The Sentry (31 page)

Which is why Pike suggested it, pushing Vincent to think of escape routes and a wide field of view.

“Wherever you want, Vincent. You want to think about it, call me back?”

Vincent fell silent again, then mumbled something Pike couldn’t quite hear. Pike thought he was talking to Dru, then realized Vincent was talking to himself.

Two minutes later, they had a time, a place, and had worked out the details.

Pike rolled down the Jeep’s window and motioned to Cole.

“We’re on. Let’s roll.”

Daniel lowered the phone and stared at the waitress. They were back in the van’s bay, all four of them.

Daniel said, “You fuckin’ that boy?”

Tobey snorted, “Yeah, she’s fuckin’ him.”

Cleo giggled, “Fuckin’m real good.”

Her eyes were narrow and smart, like some tough-ass Bogotá hooker planning to grab a wallet. But she also looked scared. Damn well better.

“No, we’re not like that.”

“Why he wants you, he ain’t fuckin’ ya?”

She glanced away, then down and up.

“I don’t know. I haven’t known him very long.”

Tobey snickered, “Slut’s fuckin’ him.”

Cleo hissed, “Slut, slut.”

Daniel hoped they were right. The arrow dude might be some kinda bad-ass mercenary, but if he had a hard-on for the waitress, he was way past the money stage. Men stayed sharp when it came to money. Men got stupid when it came to women.

Daniel ripped off a fresh piece of silver tape, and pressed it over her mouth.

“You know what you are?”

Tobey said, “Tramp.”

Cleo said, “Cooze, cooze.”

She shook her head, talking now being beyond her.

“You’re a staked goat. These Swahilis in Africa, they stake a goat under a tree as bait for a lion. They cut it, make it bleed, then they wait up in the tree. That lion, all he can smell is the blood. That’s a pretty good way to hunt a zombie, too.”

Daniel left her in back, and climbed up in front behind the wheel. He reviewed what the Bolivian had told him about Pike, which was pretty impressive by anyone’s standards, and thought he had a pretty good idea how Pike would come at him. Daniel had no doubt Pike would try to kill him, and he figured Pike knew Daniel would be trying to kill him, too. It went without saying. Daniel just had to stay ahead of him in the planning department.

Daniel pulled out into traffic, considering the variables for their upcoming meeting. He wanted to get up to the location as quickly as possible, but there were a couple of things he needed to pick up.

Daniel cruised through Hollywood, running different tactical scenarios until he found one he liked.

Three minutes later, he slipped under the overpass at Vine, and spotted an old dude taking it easy on a bus bench, skuzzy gray beard, fading gray hair, none of that talkin’ to voices you get with the schizos. This one, a dedicated drunk on hard times. Even had a little sign:
will work for food
.

Tobey’s voice rumbled, all hoarse and hungry.

“Looks good to me.”

Cleo rasped, “He’ll do.”

Daniel pulled up by the bench and called out the passenger window.

“Yo. You mean it, that sign? I got two hours’ work.”

Dude eyeballed the Hero-Rooter van, then shook his head.

“I ain’t no plumber.”

“I’m not a plumber, yo. All I need you to do is hold a light for me. My regular guy took sick.”

Lazy fuck didn’t budge.

“What kinda light?”

“A fuckin’ flashlight, yo. I need a helper to hold a flashlight. There’s forty bucks in it for you. Two hours’ work. You want it or not?”

“Forty dollars?”

“Job’s up the hill here. C’mon, man, I’m running late. You want the forty?”

Tobey said, “What is it with this guy?”

Cleo said, “Sheesh, eesh.”

Dude finally peeled himself off the bench.

“I want twenty up front.”

“No way. Forty when the job’s done or I’m moving on. Let’s go.”

Dude gave him a look like he was doing the world a favor, but finally climbed in, smelling like rotten cabbage. Slammed the door, checked out the van as he settled himself, and clocked the back bay, but by then it was too late.

Daniel pushed him between the seats right on top of the waitress.

Tobey screamed, “Kill him.”

Cleo purred, “Kill.”

Daniel said, “Later.”

P
ike considered the van in the fading brass light. Hero-Rooter. CALL A HERO TO SAVE THE DAY! DRAINS CLEANED AROUND THE CLOCK! Based on the little he knew about Gregg Daniel Vincent, Pike judged the location as close to perfect. Pike would have picked an identical place.

The Hero-Rooter van was parked in the brush on a flat, undeveloped ridge a hundred yards off Mulholland Drive, overlooking the San Fernando Valley. On the south side of Mulholland, the mountain had been cut away, leaving a steep slope dotted with dying pines and no good place to run. The Valley side was better. Vincent would have an unobstructed view in both directions along Mulholland, and of the houses that filled the canyon below. Mulholland was the only way in or out, but if the police appeared, a man with Vincent’s skill could easily slip down through the brush to disappear in the winding streets and houses.

Pike lowered his binoculars and whispered into his cell.

“He’s smart. It’s a good place to kill.”

Cole’s voice came back.

“See anyone?”

“Just the van. It’s on a ridge where they’re clearing the hill. Rainey will see it.”

Cole and Rainey were parked in a turnout a quarter-mile to the east, three-quarters of a mile from the van.

“Stand by—”

Pike studied the van again. Dru was probably inside, but Vincent would be on the slope. The setup was easy. When Rainey turned onto the ridge, Dru would get out of the van so Pike could see she was healthy. Rainey would then get out of his car, and advance halfway with the money. Dru would walk out to meet him, check the money, and then Rainey would continue with the money to the van while Dru went to the Prius.

This was the plan Pike and Vincent worked out, but none of it would happen. Pike knew it, and Vincent knew it, too. Vincent would be looking for Pike, just like Pike was looking for Vincent. If Vincent won, he would kill Rose Platt, then torture Rainey until Rainey produced the rest of the money, and then he would kill Rainey. Everything in Vincent’s history affirmed this. Vincent liked to torture and kill.

Pike studied the brushy area off Mulholland where Rainey would stop, then a gentle rise behind the van. Vincent would be in one of those two places. When Rainey turned onto the ridge, he would be facing the van. Vincent would be behind him, in a high position where he could see Rainey and also watch for Pike. Pike searched the two areas, but saw nothing, and returned to the phone.

“I’m moving. Give me eight minutes, and go. Ten, and be there.”

Pike slid beneath a twisted scrub oak and down the crumbling hill. He carried his Python, a .45 Kimber, and a Remington Model 700 bolt-action rifle he rebuilt himself, along with a pouch for his binoculars and a FLIR thermal imaging camera. The FLIR read infrared heat images. When Pike was closer, the FLIR would let Pike see Vincent in the brush.

Pike moved fast down the steep slope, slipping between and around dry brush at a hard run, then climbed the next finger. He stayed low around the outside shoulder to keep Mulholland and the van above him.

He rounded the shoulder into the next canyon, and paused to take his bearings. The next finger was ahead and above him, with Mulholland to his left. He picked two scrubby oaks as navigation points, dropped down through a sea of gray brush, then up an erosion gulley until he reached the lip of the ridge. He could not yet see the van, but knew he was midway between the van and Mulholland. He checked the time. Nine minutes. Rainey and Cole were rolling.

Pike climbed the last few feet, creeping low in the brush until he crested the ridge. The van was thirty yards away. He broke out the FLIR and scanned the area. The FLIR wouldn’t read a human through metal, but Pike wanted to see if Vincent was under the van.

The image in the view screen was a landscape of grays and blacks. The colder something was, the darker its image. The hotter, the lighter. The van was a shimmery gray shape, lighter than the background because of heat it absorbed from the sun. The sky above the horizon was black.

No one was hiding beneath or near the van.

Pike swept the FLIR toward the turnout. Nothing. He expected to find Vincent on the rise above the turnout, but no one was in the weeds.

Pike lifted out his cell, and whispered again.

“Give me three extra.”

Pike changed position to try a new angle, but again drew a cold read. No one was in the brush by the road, or along the turnout.

Pike slowly examined the surrounding slope. He checked the ridge from Mulholland to the van, then the uphill rise in the background, and that’s where Pike found him. The screen showed the bright gray shape of a man lying under a mound of sage, facing downhill in a prone sniper’s position. Pike lowered the FLIR, then checked the sage with his binoculars. The man was invisible in the sage, but Pike soon found the unnaturally straight edge of a rifle barrel sticking out from beneath the branches. A lovely place for an ambush.

Pike lifted his phone again.

“He’s on the rise above the van. Rifle.”

Cole whispered back.

“How long do you need?”

“Two minutes.”

“We’re almost there. If we stop, he’ll see us, and wonder why we’re stopping.”

“Two minutes.”

Pike dropped back down the slope and crabbed fast along the finger past the van and up the back side of the rise. He glimpsed the Prius turning onto the ridge as he crested the ridge, but slowed to maintain his silence.

The gray mound of sage was now ahead of him. Pike lowered his rifle and pouch, and drew his .357. He eased closer, and finally saw a camouflaged leg beneath the bush.

I am here
.

Pike quietly closed the distance until he was directly behind the man, then pushed the Python into Vincent’s side.

Pike knew the man was dead by the stillness of the body, and realized in that moment the man was not Vincent.

Pike tensed, his muscles rigid against the bullet he expected, but the shot didn’t come.

The corpse was an older man with matted gray hair and a small-caliber bullet hole in his temple. Fresh kill, still warm with life. Bait.

Then Pike heard Dru shout, and William Rainey call her name.

Daniel studied the distant slope through his rifle scope, whispering to himself.

“I got you, you sonofabitch. C’mon. Lemme see your lame ass.”

The van was one hundred sixty-two yards in front of him. Daniel had paced it off. He was wedged between two dying trees on the south side of Mulholland, high on a sharp slope with nothing but rocks at his back and a long, steep slide below. Pike would never set up in a shitty, no-way-out spot like this, so he’d figure Daniel would avoid it, too. Which was why Daniel had picked it.

Daniel knew Pike was somewhere in the brush. Eight minutes earlier, he had caught a flash of gray movement on the next ridge, there and gone in a heartbeat. So now Daniel scoped the brush and the ridge and the area around the dead guy. Daniel wanted Pike to find the dead guy. Pike saw that rifle, he might take a shot, then Daniel would have him. Might try to get in closer, and Daniel would catch the movement. But so far, nothing.

Daniel had left the damned rifle sticking so far out of the bush, a cub scout could have found the stiff by now. Daniel was beginning to think maybe this Joe Pike wasn’t as good as he had believed.

Tobey said, “The waitress, Daniel.”

Cleo said, “Show him the waitress, waitress.”

Tobey and Cleo were a couple of royal-ass pains, but sometimes they had good ideas. If he brought the waitress out early, Pike might change his position. Bang.

Daniel eased out his handi-talkie and called her like he had told her he would.

“You hear me?”

Her voice came back all tinny with static.

“I hear you. Is Willie here?”

“Come out. You’re gonna go home.”

Tobey said, “Here he comes.”

Cleo said, “There he is, is.”

Daniel thought they were talking about Pike, but they weren’t.

The Prius swung around a curve less than a quarter-mile away. Daniel thought maybe he should tell her to stay in the van, but decided to let her come.

He keyed the talk button again.

“Get outta the damn van, woman. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The back door swung open as Daniel scanned the brush for movement.

Elvis Cole was scrunched so far down in the Prius’s back seat he couldn’t see anything, not even the back of Bill Rainey’s head.

“You see the van?”

“Yeah, we’re almost there. Don’t worry.”

The criminal with a Bolivian cartel after him telling Cole not to worry. Perfect.

“Make sure that gun is hidden. He sees the gun, you’re history.”

“Relax, for Christ’s sake. I’m fine.”

They had given Rainey a gun. They had also strapped him into a ballistic vest. They wouldn’t put him in Gregg Daniel Vincent’s crosshairs with nothing.

Rainey said, “We’re here. I’m turning.”

They bumped off the pavement onto the ridge. A cloud of dust swirled in through the open windows. The windows were down in case Cole had to shoot.

Then Rainey slammed on the brakes.

“The fuck? She’s already out. I was supposed to get out first.”

Cole saw Rainey’s head popping left and right, as if he thought Vincent would jump from a bush. Cole wanted to look, but knew Vincent would be watching their car.