Gallo pulled a big-ass gun from a shoulder holster and started moving in his direction.
Chandler woke up from whatever stupor he had drifted into and dropped so he was out of sight. In one of his movies, the character he played found himself in a similar situation. What his character did when the bad guy came running at him spitting bullets from an Uzi was reach across the driver’s seat and push down on the gas pedal with one hand while using the other to shift the car into reverse so he could drive away. In the movie, this was done by a stuntman. This time Chandler did it, and the car shot backward like a rocket until it slammed into a retaining wall.
The crash jolted him, but he was otherwise unhurt. He looked up enough to see Gallo was still chasing him, but he had put more distance between them. Whatever damage he had done to the car, it wasn’t enough to keep it from driving. While still lying across the driver’s seat, he spun the steering wheel enough so he could maneuver the car out of the parking lot and onto the street. Only then did he risk putting the car in park and climbing onto the driver’s seat. He floored the gas pedal and ran red lights after that.
He had spent weeks researching his upcoming role, reading everything he could about Big Joe Penza and his organization. The one recurring theme he kept coming across was that anyone who came forward to testify against Big Joe or his top guns ended up dead well before trial.
He had no idea where it would be safe for him to go. All he knew for certain was that he was in big trouble.
Chapter 14
Lori woke up the next morning with Lucky treating her face like a tasty lollipop. She pulled away from the wet, sandpapery tongue and struggled to open her eyes against the sunlight flooding the room. As she realized why her face was wet and what Lucky was doing to her, she bolted upright, fully awake. A double espresso wouldn’t have worked as well.
“Ugh, I’ve been kissed by a dog,” she said, giggling softly to herself as she repeated Lucy van Pelt’s line from the old Peanuts TV special that she had watched every year as a kid. Lucky cocked his head to one side and stared at her as if she were crazy.
“Yeah, I know, you big galoot, kind of silly of me, huh?”
She squinted at the alarm clock on the shelf next to her. It was past ten o’clock. She hadn’t slept this late in ages. Of course, it helped that she and Lucky had gone on a two-hour hike around West Hollywood last night and didn’t get back to her apartment until after one. Not only did the walking tire them both out, but it was liberating, especially watching one particular predatory-looking dude cross the street after seeing Lucky.
“Let me guess, your bladder’s bursting?”
The dog made a noise that was part growl, part whimper. Lori rolled out of bed, put on a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt, made a pit stop herself, and then took an increasingly impatient Lucky out into the hallway. She spotted Mrs. Weinstein by the elevator with her Pomeranian. The little fur ball started yapping up a storm as if he wanted to take on the bigger dog. If Lucky wanted to he could swallow the Pomeranian whole, but for his part he watched silently, his head cocked to one side. Mrs. Weinstein shot Lori an accusatory look, as if this was her doing. Well, discretion was the better part of valor. She abruptly turned away and led Lucky toward the stairs, and the big galoot didn’t put up a fight.
They made a quick trip around the block while Lucky watered shrubs and killed swaths of grass, and other dog owners they passed hastily crossed the street and stared at Lori as if they were blaming her for bringing this unsightly beast into their neighborhood. She smiled back as if everything was fine in the world. Heck, their dogs were the ones straining at the leash to get at Lucky, not the other way around. After looping the block, Lori stopped off at a nearby bakery to get herself a croissant and coffee and a blueberry muffin for the big galoot. Her plans that day were to go to the office and get a head start on her assignments. She figured she owed Alice that for being so good about letting her bring Lucky into work. First, though, she needed to take a shower.
As she watched Lucky gobble up the muffin, she wondered again about the way he had acted the other night. Bad memories. That had to be it.
* * * *
The plan was to tire the big galoot out at the dog park so he’d snooze later when Lori brought him to work. Earlier in the week she had bought a ball thrower—a plastic thingamajig with a long handle and a cup to hold a tennis ball. She counted seven other dogs of varying sizes at the park. While Lucky appeared indifferent to them, she had no idea what he’d do once he was off the leash, since she hadn’t taken that step yet. It would be terrible if he attacked one of them.
“What do you think, big guy, are you going to be good?” she asked.
Lucky gave her an inscrutable look.
She kept him on the leash and introduced him to each dog and was relieved that he behaved himself, although two of the owners came running over to drag their dogs away.
“So I can trust you, huh?” Lori asked.
She felt certain that if a dog was capable of shrugging, Lucky would’ve done so right then. She unhooked his leash, loaded the ball thrower with a tennis ball, and let it fly. The salesclerk had told her she’d be able to throw a ball a hundred feet with it. The ball sailed farther than that, maybe as much as half the length of a football field. Lucky took off after it, his long legs making deer-like strides. Lori watched with amazement at how fast he ran, but he didn’t stop when he reached the ball. Instead he kept running straight at the three-foot-high fence bordering the park. Instead of turning back, Lucky effortlessly leapt over it. Soon after that he disappeared from sight. Lori knew he wasn’t coming back.
Chapter 15
Monday afternoon, Parker kept Morris company while he sat in his car and staked out a downtown warehouse on Seventh Street. He lowered a pair of binoculars, almost strained a jaw muscle yawning, and made a face after sipping coffee that had gotten cold an hour ago. His cell phone rang. Detective Marty Wright.
“I got what you asked for earlier,” Wright said. “Big Joe Penza is shopping for clothes right now.”
“Marty, thanks for coming through. Drinks on me wherever and whenever, you name the place and time.”
“Don’t think I won’t be collecting,” Wright threatened. “I plan to put a heavy dent in your wallet. Or your expense account. Whatever it is you hotshot private cops use these days.”
“Whichever it is, it will be a tax write-off. Where’s Big Joe shopping?”
“Some fancy-ass shop on Rodeo Drive. I’m not even going to try to pronounce the name.” Wright spelled out the name of the store and gave the street address.
Lemmon was on assignment in San Diego, and last Morris had checked, Polk had tracked a suspect in a fraud case to Long Beach. He didn’t want to give up on his stakeout, but he also didn’t want to miss his opportunity to talk with Penza. He called Felger, and MBI’s computer and hacking specialist sounded excited to do fieldwork.
“Bring a thermos of coffee, otherwise you’ll be dozing off in an hour. Also bring an empty jug so you can return the coffee. I need you to watch for a van with the following license plate.” Morris read him the plate number he had scribbled on a scrap of paper. “If it shows up, mark the time and take photos of it. Greta will get you a camera. How quickly can you get here?”
“Fifteen minutes?”
“Make it ten. Call me when
