“Yeah, that would work. Maybe you could make it look like a robbery or a carjacking.”
Jake turned to face the attorney. “I can do it. Fifty thousand. Half up front. Half when it’s done.”
There was a subdued look of shock on Reid’s face. “Fifty thousand! Tommy didn’t say it would be that much.”
“If you’re looking for a bargain, try Walmart, but two murders are more costly.”
“Two?”
“Yeah, two. You said the girl was pregnant.”
Reid hesitated a little too long. Jake thought the lawyer would bite but questioned whether he’d set the price too high. Jake hated to look desperate and from a legal standpoint didn’t want to lower the fee as if enticing Reid to commit a crime. The moments ticked by but so were Reid’s options if he wanted the job done professionally. The attorney might be a tiger in the courtroom but he was out of his league in these negotiations. Jake wanted to add one more ingredient to this recipe for murder. He’d give Reid an opportunity to call it off; Jake started to walk away.
“Wait!” cried the attorney, despair in his voice.
With a confident grin Jake turned and almost in a whisper said, “Listen, if you want a bargain-basement killing, hire some gangbanger down in the hood. Those hip-hop artists you represent must know plenty who would do it on the cheap, but if you want it done right and done professionally by someone who won’t give up your pale white ass when he gets picked up on his next dope beef, you’ve come to the right man.”
“I’ll pay what you’re asking. Just keep me out of it,” said Reid, pleading for Jake’s assistance.
“I know how to do my job and since you aren’t interested in pulling the trigger, I’ll do your job, too… if you bring the green. Meet me at three tomorrow afternoon. Bring the money, a picture of the girl, and all the descriptive information, like cars, addresses, phone numbers. I want the four-one-one. Everything you got. You understand?”
Reid nodded. “She’s Asian — is that a problem?”
“Why would that be a problem? I’m not real fond of their driving but they bleed the same as Caucasians.”
“Please don’t say anything to Tommy about this. He doesn’t know who I want killed, just that I need it done. It’s between you and me,” again almost pleading with the request.
“If that’s the way you want to play, I don’t have a problem. Your money buys my services and my silence.”
Relief washed over the lawyer’s face as he offered his hand. When Jake took it, Reid clutched Jake’s with both hands, shaking with too much enthusiasm. “Thanks so much.”
“Just be here tomorrow at three with the down payment.”
“Oh, I will. I promise.”
As Reid turned and retreated down the pier, the homeless man approached again. He grabbed Reid by the arm and spun him around, pushing him toward the railing, saying, “Can you spare something? I not eat in days.”
Reid attempted to pull away, this time in fear rather than disgust. “I said leave me alone.” His plea was loud enough to catch the attention of all the fishermen, who turned to watch the assault.
The man continued to push, shoving the attorney against the wooden railing. “I just need meal. Anything. You can spare buck or two.”
Jake rushed to the encounter. He grabbed the homeless man from behind and pulled him off Reid. Jake spun the man around and grabbed the tattered shirt with a powerful grip. “My friend isn’t interested in donating to the cause.”
Jake noted the man’s balance was a little too perfect for his apparent station in life; his motions too fluid, and his eyes too clear for a street dweller.
The homeless man muttered something, collapsed onto a concrete bench, and began to cry. Jake released his grip, confused by the performance. He looked to Reid, who was shaking as he straightened his suit coat. Jake took two steps, grabbed Reid by the tie, and with his free hand reached deep into the attorney’s pocket, pulling out a money clip loaded with hundreds. Jake sorted through the bills until he came to twenties. He pulled a twenty from the wad of bills and turned to the homeless man who sought sanctuary on the Santa Monica Pier. Jake stuffed the money in the man’s hand.
When Jake turned back to Reid he said, “Just my way of redistributing the wealth. Next time pay the toll or stay out of the man’s neighborhood.”
CHAPTER NINE
The morning commute was far from subsiding. The Pacific Coast Highway was still creeping along and even the majors like Wilshire and Santa Monica Boulevards were heavy with solo drivers hoping to get somewhere on time. With all their clamoring for liberal causes L.A. residents never quite caught the concept of carpooling. Even the carpool lanes on the freeways required only two people. Traffic jams in L.A. began decades ago and would dissipate when the oil ran out. It was usually a nightmare regardless of the hour and this morning was no exception.
Actually the traffic made Jake’s objective a little easier. He checked his mirrors as he took a circuitous route through the residential streets of Santa Monica. A left, two quick rights, even turning left well after the light was red. He was looking for a tail but saw none. Surveillance wasn’t as easy as they made it look on TV. Trying to follow someone, either on foot or in a car, was seldom a one-man show, especially in a city as congested as Los Angeles. If Reid hired a PI or had a gangbanger or two following, Jake was confident he would spot it.
He doubted the attorney or his stooges were shadowing him, but since Jake was wasting Bureau gas and not his own he didn’t mind taking the long way to the Brentwood coffee shop.
The meet at the pier had gone a little too easy. This wasn’t Jake’s first dance recital, so maybe it was an undercover agent’s paranoia. Reid seemed too eager to employ a man he just met while standing at the edge of the Pacific Ocean. You play to emotions but you live by logic. Cautious optimism would prevail.
Jake’s vehicle, a 2013 Range Rover HSE, was his most recent reward for a short-term undercover assignment in San Diego. Jake did a quick hit on a cartel meth dealer who delivered ten kilos of the powder in his brand-new, paid-for-in-cash, luxury off-road SUV… Oh, the joy of dealing with really stupid criminals who get to forfeit any property used to “facilitate” a narcotics transaction!
He remained married to his rearview mirrors, making sure he wasn’t being followed. A tail might even be another law enforcement agency. Jake couldn’t be certain Reid wasn’t setting up the entire scenario to avoid a prison vacation. The odds of that seemed remote, but when dealing with sleaze even the unlikely can become real. So far, the trip from the pier to the coffee shop appeared surveillance-free.
Jake pulled into the Chevron station at the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and Bundy. He really didn’t need to fill up but decided to top off. It provided one more opportunity to scour the landscape and see if anyone was on the high ground preparing an attack.
CHAPTER TEN
When Jake was satisfied he was clean, he headed east on San Vicente Boulevard and took a left at Barrington. He found an open parking spot on the street and threw a couple of quarters in the meter. As he was exiting the car, he glanced over at the outdoor tables of the coffee shop. The only two occupants practically screamed FBI: discount suits, white, button-down collar shirts, and ties that were stylish during the Bush administration — forty-one, not forty-three. He shook his head and walked onto the patio. As he passed the waitress, he ordered the no-frills coffee… black and hot.
Before Jake even sat down he took a shot. “Did the Salvation Army have a two-for-one sale on suits?”
Trey Bennett looked at the younger agent. “I told you he was a jerk.”