149
Johnny’s next two shots take out the Crazy Boy who comes in first, but the next one—the one they call Chainsaw—hits the floor, rolls to the right, and comes up shooting.
Diving to the floor himself, Johnny tips the coffee table in front of him, but it’s not much cover, and the little machine pistol blasts a swath across the top, sending splinters of glass and wood spraying across the room.
When Johnny comes up, he can’t find the shooter.
Chainsaw finds him, though, and is about to squeeze off another burst when his heart blows up instead.
Petra stands against the wall.
Pistol gripped in both hands.
150
Boone asks for a phone, and Rabbit gives him one. “Who you calling, the Brittita?”
“He’s calling the Brittita.”
“Boone’s in love.”
“In
”
She answers on the first ring.
“Pete?” Boone says. “Get out of there.
“It’s all right, Boone,” she says. “Johnny’s here. Just, please, meet me at the police precinct. I need you, please.”
Boone hears sirens in the background.
151
Boone stands beside the van.
Three bodies inside—two Crazy Boys and Jones.
Rabbit tosses Boone a set of sweats. “You should get out of those wet clothes, bruddah.”
“Wet clothes.”
“Eddie wouldn’t want you catching cold,
Boone peels off the wet clothes and crawls into the sweatsuit. It fits—Red Eddie is a big-on-the-details, Triple-A-personality, micromanager kind of guy. Which is all the more impressive given the quantities of dope he smokes.
“You’re slipping, Boone,” Rabbit says, “walking easy into your crib like that.”
“Slipping,” Echo agrees. “Advancing age.”
They’re both pretty casual about the corpses in the van. Why not? Boone thinks. With the warfare going on for control of the cartels, three bodies in a van is a subaverage day on the body count.
“I didn’t know they were looking for me,” he says, knowing how weak it sounds.
But a good thing that Red Eddie did.
Rabbit explains that Iglesias asked his permission to pick up Boone, knowing that Eddie had an interest and it was on his turf. Eddie didn’t give his good, his word was “hands off Boone.” But Iglesias did it anyway, which put Eddie in a bad position. He couldn’t let himself be disrespected like that.
So Eddie sent his boys to keep an eye out. They were surprised when Boone went out the window, and the boat was a little hard to track, but as soon as it pulled into the little marina in National City, they knew just where the van was headed.
“They used this place before.”
“Used it before. Habits kill.”
“
“Speed kills,” Echo says. “Then habits.”
Boone hears yelling from inside the steel building. He opens the door and sees Monkey, hog-tied on the floor.
He looks in pretty tough shape, badly beaten.
“Monkey,” Boone says. “Oh, shit, Marvin, are you—”
“Fuck you, asswipe.”
Boone thinks Monkey’s probably going to make it.
152
Harrington takes her statement, and for once he’s respectful.
It’s a no-brainer self-defense shooting, just as Johnny’s is a righteous double shoot. Two of the Crazy Boys are DOA; the other might make it. Harrington has mixed feelings about that—on the one hand, it would be good to question him; on the other, it’s always convenient when one of them checks out of the hotel.
So he’s nice with the British chick.
For one, she’s a looker, even with the shock blanket wrapped around her shoulders. And she apparently saved his partner’s life. So even if it wasn’t pure self-defense, it’s going to go down that way. He pitches the questions to get those answers.
“You clearly thought that your life was in danger, didn’t you?”
“Clearly.”
“And you had no possible avenue of retreat?”
“None.”
“And you saw that Detective Sergeant Kodani’s life was also in immediate jeopardy?”
“That’s correct.”
“Where did you learn to shoot?” he asks her, just out of curiosity.
“My father insisted,” Petra tells him, still clutching the laptop computer she brought with her and will not let go. “He started me off on clays and rough shooting, and we were lucky enough to go on a friend’s shoot occasionally. When I moved to San Diego, as a single woman living alone, I decided to acquire a handgun—licensed, of course. I go to the indoor range from time to time.”
“It shows,” Harrington says, smiling.
“I took no pleasure in killing that man,” she says.
“Of course not.”
“Is Sergeant Kodani—”
“John’s in the e room getting some glass and splinters taken out,” Harrington answers. “He’s fine.”
“I’m glad.”
Harrington’s about to ask her out when Boone Daniels comes into the room. Petra gets out of the chair, sets the computer down, and throws her arms around him.
Harrington hates Daniels.
