“I think I just want to make a deal. I’ve got the phone Bobby gave me in my boot.”
Ballard reached down and pulled up the leg of her jeans.
“Hey, wait,” the Lion said, sensing danger.
But it was too late. Lion went for his gun, but Ballard came up with her gun in hand and pushed the barrel into his neck.
“Don’t do it,” Ballard said.
The Lion started raising his hands. Ballard saw fear creep into his eyes.
“Okay, okay, now,” he said. “Be easy.”
“Shut up,” she said. “You make a sound, it’ll get you killed.” She reached her free hand to his waist and pulled his gun.
“Hey, come on,” he said. “Let’s just be friends.”
Ballard stepped back and pointed the big and small guns at his chest.
“On the floor,” she said. “Now.”
Keeping his hands up, the Lion got down on one knee and then the other.
“Lionel, huh?” Ballard said. “What’s your last name?”
“Why do you care?” the Lion said. “What do you want?”
“Good question. Bobby D. brought you a gun and a badge yesterday. Where are they?”
The Lion’s eyes widened.
“Oh, shit! That was you! That was your badge! Bobby told me they took it off a surfer chick who was a cop.”
He gave a short, high-pitched laugh. Anger flooded Ballard and she rushed forward into him, knocking him backward to the floor. She was on top of him then and this time she pushed the barrel of his own gun into his neck.
“I asked you a question, Lionel. You want to get out of this room alive, you better start telling me what I—”
“Okay, okay, okay. Take it easy. We can deal, we can deal.”
“I’m not interested in a deal. Where is the badge? Where is the gun?”
She pulled back from him and dragged the barrel of his gun down his torso to his thigh, where she held it.
“Talk,” she said. “Or you’re going to lose a leg.”
“Okay, okay, the gun is in the gun box,” he said. “Right behind you. Just take it, it’s yours.”
“The badge.”
“Uh, I, uh, already sold the badge. But we can get it back.”
“Sold it to who?”
“Just a guy. A customer buys guns from me. He’d been telling me he was looking for a badge and so I hit him when one came in.”
“What did he want the badge for?”
“I don’t know. It’s not my business. He probably wanted to rip off drug dealers, you know? Pull ’em over, take their shit.”
Ballard stood up and signaled the Lion back up to his knees. “Stay right there,” she said.
She backed up to the gun box and flipped off the top. She looked through the guns inside it until she saw a blue-steel Glock 17. She put her boot gun down on the table and lifted out the Glock. She checked the slide and found her initials there, etched at the academy gun shop the day she took possession of the weapon.
She used the gun to signal the Lion to turn around. “Face the wall, Lionel,” she said.
The Lion didn’t move. “Why?” he said. “You’re not going to do me. You’re a cop.”
“I said face the fucking wall,” Ballard said. “Now.”
“Okay, okay, okay.”
“Then do it.”
He turned on his knees and faced the wall. But she had been too loud. There was a sharp knock on the door and then the muffled voice of the Lion’s security man.
“Everything all right in there, boss?” he said.
“Tell him you’re fine,” Ballard whispered.
“Everything’s fine,” Lionel called. “We’re good.”
Ballard put his weapon in the box, then popped the cartridge on her Glock. It was a full clip, and she reloaded the weapon.
“You said you know how to get the badge back,” she asked. “How?”
“Easy,” the Lion said. “The guy who wanted the badge also told me he was looking for a SIG mini.”
“Which is what?”
“SIG Sauer MPX. A mini machine gun. Uses thirty-round clips and can do some heavy damage.”
“He needs that to rip off drug dealers?”
“That was just a guess. I don’t know what he wants it for. It’s not my business.”
Ballard instinctively knew that whoever had her badge was planning something bigger than carjacking drug dealers. Chasing down her stolen property had led her into the middle of something — something she couldn’t leave alone.
Ballard made a decision.
She walked over to the table with the designer handbags and chose an over-the-shoulder Prada bag. She checked Lionel’s position before touching it.
“Put your forehead against that wall, Lionel,” she said. “Right now.”
He complied. She unzipped the Prada bag and pulled out all the tissue stuffing. She slipped the strap over her shoulder, put her gun into the bag, and kept her hand on it.
“Okay, we’re going to go now,” she said.
“What?” Lionel said.
“You and me, we’re going to walk out of here and you’re going to tell your guy out there that everything’s cool and he needs to mind the store till you’re back. You say anything else and somebody’s going to get shot, Lionel, and it won’t be me.”
“Why don’t you just go? I’ll make sure he doesn’t try to stop you.”
“That would be nice but I’m going to need you once we get outside.”
“For what?”
“We’ll talk about that when we get there. You have your phone on you?”
“I got it.”
“Good. Let’s go. You lead the way. Tell your guy you’re just walking me out.”
“Whatever.”
He opened the door and immediately his security man stood up from his chair in the hall.
“Be right back, big man,” he said. “Just walking the lady out.”
Lionel headed up the hall. Ballard smiled at the security man and followed. The walk to the end of the hall seemed to take forever, but she knew that turning around and checking on the security man might tip him off that something was wrong.
They made it through the lobby and out to the street.
“Now what?” Lionel said.
“I got something in my car I want to show you,” Ballard said. “It’s over here.”
They walked up Speedway, to where the Defender was parked. Ballard opened the driver’s door, pulled the gun from the handbag, and held it free. She leaned into the car, threw the bag in, and reached under the driver’s seat for her handcuffs. She turned to Lionel, and his eyes went wide when he saw the cuffs.
“What the fuck?”
“Put your hands on the car.”
“Wait, you’re arresting me? I’m trying to help you here.”
He turned to run, but Ballard was ready for the move. She grabbed the back of his collar and the thick gold chain around his neck. She yanked him backward and spun him to the ground. Putting a knee on his spine, she shoved her gun into the waistband of her jeans. She pulled his right arm behind his back, cuffed it, and then went for the left.
“What are the charges?” Lionel yelled.
Ballard couldn’t help but laugh.
“You really need to ask?” Ballard said. “Let’s start with possession of stolen property. That Prada bag still has a Nordstrom price tag on it. Two grand, Lionel. That puts you into a felony and a cell.”
Ballard checked his pockets and pulled out a set of keys, a roll of cash, and his phone. She needed that phone for her plan to work.
“Now we’re going to get up,” she said. “If you help me, you’ll be able to make all of this go away.”
“Fuck you,” Lionel said. “I ain’t fucking helping you do shit.”
“We’ll see if you change your mind after a night in a cell.”
“I got a lawyer. He’ll get me out in an hour. You heard of the Lincoln Lawyer, bitch?”