Baca - Page 49
I nodded. “Too risky for them. They’re into some dirty stuff, I just can’t figure out what and how yet.”
“They might come after you, though,” Hondo said.
“They might,” I said. “Meanwhile we’ve got a case to solve.”
Hunter said, “Well I wish you’d hurry up. My vacation runs out next week and I?
??ve got to go back.”
“Oh sure,” I said. “The Microwave Detectives. Investigate all day in ten minutes.” She threw a paper clip at me.
We sat for a moment and Hunter said, “What did you say Bond’s maiden name was?”
“Savitch, why?”
She tapped her lips with her forefinger, “You heard her speak Russian, right?”
“I think that’s what it was. Like what Russians sound like in those old spy movies.”
Hunter rolled her eyes, then said, “I thought I might do a little research on her at the Immigration office. Could be she immigrated.”
“You can do that with just a name?” I asked.
“Makes it more difficult, but there aren’t many women named Bond. That’ll help.”
Hondo said, “And if she did?”
Hunter said, “Depends. It might show some connections from her past that will help us. While I’m at it, I’ll look up Carl Rakes and see how in the hell he made it into the country. If we’re lucky, he’s undocumented.”
I nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
Hunter stood and said, “I’ll probably go to Hondo’s after I finish unless I find something really good.”
Hondo said, “Just keep your cell phone on. They may try for you as a way to get back at Ronny.”
Hunter tapped the phone on her hip, then her jacket where the shoulder holster rode. “They’ll both be where I can get at them.”
When Hunter was gone Hondo said, “We’re going to the Caspian Diamond, I assume.”
I said, “Why don’t you go ahead, but watch from the parking lot until I get there. I’m going to check on something with our friend, Sergeant Best.”
Hondo nodded, “See you there.”
**
Vick was at the West Hollywood station on San Vicente and I knew he was happy to see me when I walked into his office.
“Baca, what the hell do you want?”
“Hey, Sergeant, good to see you, too.”
“I’m busy, what?”
I leaned over his desk and looked at the yellow lined writing pad under his hand. “Are we writing something, a note to the Sheriff, perhaps, telling him how helpful those two private investigators, Baca and Wells, are? Hmmmm?”
He covered the pad with his hand. “No, smartass. If you must know, it’s another speech I’ve got to make this afternoon with the mayor.”
“Aren’t we popular.”
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