Private L.A. (Private 6)

Watson said, “Hold still for a capture.”

Nickerson froze, stopped breathing for a count of four.

“Got them,” Watson said.

“You done, Mr. Nickerson?” Cobb said.

“I am,” Nickerson said. “You should be picking up a signal.”

Silence, then, “That’s an affirmative,” Cobb said. “Leave them to their scamming. Move your fishing gear in toward shore. Fish for an hour. Chat with a few of the locals, then get the hell out of there.”

“On it,” Nickerson said, and got his pole, tackle box, and bait bucket, only once glancing over toward Fescoe and the two men with him, all of whom were looking westward toward the breaking waves.

Serves them right, Nickerson thought. Like Mr. Cobb always says, this is what you get for scamming.

Chapter 29

“THE PICKUP’S GONNA be here, nine tonight,” Chief Fescoe said as the breeze stiffened, throwing his hair into his eyes.

“Here?” I said, squinting at the wind, glancing around at the diner and the deck that surrounded it. “Why would he do that? He’ll be cornered out here.”

“No, we drop the money. It lands in the water. In the darkness.”

Del Rio cast a jaundiced eye toward the waves and the surfers and kiteboarders plying the water below us. He said, “Still a tough pickup. No Prisoners has gotta be thinking police boats, helicopters, scuba.”

The chief stiffened. “He is thinking that, and more. His letter says any sign of a police presence beyond me making the drop, and six civilians die.”

“We’re not cops,” Del Rio said.

Fescoe breathed a sigh of relief. “Exactly my thinking, and the mayor’s. You’re not cops, so your presence is safer. In effect.”

I squinted at him, then down at the waves crashing off the pier’s stanchions far below me. “So what’s our goal?”

“Hunt the bastard, Jack,” Fescoe said. “Set up an ambush. Capture him. Turn him over to us.”

I thought it through for several beats. “So he claims that any sign of a police presence, he’s a no-show and kills six, correct?”

“That’s the threat,” Fescoe agreed.

“There’s more than one guy, then,” I said.

Del Rio understood. “He’s got a watcher, or he’s the watcher, and someone else is making the pickup.”

“That’s how it looks to me,” I said. “Which makes the situation more complicated. More demanding.”

“But doable?” Fescoe asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Terms?”

“The immunity document’s on its way,” Fescoe said. “And the mayor’s offering you three hundred grand in exchange for No Prisoners’ capture or …”

I raised my eyebrow when his voice trailed off. “You’re suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting nothing,” Fescoe said, flustered. “You’re covered in any case, Jack. We simply can’t afford to have some lunatic, or group of lunatics, killing increasing numbers of people in Los Angeles every day. He, they, must be stopped. Tonight.”

Looking to Del Rio, I said, “What do you think?”

“You already know what I think,” Del Rio said. He gestured over the rail. “Long fall from here, Jack.”