The Sentry - By Robert Crais Page 0,70

then stopped alongside a white Citation business jet. The jet’s door was open, its stair down and waiting.

Pike pulled over to watch.

The limo driver popped out to open the doors, but the people inside didn’t wait. Wilson, Miguel Azzara, the burly man, and the squat cowboy climbed out of the stretch. Dru had stayed at the house.

The four men gathered near the jet, and once more shook hands. The cowboy clapped Wilson on the shoulder like they were the best friends in the world, then climbed aboard. He pulled the steps up himself and closed the door as if he had done it a hundred times while the rest of them returned to the limo.

Pike noted the tail number. XB-CCL. The XB prefix meant the plane was registered in Mexico.

Azzara, the burly man, and Wilson stood by the limo as the jet spooled up its engines. Pike could see the pilot and copilot reaching for switches as they went through the start-up procedure. It took several minutes, but Azzara, the burly man, and Wilson waited. When the jet finally taxied away, they waved like flunkies, telling Pike the squat cowboy was a very important man.

Once the jet was gone, the burly man threw his arm around Azzara’s shoulders and hugged him as if he had done a good thing. Azzara beamed his movie-star smile, then held the door as the burly man got into the limo.

Pike had seen enough. He made a slow U-turn as he drove away, and phoned Elvis Cole.

34

Daniel

Daniel glanced at the turd in the Monte Carlo as he walked past the house, dumb fuck so stupid he was falling asleep. Daniel loved fuckin’ amateurs, them being so easy to kill, but the bangers had so many people around the house, they were cramping his style.

He continued downhill to the next street, then climbed into his van. Sign on the van was for something called Hero-Rooter—CALL A HERO TO SAVE THE DAY! DRAINS CLEANED AROUND THE CLOCK! Daniel had picked the van because there were no windows in the side panels and the vehicle would blend in anywhere. He had left the driver in a Dumpster behind a Nigerian restaurant in Long Beach.

Tobey was irritated.

“Why’re we wastin’ time?”

Cleo was annoyed.

“Fuckin’ around, around?”

Daniel said, “Shut up. I’m tryin’ to think.”

Daniel had followed the Mexican and his dumb-ass banger entourage from the airport, so he knew the Mexican was inside with the cook and the waitress. The Bolivians had come through big-time with their tip about the Mexican, but reaching his targets had turned out to be a problem.

Daniel circled the block up to Sunset, planning to cruise through the alley beside Azzara’s house, but that’s when he saw the tall dude sliding out of a red Jeep Cherokee.

Tobey, suspicious.

“Lookit those arrows.”

Cleo, alarmed.

“Dude on the bridge, bridge.”

This made twice, and twice was bad. Daniel had seen him at the canal, and now here he was again, a block from the cook and the waitress.

Daniel let the van slow to catch the light. The man reached Azzara’s street, rounded the corner, then did a fast one-eighty to blend in with a crowd of pedestrians.

“He must be a cop. Gang unit, maybe. How else would he know?”

Tobey whispered, “Looks like a cop.”

Cleo hissed, “Smells like a cop, cop.”

When the light changed, the arrow dude crossed with the crowd, walking along Sunset like he was normal. Daniel clocked the dude as he passed. Big guy, hard, but he moved as if he was floating. Nasty hands, though, with big, coarse knuckles and veins wrapped under his skin like vines.

Daniel turned at the first cross street, then powered around the block back to Sunset, looking for the Jeep. He found it quickly, copied the tag number, then maneuvered into a parking lot to call the Bolivian.

First thing the Bolivian asked was whether he had bagged the targets.

“No, sir, not yet, but I have them located. The Mexican led me right to them.”

Cursing, screaming, the usual Bolivian bullshit. Daniel rolled his eyes.

“Sir, the situation is under control, but I do need your help with a matter. We have a man on the scene who may be a police officer or a federal agent.”

More blah blah yadda yadda.

“No, sir, it won’t affect the outcome, but I would like to know who he is. I have his license plate here.”

Daniel read off the tag, then hung up before the sonofabitch could go on with more bullshit. Daniel was now officially concerned about the arrow dude, and