L A Woman Page 7

  When Hondo and Marcus arrived, they saw me on my stomach, with my head under the bench. Marcus dropped to his knees to film as Hondo bent over and said, “You find a half-eaten hot dog under there?”

  “Very funny,” I said. I pointed at the markings, “Look at these.”

  Marcus dropped to his stomach and army-crawled under there with us. He never stopped filming. The guy was good.

  Hondo studied it for a good thirty seconds. “It’s a tag.”

  “What’s a tag?” Marcus asked.

  “Tagging is what it’s called when people use paint to mark things. Most gangs tag places to mark their territory or to sign some art work or tell of some deed.”

  “It’s a message?” Marcus said.

  “I think so,” Hondo said.

  “Can you read it?”

  “No,” Hondo said. “It’s Eastern European, I think. It’s not Arabic, I know that.”

  “I can read one message in it,” I said.

  Hondo looked at me, then at the scrawl, then slowly back at me. He realized it, too.

  Marcus said, “What? What is it?”

  I pointed, “That’s blood, written with a fingertip.”

  **

  Hondo and I took photos with our cell phones and Marcus did a slow close-up of the image.

  Somebody grabbed my calf. I yelled and jerked up and hit my head on the underside of the bench. “Son of a-“

  “Jeeze Baca, I didn’t know you were so nervous. You scared me so bad I almost dropped my burrito.” Atticus and his two cousins were there, laughing and hi-fiving each other as we crawled from under the bench.

  I rubbed the back of my head, “You could have called out my name.”

  Atticus said, “We thought maybe you were sneaking up on a…a frigging gnome or somethin’ and we didn’t want to scare it off.” His two buddies burst out laughing and hawing again.

  “You guys are a riot.” I said. I introduced them to Hondo and Marcus, which was a mistake.

  Oscar turned left, then right, and said, “Make sure you get my best side, ese. Wait, every side is my best side.” They went off again, giggling and snickering and lo-fiving for a change of pace.

  Marcus was having a good time filming them, so he let them run with it. After a bit, Hondo nudged me.

  “Think they might be able to read it?”

  “I don’t know.” I stepped up to them and pulled out my phone. “Can you guys take a look at this?” I turned the image toward them.

  Atticus squinted at it and said, “I can’t see nothing on it out here in the sun.”

  Hondo inclined his head toward a nearby store and we all went inside. A buxom young woman smiled at us as we came in, then she saw Marcus and his camera. She was still smiling, but the smile now said that, although she liked us, she had bad news to tell. She said, “Sorry, but you can’t film in here without prior permission.”

  Atticus said, “You’re an actress, right?”

  Now, you can say that to every attractive person in Los Angeles and you’ll get a “Yes” about seventy per cent of the time, so Atticus wasn’t exactly reaching.

  “Yes, I am,” she said. She was flattered, and smiled at him.

  Atticus pointed at us, and especially at Marcus and the camera. “These are the stars of Lock and Load, you know it?”

  Her eyes brightened, “Oh gosh yes. It’s the hottest reality show there is.”

  Atticus put his arm around her waist and said, “What could it hurt to have you cooperate and allow them to film here, maybe get you some face time? They’ve got permission to film anywhere in the state, personally signed by the Governor,” Marcus lifted his head from the eyepiece and raised his eyebrows at that one, but got back to filming. “So how about a little flexibility, let them help you out in your career while you give them a couple of minutes in the store?”

  Done deal.

  We allowed the woman, whose name was Autumn, to be center frame as we showed Atticus and his cousins the image.- They looked at it, then at each other, then snuck several surreptitious glances at Autumn’s awesome 38 D’s before Atticus said, “That’s a tag.”

  “We know it’s a tag,” I said.

  All three of them shrugged at the same time. Atticus said, “Why’d you ask us, then?”

  “Don’t they have messages in them?”

  “Holmes, we’re not gang members. You got the wrong Chicanos, ese. We’re Americans, with a pinch of chile for flavor.” The others snickered and elbowed each other, then high-fived Atticus.

  I nodded, “My bad, I apologize. I just thought that, since you had a lot of tags in the area where you guys work, you might have an idea and could translate it.”

  Atticus said, “Translate? Just looks like lines and wavy stuff in red paint to us, ese.”

  I said, “We think it might be Eastern European writing, and I don’t figure you’ve been visiting in Russia lately. It was a long shot, but I thought I would ask.”

  Oscar leaned forward and said, “We have another cousin. He has a friend whose cousin is friends with a member of a female gang of European immigrants. He might be able to get her to read it.”

  I said, “A female gang? What’s their name?”

  “They’re new, call themselves the Menses.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I swear. Only ones can join ‘em have to have their periods the same time of the month as the members.”

  Marcus muttered, “Remind me never to approach them during that particular week.”

  Atticus held his hand out to me, “Give me your phone. We’ll go ask him.”

  I hesitated and Hondo snatched my phone and handed it to Atticus. “Thanks, Atticus,” he said.

  Atticus and his two cousins gave Autumn long, lingering hugs, and as they reached the door Atticus said over his shoulder, “You’re gonna be a star, Autumn, for real. Hey Ronny, you don’t mind if we run up a few hundred calls to Mexico do you? Hah!” And they were gone.

  Before I could mourn the loss of my phone, Autumn came over and hugged all of us, and that took my mind off the phone. She gave us a sheepish grin and said, “I guess I’d better get back to work.”

  As she walked away Marcus said, “I’m still filming.” She put an extra swish in her hips for us.

  Hondo led us out of the store and I turned to Marcus, “I want a copy of that last part.”

  **

  We had no more than reached the office when Sergeant Vick Best opened the door without knocking and said, “I wish you guys would just stick to acting.”

  “What?” I said.

  He sat down, blew out a lungful of air and said, “There’s some folks coming over to talk to you, be here in about ten minutes.”

  “What folks?”

  “Let’s just say when I ran the name you gave me, I got all kinds of bells and sirens and whistles and the Sheriff got a call from Washington.

  Hondo said, “This is about Ajax Berenko?”

  “Uh-huh. At least partially.”

  “So what did you turn up?”

  “All I got was a big red page that said Restricted Access. I couldn’t even see his driver’s license info.”

  “Well, crap,” I said.

  Vick got up to leave and Hondo took out his phone and pulled up the photo. “Vick, take a look at this.”

  Vick looked, “It’s a tag.”

  I said, “We know.”

  Vick said, “Then why’d you ask?”

  Hondo said, “We found it under a bench at Laurel and Sunset. We’re pretty sure it was written in blood.”

  Vick held up his index finger in a Wait, I think I remember, move, then said, “There was a murder happened there a couple months ago. Ten or twelve shooters chased some guy all over the county. One of them finally hit him with a couple of rounds, but the guy made it to near where you found this before they caught up with him and finished the job.”

  “Was it gang related?” I asked.

  “Not if I remember right. The victim
was a white male.”

  Hondo said, “You know who he was?”

  “Not off the top of my head. I remember it got a lot less news than I would have thought, and I know the LAPD had some feds come in and take over the case.”

  “The FBI?” I said.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone ever said who they were.”

  Hondo said, “Think you could find out?”

  “I’ll call some friends with LAPD and see what they remember, but maybe you can ask these folks coming over to visit, see if they know.”

  “I will,” Hondo said. He added as an afterthought, “If I send you this image, could you have your Gangs Unit see if they can decipher it?”

  “Well sure, Hondo. I don’t have anything else to do with my time but run down information for you two.”

  “Now Sergeant Vick,” I said, “Don’t be testy. We have a little surprise for you.” I went to the closet and got a bag, the last bag since Hondo ate the other one while spending the night at the office, of Julio’s chips.

  I turned around and he snatched the bag from my hands and put it behind his back. “What about the salsa?” He said.

  I sighed, putting a lot of martyrdom in it, and went to the little fridge and pulled out the last of the Julio’s salsa and gave it to him. “Now, doesn’t that make it all better?” I said.

  “You still owe me one more of each.”

  Hondo said, “We’re working on it. In fact we’re trying to get you a whole case of chips and salsa, just for you.”

  Vick said, “See Ronny, you should try to be more like Hondo.” He turned to Hondo, “Send me that image and I’ll see what I can do.” He backed out the door, guarding the chips as if they were gold.

  When he was gone I said, “I’m the one who ordered the case of chips and salsa.”

  Hondo grinned and said, “I’m glad, too. It gave us our edge.”

  Marcus, who had filmed everything said, “That’s a heck of a personal dynamic you two have with the Sergeant.”

  “He loves us,” I said, “Vick just can’t stay away.”

  Marcus grinned, “Uh-huh.”

  A half-hour later, there was a quick knock-knock on the door. It opened and three men wearing suits and dark sunglasses entered. All three had slight bulges under their coats at the hip that indicated pistols.

  The blond one looked at Marcus and his camera and said, “You’ll need to wait outside.”

  Marcus said, “Hey, I’m authorized to be here.”

  Mr. Blond said, “Turn your camera off and wait outside, please. It will be in your best interest to do so.”

  Hondo said, “Go ahead Marcus. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  Marcus said, “Yeah, okay.” He gave the three men a look and said, “Don’t forget the First Amendment is on my side.”

  Mr. Blond said, “We won’t sir, and we will defend your rights under the constitution with our own lives if we have to. Thanks for your cooperation.”

  When Marcus left, Mr. Blond said, “Mr. Wells, Mr. Baca, we’re from the government--”

  “And you’re here to help us,” I said.

  The three men looked at me without smiling. “Okay,” I said, “Humor aside, what can we do for you?”

  Mr. Blond said, “I am Agent Harris, with the CIA.” He showed us his credentials, then turned and pointed at the man closest to him, “And this is Agent Agan, with the FBI.” He then pointed at the third man, “And that is Agent Rodriguez, with the NSA.” Both men showed their credentials.

  I said, “Wow, if you rearrange all those letters it spells wiretap.”

  Hondo said, “Task Force?”

  Harris said, “Yes, part of an international task force.”

  Hondo said, “Fill us in.”

  Harris said, “I can give you some selective information, that’s about it.”

  Hondo said, “Go ahead.”

  Harris said, “Ajax Berenko is one of the Romani, so his loyalties don’t necessarily lie along normal lines. He was born in Chechnya, and when old enough joined what was then the Soviet Union’s military. He saw service in Afghanistan, and later when the Soviet Union collapsed, he became a mercenary for hire. He was a key player in the ethnic cleansing of Muslims during the Bosnian War.

  I said, “So how is he able to walk around free?”

  Agent Rodriguez said, “He changed sides at the last minute and turned on his former compatriots. In exchange for information he was allowed to legally immigrate to the United States.”

  “Just great,” I said. “We sure want more of those people here.”

  Rodriguez said, “We didn’t want him here, either.”

  Agent Agan said, “We know he’s involved with several criminal organizations, including the Russian Mafia and Mara Salvatrucha.”

  “That’s not all, is it?” Hondo said.

  “No. We also believe he has direct ties to a number of terrorist groups.”

  “Such as…?”

  “All the bad ones,” Harris said.

  Hondo said, “So how do we fit in?”

  “What did he want with you two?” Harris asked.

  I said, “He tried some BS story about hiring us to work overseas, but what he really wanted to know was if we’d located the girl.”

  Harris said, “The one you rescued from the crash, and then saved again the other day?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The three men must have been sending telepathic messages to each other, because they all turned toward the door at the same time. Agent Harris said, “Thank you for your time.”

  Hondo said, “You have a way we can contact you if something else comes up?”

  “Sure,” Harris said and walked back to Hondo’s desk as he took out a card and wrote a number on the back of it.

  Hondo leaned toward him and said, “Who is she?”

  Harris dropped his card on the desk and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have that information.” He turned and all three went out the door.

  “He was lying,” I said.

  “Well, duh.”

  “So, what now?”

  “We wait.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “As long as it takes?”

  Hondo grinned, “Yeah, either that or we’ll leave in about ten minutes and start again tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 9

  We both got to the office early the next morning. A light was blinking on the phone and I punched the button for the message.

  The voice said, “This is David Gleason, and this message is for Hondo Wells and Ronny Baca. Congratulations to you. We need both of you for callbacks in our new Michael Bay film. I tried to contact your Agent but kept getting a gym, so thought I’d go right to the source. Call me so I can send you the new sides. These are for lead roles, not the supporting roles you read for at audition. By the way, we’re on an accelerated time frame because of the potential strike, so our selections will be quick and we’ll begin production shortly after that. If you’re selected, you will need to be ready to go on short notice.”

  “Ho-ly shit,” I said.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth,” Hondo said as a silly grin broke out on his face.

  Hondo called the number back and left a message with our fax number. He was still grinning as he fished out the donuts. “No reason not to celebrate,” He said.

  “No reason at all.” He tossed me a donut and as soon as I bit into it, the sugar rush turned me giddy.

  **

  Marcus walked in later and filmed us as we sat around and provided action by chomping on sugary pastries and downing caffeine. After we finished two donuts apiece Hondo closed the box and turned to put it in the file cabinet behind his desk.

  A shadow through the window by the office door caught my eye, and as the door opened, I saw the edge of a black cowboy hat.

  I jerked the side desk drawer open and grabbed for the Walther as John Wesley stepped into the office. Hondo closed t
he file cabinet with a bang and John Wesley turned toward him.

  My hand came up from the drawer and I leveled it at the cowboy, “Freeze!”

  John Wesley looked at me and his mouth under the big moustache widened into a smile.

  I was holding a blue plastic fish.

  He looked at me, “What are you, some kinda clown detective?”

  I put the fish on my desk and said, “Why don’t you tell us how we can help you?”

  He thought that was funny. “Boys, Ah got mah orders.”

  Hondo turned and Marcus froze against the wall, camera still on his shoulder. John Wesley said to Hondo, “Put yore hands flat on top of the desk. Move ‘em and I’ll kill ya.” He said it without showing a weapon.

  My shoulder holster was in the closet, but Hondo wore his. I slipped my hand around my coffee cup and said, “Here, how about some coffee with us before you get to it.”

  He turned toward me, “Set yore ass back down-“

  Hondo snatched the Kimber .45 from under his arm and he was fast.

  But John Wesley was lightning.

  I threw my coffee cup as John Wesley drew from under his vest and shot, blasting the cup out of the air, spraying ceramic shards and hot coffee across the room and then, in a move so fast I could barely follow it, whipped his pistol toward Hondo and fired.

  Hondo was already rolling out of his chair and dropped behind it as the bullet cut air where he had been. Hondo popped up two feet further away with his pistol ready. Before Hondo could pull the trigger, John Wesley snapped two more hurried shots, knocking papers from the desk into Hondo’s face.

  The cowboy continued his turn and sprinted out the door still firing into the office, but only hitting the walls and furniture.

  Hondo went after him and I followed after I located the Walther, locking the office door behind me without slowing down. Marcus was right on my heels.

  John Wesley had vanished. Several cars were leaving the gym’s full parking lot, but we couldn’t make out if he was in any of them. Marcus was behind us, still filming and saying as his voice quivered, “I got it, I got it.”