey Blasingame,” Boone says.
“Okay,” Johnny says, taking it in. “How did you come by this information? You and Eddie don’t exactly hang.”
“He sent a gunpoint invitation.”
“And how could you say no?”
“How could I say no?”
Johnny nods, then gives Boone a long look. ‘So here’s the big question—why does Eddie give you the word? Let me rephrase that; why does Eddie give
the word?”
Boone takes a deep breath and then says, “I’m working on the Blasingame defense team.”
Johnny stares at him. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
Boone shrugs.
“Putting my Sherlock Holmes hat on here,” Johnny says, “let me deduce: Alan Burke is representing Corey. Burke’s second chair is a certain British woman you’ve been dating. Hence . . . and it’s elementary, my dear Watson . . . you’re whipped.”
“It’s not that.” It’s hard to be whipped by something you haven’t . . . he doesn’t finish the thought. Let Johnny think what he wants. There are tougher topics to take on and you might as well get it over with and jump. So he says, “You coached the Rockpile boys to write their statements, J.”
Johnny looks at him for what seems like an hour. Then he says, “That Blasingame bitch is guilty. You know it, I know it, he knows it, Burke knows it, even that tea bag you’re banging knows it.”
“Easy, now.”
“
go easy,” Johnny says. “You back
off. Unless, that is, you’re going to choose a betty over your friends.”
“It isn’t about her,” Boone says.
“Then what’s it about?”
“The first-degree charge is jacked up.”
“You want Mary Lou’s number?”
“The witness statements—”
“—say what they say,” Johnny insists. “Did I let them know how the system works? You bet I did. Did that change what happened out there that night? Not even a little.”
“Come on, J—you have Trevor Bodin putting intent in Corey’s mouth.”
“He
intent in his mouth!” Johnny yells. “He said what he said, and he wrote it down. What are
saying, Boone?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you saying that I cooked the statements? The confession?” Johnny asks. “Is that the tack that you and your new best friends are going to take? You can’t try the facts so try the cop?”
“Johnny—”
“You know what that would do to my career?” Johnny asks.
Boone knows. As fast as his own descent in the force was, Johnny had been that fast in the upward direction. Johnny’s rising with a rocket, there’s talk of chief of detectives someday, and Banzai takes his career very seriously.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Boone says.
