“That helps.”
“So what do you think we should do?”
“You’ve been in there before? What’s the setup?”
“One time. I read somewhere they had the best fried chicken in the city. And peach cobbler. So, I went to see. It’s like a counter — you go down the line, order what you want, then take it on a tray and find a place to sit. They have an overflow room that will probably be in use at one today, end of the lunch hour.”
“We need a signal. In case you need me. We’ve got no radios.”
“I brought my rover in case we want to hook Dupree up after.”
She handed the radio across to Bosch.
“You keep it in case something goes really sideways and you need to call it in. You remember the codes?”
“Of course. Code three — officer needs help. But what if things don’t go sideways? What are we doing?”
“Well, I’m going in by myself. Most people by themselves look at their cell phones. I’ll text you a running play-by-play and a code three if I need you to call in the troops.”
Bosch thought about things before speaking next.
“Once you’re in there and have your phone out, text me a hello so I know we have a clear signal,” he said. “But my question is what are you hoping to accomplish in there? You think you’re going to overhear their conversation, just get a look at Kidd, what?”
“Yeah, I want to get a look at him,” Ballard said. “And if I’m lucky and I’m close, I may hear something. I’ll put my phone on Record but I know that’s a long shot. I want to see if he’s panicked, and if he is then maybe we take it to the next step and really spook him to see what he does. We can also squeeze Dupree.”
“When?”
“Maybe right after lunch. You’re dressed up like a detective and I’m undercover. Maybe we call South Bureau, get a couple unies to pull him over, and then we take him back to South Bureau and borrow a room.”
“How close are the tables in there?”
“Not that close. They wouldn’t have picked the place if they knew people were sitting on top of each other.”
Bosch nodded.
“Okay, let’s see what happens,” he said. “Don’t forget to text me so I know we have a signal.”
“It’s just a first step,” Ballard said. “I want to see who we’re dealing with here.”
“Okay, be safe.”
“You too.”
Ballard drove off. She checked the dashboard clock and saw it was 12:45. She made a U-turn on Crenshaw and headed back toward the restaurant. It was busy and there was no parking directly in front of the establishment. She parked at the curb half a block away and texted Bosch before getting out of the van.
Going in.
She got out, slinging her backpack strap over her shoulder, and walked to the restaurant. Her gun and handcuffs were in the pack.
She entered Dulan’s at exactly one p.m. and was immediately hit with the smell of good food. It suddenly occurred to her that to complete her undercover picture she was going to have to eat. She looked around. Every table in the front room of the restaurant was taken and there was a line of people waiting to go down the hot line and get their food. Acting like she was looking for a friend, she checked out the overflow room to the right. There were empty tables here. She stopped short when she saw a man sitting by himself at a four-top. He was texting on his phone. She was sure it was Marcel Dupree. The round head but now with braids instead of unkempt. He had no food or drink in front of him. He was totally dressed in Crips blue, right down to the flat-billed Dodgers cap. It looked like he was waiting for Elvin Kidd before ordering.
The room was long, with a row of four-top tables running down the right side and deuces running down the left. The table across the aisle from Dupree’s four-top was already taken by a couple. The next deuce down was taken as well, but the third was open. Ballard realized that by sitting there she could have a full view of whoever sat across the table from Dupree.
She walked down the aisle, passing Dupree, and to the open table. Hanging her backpack over the back of the chair, she dropped her van keys on the table and turned to the four-top across the aisle, where three young women sat.
“Excuse me, do you mind watching my stuff while I go get food?” she asked. “I won’t be long. The line isn’t bad.”
“Sure, no problem,” one of the women said. “Take your time.”
“I’ll be quick.”
“No worries.”
She went back into the main dining room and got in line. While she waited she kept her eyes on the door to see if Kidd would enter. She looked away for just a moment, to text Bosch that only Dupree was in the building. Bosch responded, saying he had left the gas station and had moved closer to the restaurant. He asked if she was close to Dupree, and Ballard responded.
I got a table close enough to watch.
Bosch’s return came immediately.
Just be careful.
Ballard didn’t respond. It was her turn to order. She asked for fried chicken, collard greens, and peach cobbler. She wanted enough food to keep her at the table for as long as Dupree and Kidd were at theirs. After paying, she took her tray to the next room and saw that Dupree was now facing another black man at his table. The shaved scalp told her it was likely Kidd. She had not seen him enter the restaurant and guessed there might be a rear entrance. She carried her food tray past them and to her table, where she sat at a diagonal to the man meeting Dupree.
Ballard stole a casual glance and confirmed that it was Kidd. She took her phone out and held it at an angle so it would appear she was looking at something on the screen or taking a selfie, and started taking a video of Dupree and Kidd.
After a few seconds she stopped the video and texted it to Bosch. His response came quick.
No CLOSER!
And she sent him one back.
Roger that!
She started the video again but didn’t hold the phone consistently in one spot or it could be a giveaway. She ate her food and continued to act like she was reading e-mails, at times placing the phone flat on the table, at other times holding it up as if to look closely at something on the screen. The whole time she was recording.
Because of the distance between the two tables, Ballard could make out very little of what was said by Kidd and nothing of what was said by Dupree. The men were speaking in low tones, and only now and then could a word or two be heard from Kidd. It was clear by his demeanor, however, that Kidd was agitated if not angry about something. At one point he poked a finger down hard on the table and Ballard clearly heard him say, “I am not fucking around.”
He said it in a controlled and angry tone that carried through the sounds of dining, conversation, and overhead music in the room.
At that point Ballard had propped her phone against a sugar caddy on the table. The phone was tilted so it would look like she was reading or watching something, but it provided a low-angle recording of Kidd. She just hoped it picked up the audio.
Kidd lowered his voice again and continued speaking to Dupree. Then, seemingly in mid-sentence, Kidd got up from the table and started walking toward Ballard.
She quickly realized that if he saw the screen of her phone, he would know she was recording his meeting with Dupree. She grabbed the phone and cleared the screen just as Kidd got to her table.
He walked by her.
She waited, wanting to turn to see where he was going, but not willing to risk it.
Then she saw Dupree rise and head up the aisle to the main room and the front door of the restaurant. She saw him stuff an envelope in the side pocket of his sweatpants as he walked.