The Sentry - By Robert Crais Page 0,76

except for one brief exchange.

Cole said, “Because we only found this out an hour ago, Button. Stop wasting time, and come see for yourself.”

Pike said, “Hang up.”

They waited at Pike’s Jeep for the police to arrive. They did not want to be in the house when the first uniforms got bug-eyed by the blood and the bodies.

The passing time felt like ants marching through Pike’s veins. Cole spoke once or twice during the time they were waiting, but Pike did not answer. He was thinking about Dru, and why she had called him for help.

37

Daniel

Daniel took the woman’s phone, rolled her onto her belly, and taped her hands behind her back. Great thing about stealing a rooter-dude van, it was filled with usable stuff. Duct tape, rope, wire. Plenty of things that cut.

The woman did not speak to him or look at him, which was fine by Daniel. When her wrists were secure, he flipped her over and taped her mouth, a big silver rectangle that made her look like a robot. He liked her better that way.

They were on Wilshire Boulevard, in a parking lot across from the La Brea Tar Pits. Daniel liked the dying mammoth. There was this huge statue of a mammoth stuck in the tar like it was being sucked down to its death. Daniel enjoyed thinking about the big sonofabitch drownin’ in tar. He wondered if the heat killed it first, maybe boilin’ it to death before it drowned. That would be even better.

The satellite phone rang as he climbed into the front seat. The Bolivian. Daniel answered in his most professional, ass-slurping voice.

“This is Daniel. Do we have anything on the tag?”

Instead of answering Daniel’s question, the fuckin’ Bolivian launched into meaningless shit that ended with the inevitable question.

“I have Ms. Platt now. Yes, sir, she is in my possession. She is three feet away from me. No, sir, I do not have Mr. Rainey. He is with his Mexican friend, but I’ll have him in a few minutes, and we’ll have what we have.”

Blah blah, rant. Blah blah, rant. Jesus, the man could go on.

Tobey said, “Fuck’m.”

Cleo said, “Hang up, up.”

Daniel was getting pissed off.

“Sir, were you able to pull anything off the tag? I’d like to know who I’m dealing with.”

Fucker still didn’t answer. Instead, he wanted to know why Daniel asked about the plate and how the man drivin’ the Jeep was involved. Daniel felt put on the spot.

“I don’t know how he’s involved, sir. He was at Rainey’s house at least once, and I saw him today at Azzara’s. He clearly knows who these people are, and that means he’s a problem.”

More Bolivian ass gas. The guy had an endless supply.

“No, sir. I believe he followed the Mexican and Mr. Rainey back to the airport, but I can’t know that for sure. I chose to take Ms. Platt.”

Fuckin’ Bolivian blew like a ripe pimple, screaming that the Mexican might have brought the fishmonger down to Mexico. This is why Daniel hated talking to the fuckers, all the screaming hysterics.

“Sir, Mr. Rainey is still in Los Angeles. Ms. Platt just spoke with him. Can we please get back to whatever you’ve learned? I have to move quickly.”

The Bolivian puked up a wad of information about the dude with the arrows. Dude’s name was Pike. A Force Recon Marine who became a police officer. Daniel heard that, he worried the guy was a Fed, but the Bolivian then said something interesting.

“Excuse me, sir, I want to be clear on this. He is no longer in law enforcement?”

Blah blah, blah blah.

“He’s a mercenary? We know this for a fact?”

Daniel listened more carefully. The arrow dude shit-canned off the cops, then became a gun for hire, and had worked for the top Private Military Corporations out of London and Washington in conflicts all over the world, including Central America. Daniel thought, cool, and wondered if they had ever crossed paths. The cartels hired mercs from time to time, and so did the governments who fought the cartels. Daniel never met one of those boys he couldn’t kill.

“Do we know who he’s working for?”

The Bolivian didn’t have a whole lot to say. They were asking around, still trying to find out, blah blah blah. Daniel wondered if the man was being evasive.

“I have to go, sir. The next time we speak, I’ll have more good news. That’s a promise.”

More overblown, effusive praise for Daniel’s efforts.

“Thank you, sir. Really. You’re too kind.”

Dickweed.

Daniel killed the link.

Tobey’s