“The pizza guy, and the mailman, they saw you?” I asked. “Could they remember you? Describe you?”
Treven shook his head. “We were wearing shades. Anyway, what if they could? The mailman would have to cop to taking bribes, and the pizza guy would have to admit he sold his flyers rather than giving them out. Even if someone made the connection between the flyers and Kei’s temporary disappearance, those two wouldn’t want to get involved.”
“Besides,” Larison said, “no one but Hort is even going to know Kei’s gone missing. The police won’t be involved. Even if they do get involved, we didn’t give them anything to go on. And anyway, right now, potential police, even FBI, is pretty much the least of our problems.”
He was right. “Well? What’s her address?”
“A nice little bungalow on Selma Avenue,” Treven said. “Again, we might not even need it because I think we’ll have a better shot at her by the bus stop than we would by the house. But it was good to confirm she was heading home anyway, and not to, say, a friend’s house or whatever. We’ll show it all to you on Google Maps. Looks like she’s renting a room from the family that lives there. But whatever. The main thing is, we know what time the first class is tomorrow morning, we know her bus stop, and she’s got an approximate six-minute walk along a nice quiet street to get there. Wearing her earbuds, if we’re really lucky.”
We were quiet for a moment. Dox said, “Well, I have successfully procured us food and phones, and Mister Rain has kindly laundered our gamey garments. But I believe the day’s glory goes to you.”
“Couldn’t have done it without clean clothes and food to look forward to,” Treven said, and we all laughed.
“It looks promising,” I said. “But there a few things to consider. And a few we need.”
They looked at me.
“Potential opposition aside,” I said, “the first class at UCLA begins at what, ten o’clock? So how early will we need to be in position?”
“No later than eight,” Treven said. “And probably earlier.”
“Right,” I said. “And if we’re thinking that, then Horton’s guys are thinking the same. That’s what they’ll be looking for.”
“Sunup,” Larison said. “Earlier, in fact.”
“Agreed,” I said. “The key will be to get there earlier than we would reasonably need to for Kei-because Horton’s guys expect us to be hunting Kei, when in fact, we’ll be hunting them.”
“Works out well anyway,” Dox said. “I mean, we really don’t know very much about her patterns. Does she like to go in early for a workout? Or to meet a friend for breakfast on campus, or to study in the library? We’ve been watching her for barely twenty-four hours, it could be anything. So we can’t afford to time things so precisely regardless. The earlier we get in position, the better, assuming we can find good concealment.”
Spoken like a true sniper, I thought. Waiting out a target was second nature for Dox. I think part of him even enjoyed it.
“All right,” I said, “we need to be in position before it gets light. Which means we have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. To start with, I want to get a firsthand look at her neighborhood. Discreetly. Maybe on a bicycle. I mean, who ever looks suspicious on a bicycle?”
Larison said, “What else?”
“A vehicle. Overall, the U-Haul truck is great cover. But if anyone witnesses the snatch, a U-Haul truck is going to be remembered, and looked for, like a giant neon sign. Even if we swap in some stolen plates, the truck itself will be radioactive.”
“That’s a good point,” Treven said. “Well, a panel truck would work. Could borrow one from a long-term parking lot. I doubt it would be missed until after it didn’t matter.”
“I’m thinking the same thing,” I said. “We park the truck somewhere nice and quiet, use the stolen panel truck for the snatch, and break the circuit by transferring Kei from one to the other. Let’s start walking this thing through.”
Dox popped a Red Bull and smiled. “Maybe I should have bought a few more of these.”
It was a long but productive night. One stolen GMC panel van; one stolen Ford Fusion; assorted items from a hardware store, a sporting goods place, a supermarket. Mapping out Kei’s neighborhood. Identifying the ideal spot for the snatch, and for the switch. Planning the op; positioning the vehicles. We’d slept for a few hours, gotten up while it was still dark, dispersed, and then regrouped near Kei’s house before sunup.
One problem from our perspective was that Selma Avenue, and La Baig, which led into it, permitted no parking on the street-not even any stopping, according to the signs. So if we parked the van anywhere near her house, we ran the risk of an annoyed neighbor coming out to talk to us or even calling the police. The good news was, there was a motel on the corner, a long, pink and blue, two-storied affair that stretched along the west side of La Baig for about two hundred feet starting at the corner of Sunset. We had parked the van there, on the side of the lot closest to Kei’s house, front end in, rear end facing La Baig. If Larison’s and Treven’s intel was sound, and Kei stuck to what we preliminarily assumed was her routine, we would be good to go. And if Horton’s guys were trying to identify trouble before it reached Kei, the first spot they’d check would be exactly where we’d parked the van.
Which is why three of us were watching it now: Larison, from between two parked cars in the driveway of a small apartment building across the street; Treven, from the dark stairwell in the center of the motel; and I, from a prone position on the balcony of the motel directly above the van. Dox was waiting in the stolen Fusion a few miles away. The chances of someone stumbling upon any of us at this hour were slim, but if it happened, Treven and Larison were dressed in the latest Nikes and Under Armour, just another couple of early morning L.A. fitness fanatics. I was less sportily attired, in jeans and a sweatshirt, and would have to be a drunk sleeping it off. Thin cover for action, but reasonable under the circumstances, and in all events better than nothing.
At just before sunup, as the first gray light crept into the sky, a dark Chevy Suburban pulled into the far end of the motel parking lot. I watched it from my perch and felt a warm surge of adrenaline spread through my torso. It was unusually early for anyone to be arriving at, or returning to, a motel. Nothing else at the motel, or in the surrounding neighborhood, had yet stirred.
The doors opened, but no interior light came on. Two big, clean-cut Caucasian men got out, both dressed casually in what looked in the dim light like jeans and bulky fleece jackets. They paused and looked around, then moved out, letting the doors click quietly closed behind them.
The earliness of the hour, the lack of an interior light, the quietly closed doors, the watchfulness…if these weren’t Horton’s men, they could only have been here to rob the motel. But thieves who moved as stealthily and professionally as these two typically have better uses for their talents than budget motels. They had to be here for us.
They moved silently along the row of parked cars, their heads swiveling, shining penlights into the interiors of the vehicles they passed. They swept their lights along the balcony of the motel’s second floor, too, but I saw the light coming my way and simply flattened myself against the ground beyond the angle of their vision.
They came to Treven’s position and checked the stairs, but I knew he would have melted away at their approach. I also knew he’d be back as soon as they had passed.
When they came to the van, they stopped. I knew what they were thinking. A panel van. Perfect for a snatch. And parked exactly where we would have parked it ourselves.
They shone their lights through the front windows and then tried the side doors, which we had locked.