Mission road - By Rick Riordan Page 0,20
helicopter made another pass overhead, the rotors’ noise making the loose rivets of the storm drain rattle.
Ralph said, “I am thinking about her, you know.”
“Ana?”
“The baby.” Ralph closed his eyes. “Drapiewski said I have a daughter to think about. I been afraid since the day she was born that something in my past would come back to hurt her. Last two years, vato . . . I felt like I’ve been loaned somebody else’s life, you know? Never deserved this kind of luck. Best two years I ever had.”
I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t sure how. He was talking about the two years when I’d been part of his life the least.
“We’ll figure out something,” I managed. “What about the hit man Drapiewski mentioned? You ever heard of Titus Roe?”
Ralph kicked at a puddle of icy water. “Just stories. None of them good.”
“Could we find him?”
“If he’s still around. Zapata could point us the right way. They knew each other.”
“You already tried Zapata. He baited you.”
“I still think he knows something, vato. He got the blame for Frankie’s death. Suffered bad from that gang war with White. I’m sure he made it his business to find out what really happened to Frankie. If I could just get Zapata alone, corner him for five minutes without him trying to kill my ass—”
“He makes himself hard to find,” I reminded Ralph. “We’ve got no resources. No money. No wheels. And only forty-eight hours.”
Ralph checked his watch. “Forty-three hours.”
The chopper thundered overhead.
I thought about what Larry Drapiewski had said: Nobody on the right side of the law is going to help you.
And I got my worst idea yet, which was saying something, considering the banner week I was having.
I locked eyes with Ralph. “We need to find Frankie White’s killer. And we can’t do it without help.”
“There is no help. Not a single person cares enough about who killed Frankie to risk their neck.”
“I can think of one person.”
Ralph stared at me, slowly getting it. “You’re crazy.”
“Lots of resources. Plenty of clout. No love for the police.”
“And he won’t know I need killing for a whole two days.”
I spread my hands. The suicidal logic was perfect. “Let’s go knock on Guy White’s door.”
“LIEUTENANT?” MAIA ASKED.
Etch Hernandez stood at the ICU window, fingering something in the pocket of his tailored wool slacks. When he turned, Maia was sorry she’d interrupted him. His face was raw with emotion.
“They said she was a little better.” He struggled to get his voice under control. “I was hoping . . .”
He didn’t need to finish.
On the other side of the glass, Ana DeLeon lay webbed in tubes and wires. A nurse was changing her IV. Another was frowning at the heart monitor.
To believe there was a human being in the hospital bed, Maia had to concentrate on small details—a glossy black wisp of hair curled against the pillow, a smooth stretch of forearm exposed against the white sheet.
If this was better, Ana DeLeon was in bad shape indeed.
“Has she ever regained consciousness?” Maia asked.
The lieutenant shook his head. “The surgery—they said it went well . . .”
The nurses worked grimly, aware of their audience. Their expressions reminded Maia of jurors about to return a verdict.
In a weak show of optimism, someone had placed a picture of Ana’s baby on the bed stand. In case Ana woke up, it would be there to comfort her. There were no pictures of Ralph.
Hernandez took his hand out of his pocket. He scooped his cashmere coat off a nearby chair. “I have to go before your friend makes another headline.”
“What do you mean?”
He gave her a hard stare. “Assuming that’s an honest question? An hour ago, Navarre and Arguello set up a meeting downtown with a retired deputy, Larry Drapiewski. Drapiewski alerted the Sheriff’s Department. The hotshots in county SWAT were stupid enough to try setting a trap on their own. Without notifying SAPD.”
Maia processed this, trying not to show her anxiety. “Tres and Ralph got away?”
“After threatening Mr. Drapiewski, endangering a restaurant full of tourists, assaulting a deputy and stealing a cab at gunpoint, yes. I’ve told the sheriff I never want to see his deputies again. That’s why I’m here. I’m placing my own men in charge of guarding Sergeant DeLeon.”
Which explained, Maia thought, the dour-faced SAPD uniform who had frisked her at the door.
Hernandez put on his coat. “Our goodwill toward your boyfriend has pretty much evaporated, Miss Lee. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“Why did you try to