The present
J.J.’s routine had been disrupted, and not by choice. While Jake watched from the Corvette, J.J.’s girlfriend had confronted the pimp as soon as he arrived on the concourse in front of her apartment complex in West Hollywood. With his tiny surveillance camera, Jake snapped several pictures of the battling couple. After much yelling, the two climbed into the Hummer and sped off. Maybe the woman was tired of J.J. showing up only to screw her brains out and never take her anywhere.
Although it was 10:00 p.m. Saturday night and he was tired from a full day of spying, Jake dutifully followed them to a popular steakhouse in Beverly Hills. The pair parked and stomped inside, still sniping at each other. Jake lowered the vanity mirror and applied the minimal disguise he had retrieved earlier from the “toolbox” in the trunk. He smiled at the significant change the simple baseball cap and black-rimmed reading glasses made to his appearance. He scratched the thick layer of whiskers that had grown since his last shave about forty hours ago on Friday morning. The black sandpaper on his face augmented his new look.
“Scruffy” was the adjective that came to mind as he sauntered toward the entrance. He decided, if the restaurant refused to admit him, he would simply call it a night and return to the hotel.
A short time later, while enjoying a prime rib dinner as his reward for another frustrating day of surveillance, he studied the couple from the back of the dining room. Their raised voices, rigid body language, and angry gestures conveyed trouble in paradise.
A spark of hope flickered. Could the spat create an opportunity?
With that thought, Jake finished dinner quickly, left the restaurant, and made a beeline back to the girlfriend’s apartment complex. After leaving the Corvette a block to the east, he reconnoitered the area immediately in front of the main entrance.
Scrutinizing. Strategizing. Stalking.
Now midnight, the street was quiet by LA standards: no pedestrians, few vehicles. The passenger-loading zone where J.J. preferred to park was empty. With the Glock tucked in his front waistband, Jake crouched between two large vehicles located a short distance away.
The predator waited patiently for his prey.
He didn’t have to wait long before the Hummer screeched to a stop at the curb. The girlfriend jumped out and hurried toward the building entrance. J.J. stormed after her. The filth spewing from the pimp’s mouth earned him a hard slap across the face when he grabbed the woman’s arm and spun her around. J.J. returned the favor with a vicious swipe.
The loud, hissing voices and wild gestures lasted several minutes. Finally, the pimp shoved her toward the entrance. The girlfriend stumbled and fell against the glass door. She yelled an obscenity, flipped him the finger, and ran inside.
J.J. shook his fist and fired hair-curling insults at her. After an apparent moment of indecision on whether to follow, he turned abruptly and stomped back to the Hummer. He yanked open the door and climbed in, cursing to himself.
Jake landed in the front passenger seat, his Glock pressed against J.J.’s temple before the pimp could turn the key in the ignition.
“What the fuck?” J.J. yelled.
“Hands on the wheel, eyes forward, and don’t move. You do, I shoot.” Jake tapped the business end of the gun against the man’s head. “Understand?”
“Yeah, yeah. You Vice?” the pimp snapped, placing his hands as instructed.
“Nope.” Still aiming at J.J.’s head, Jake lowered the gun to his lap.
“Narc?”
“Nope.”
“Fed?”
“No, prick. I’m your worst nightmare.”
“Fuckin’ funny guy, huh. I got a grand on me. Take it and get the hell outta my car.” He leaned forward to expose the wallet in his back pants pocket.
“Relax, asshole. I don’t want your filthy money.”
Cautiously, J.J. sat back. His breathing came faster, and he was shaking slightly. “Ya want pussy? I got any kinda cunt ya want.”
“No thanks.”
The pimp turned beady, black eyes on his captor. “I got it. You’re with that dickhead, Lionel. He’s been after my b’ness for a long time. Ya can tell him to go to hell.”
“Never heard of Dickhead Lionel.”
J.J. gulped loudly.
With cold, unwavering eyes, Jake studied the fat black man. Not such a tough guy after all. Tough on women but not another man. A bulge near his right ankle suggested a small piece. Probably also still had a knife in his pocket. Both would be difficult for him to reach from behind the steering wheel.
Jake let the pimp squirm while he watched a dark Suburban and a tan sedan pass slowly on the opposite side of the street. Fear loosened a man’s tongue, and Jake was an expert at instilling fear.
J.J.’s gaze darted from Jake to the street to the apartment building. A tic twitched in his right cheek.
Tension built inside the Hummer like inside a pressure cooker.
“What the fuck do ya want?” the pimp asked, his chubby hands trembling on the steering wheel.
“Information. The truth. You do remember what the truth is?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just my memory ain’t so reliable sometimes.” He gulped repeatedly.
Using the gun, Jake pulled J.J.’s face toward him. Icy gray eyes pierced the rapidly blinking black ones. “Bullshit. You better hope it’s damn reliable this time. Your fucking, worthless life depends on it.”
“What do ya wanna know?” Despite the cool night air, a bead of sweat rolled down J.J.’s cheek.
“Tell me about the rape of Angela Reardon,” Jake said through clenched teeth.
“Who?”
“Angela Reardon.”
“She ain’t one of mine.”
“I know that, you bastard. Let me refresh your memory. Four years ago, a beautiful, blond, twenty-five-year-old white woman was viciously raped and beaten in her LA home. The perp left your seal of approval carved in her butt cheek. The cops hauled you in for questioning. Ring any bells?”
“Yeah, yeah, I ’member that. Like I told the pigs back then, I didn’t do it. I had a tight alibi.”
“Maybe you didn’t do it, but I think you know who did.”
“I don’t know nothin’.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Jake yelled.
The Glock slammed into J.J.’s right temple, and the left side of his head bounced off the car window.
“Fuck!” he hollered. One hand jerked up to blot the dribble of blood.
“Hands on the wheel,” Jake growled. “Now, think…real hard, J.J. Like I said, your life depends on it.” He squinted at a black Suburban cruising past. The car had no license plates. He frowned. “Time’s up. Talk to me.”
“Look, man, I got no facts. All I got is guesses.”
“I’ll take guesses, as long as they’re honest ones.”
“You can understand I didn’t really wanna know the facts.”
“Quit stalling.”
“Yeah, yeah. One of my girls had a regular who roughed her up a lot. This john was into kinky shit and liked threesomes. Really special threesomes.” J.J. snickered. “The bastard done crap before like what happened to that woman who got raped. He knew ’bout my seal of approval. He had an appointment that night. When my ho disappeared, I started putting the pieces together.”
“Did you tell the cops?”
“Are ya crazy, asshole?”
“What was your girl’s name?”
J.J. cackled. “The hos don’t use their real names.”
Jake smacked the back of the man’s head so hard his forehead hit the steering wheel.
“Shit!”
“Quit jerking me around, J.J. What name did she use?”
“Bad Angel.”
The Suburban drove toward them on the opposite side of the street again. The sun visors were flipped down, and the other windows were darkly tinted. Two large, shadowy figures occupied the front seats, but the back seats were a mystery.
Jake tensed. “Those your friends?” he asked, motioning with the gun.
J.J.’s head jerked up. “In the black SUV?”
“Yeah.”
The man hesitated too long to be telling the truth. “Better than that. They’s my homeys, my bodyguards.”
“You don’t have bodyguards, you prick. Maybe Dickhead Lionel is coming to visit after all. Should I turn you over to him when I’m done?”
J.J.’s eyes widened and followed the vehicle. His mouth opened but snapped shut as if reconsidering a smart retort.
“Then tell me about Bad Angel. Now.”
The pimp’s face turned ugly with a sneering grin. “You don’t fuckin’ know, do ya, Mr. Smartass?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jake spotted the Suburban pulling a sharp U-turn at the end of the block. “Forget it. Who was the john?”
“I don’t ’member.”
The Glock was instantly pinned against J.J.’s temple.
“You better remember. I’m getting pissed.”
“I can’t tell ya. He’s still a customer,” J.J. said in a shrill voice.
“If you don’t tell me, you won’t be around to need customers.”
Through the Hummer’s rear window, Jake watched the Suburban crawl closer. Its dark front passenger window slid down.
Jake shoved the Hummer door wide open and flung himself flat on the sidewalk. “Get down!”
The first shot rang out. The pimp shrieked.
Bullets sprayed through the car.
The Suburban rocketed away in a squeal of tires.
Heart pounding, Jake waited a second to be sure the shooter wasn’t coming back. Then he scrambled onto his knees and leaned into the Hummer.
J.J. was sprawled across the front seats. Blood was everywhere.
Jake’s lips hovered next to the dying man’s ear. “The john! Who was he?” he screamed. “Time to try and save your sorry-ass soul, J.J.”
The pimp’s voice gurgled. “Lion…water…fuck…you.”
He went still.
Sirens blared in the distance. In this upscale neighborhood, someone had already called 911.
Jake extracted himself from the car and bolted around the corner. He sprinted for five blocks and then slowed to a brisk walk. He tossed the baseball cap and glasses into a dumpster in a deserted parking lot. By the time he doubled back from several blocks away, two patrol cars with lights flashing were on the scene.
J.J. was dead. He’d never give up any more information.
Rot in Hell, bastard.
Lion water?
Damn, damn, damn.
Jake watched the crime scene develop for five minutes before pulling out from the curb. Then the predator disappeared into the night.
* * *
Detective Sean Burke’s cell phone roused him from a deep sleep. “H’lo,” he mumbled.
“Burke, it’s Stone. Wake up.”
“Huh? I’m awake.” He glanced at the alarm clock, yawned. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Shut up and listen. Someone just took down J.J.”
Sean shook the fog from his head. “Shit. You killed J.J.?”
“No, damn it. Not me.”
He dragged himself to his feet. “Talk to me, Stone.”
“I was having a friendly chat with J.J. We were sitting in his Hummer parked in front of his girlfriend’s apartment building. A black Suburban, no plates, kept cruising by. Last pass, they sprayed us.”
“You hit?”
“No, but thanks for your concern.” Jake chuckled. “Or are you disappointed?”
“Cut the crap, Stone. Did you get a look at anyone?”
“No, they were careful.”
“Any ideas?” Sean dropped back onto the bed.
“J.J. mentioned Lionel somebody was after his business. Could be a turf war.”
“Or not.”
“Yeah. That’s what worries me.”
“Did you give the cops your statement already?” Sean paused. “Stone?” He sighed heavily. “Where the hell are you?”
“On the freeway.”
“Damn. You left the scene?”
“No shit, Sherlock. I don’t need any more problems.”
Sean rubbed his eyes and then threaded his fingers through his tousled hair. “Did you get any info from J.J. before—”
“Yeah. I just hope the bastard was telling the truth. He was scared shitless of my Glock, so I think he was.”
“You said it was a friendly chat.”
“I lied. Look, I’ll tell you what I got after I’ve had some sleep.”
“What’s your plan?”
A long silence followed.
“Maybe you don’t want to know, Burke. I’m not sure I know. I gotta figure out some things first.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” Jake laughed. “No, man, I really don’t have a plan. Honest. I’ll get back to you when I do. Just thought you’d want to know about J.J.”
“Thanks. Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy. I’ll work this on my end, Stone. As quietly as possible, of course.”
“Understood. Let me know ASAP if you learn anything. I don’t know where I’m going to be, but you can always reach my cell.”
“You expect me to share?”
“Hell, yes. You want the asshole who raped Angela as much as I do.”
“Damn straight. At least we agree on something.”
After disconnecting, Sean slowly slid the cell phone onto the nightstand. Lying back, he stared at the ceiling.
His attempts to covertly investigate Jake Stone had yielded little. The man was a shadow. And Sean’s gut instincts warned that that shadow was deadly dangerous.
His experience also told him the guy was a maverick who thumbed his nose at rules—and laws. Teaming up with him could be either the answer to Sean’s prayers or the end of his career.
* * *
The Corvette turned into the parking lot of a cheap, run-down motel still flashing a vacancy sign. Jake didn’t dare go back to the Doubletree Hotel until daylight. Although sure he hadn’t been followed, he sat in the car watching intently for any signs of trouble. When no traffic passed by for several minutes, he trudged into the motel office. After paying cash for the night, he parked directly in front of the window of his room. He prayed the Corvette—all of it—would still be there in the morning.
A hot shower pounded some of the tension out of his neck and shoulders. He stumbled naked out of the bathroom and collapsed on the bed. Exhaustion and frustration overwhelmed him.
Who had killed J.J. and why?
Lion water? What the hell was lion water?
Had J.J. managed to win, taking the secrets of Angela’s rape to his grave?
Jake grabbed his wallet and pulled out the picture of Angela in the red dress. He stared at it for a long time.
“This isn’t over, babe, but I’m one step closer. I’ll get the bastard yet,” he muttered.
After a deep sigh, he replaced the photo and flopped back on the bed, covering his eyes with his forearm. God, he needed some J.D.
His head was spinning with possibilities.
None of them good.