THE BIG DODGE wove in and out of the light traffic, Wicks running red lights as soon as the intersection cleared. He knew the way and knew the fastest streets to get there. “So you know where this little shitass lives?”
“Yeah, I do. He lives with his auntie now. He used to live with his foster parents for years until he ran away a few months back. Or so the story goes. But if he’s anywhere, he’ll be at his auntie’s right on the edge of the Downs on 101st.”
Now I questioned all the things he’d told me while we sat in the bus station.
“So Sams has got a direct link to Borkow. That’s really something, huh?”
I turned to look at him in the kaleidoscope illumination from the passing streetlights. “Sams set Olivia up to be menaced so I’d leave the court. Now he’s gone and fed her to Borkow so I’d back off Borkow’s trail.”
“Whoa, buddy boy, I know you’re a little pissed right now, and I’ve never said this before, but maybe you better let me handle this. You’re gonna pinch his head off before we get the info we need on Borkow.”
“I’m good.”
“I don’t think you are. When we come up on him, you let me handle it, you understand? I’m not kiddin’ here, Bruno.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“You’re not going to do Olivia any good if you get your ass thrown in the can. Think about it.”
He was right, but I’d let Sams off the hook once too often already. It wouldn’t happen again. I was going to—
My head whipped around as we drove up Alameda and crossed Imperial Highway. “That’s him! That’s him at the light. Pull a U. Pull a U! He’s at the red light, third car back in that piece of shit Volkswagen Rabbit.”
Wicks pulled a U-turn and stopped behind the line of cars about six back from the Rabbit.
I grabbed the Ithaca shotgun and jumped out.
“Bruno, wait. Wait, Bruno, don’t do this.”
I hurried alongside the cars. Each driver turned scared as I passed. Who wouldn’t be with a big angry black truck driver toting a gauge?
One car back, Sams saw me in his side mirror. His expression paled and his eyes went wide. He laid on the horn to get the car ahead of him to move. But nothing happened. Everyone froze, front and back, keeping his car pinned.
I shouldered the shotgun and yelled. “Get out of the car, now.”
He hit the gas and rammed the car in front of him—bumped it, really. The Rabbit’s engine was too small to do any real damage or to move it at all. There hadn’t been room to get up enough speed.
He’d fed Olivia to that freak Borkow.
I aimed the shotgun at his left front tire and fired. The shotgun roared and kicked.
The tire disintegrated. The front end of the car dropped on that side.
People in the other cars screamed and ducked and hit their horns. Some pulled out of line and scattered.
The back tire of the Rabbit spun, smoking white. The two cars in front of him took off in a panic against the red signal. I racked the shotgun and blew out the back tire. The Rabbit gave a little shudder. The rim hit asphalt and spun, grinding a rooster tail of sparks.
I racked it again. “Last chance,” I yelled. “Get out of the car.”
With an open path, he took off at low speed on his two rims. I did a quick sidestep around to the other side and blew out the other back tire. He slewed sideways a little out of control, still trying to flee and moving away at seven or ten miles an hour.
A shadow and a breeze blew past. Wicks, in his big Dodge, came in from a wide arc and slammed into the side of the Rabbit. The small car slid sideways on three rims and one tire. It came to a stop, smoking and hissing.
I let the shotgun drop to the pavement. The driver’s glass had shattered with the broadside from the Dodge. I reached in and yanked Derek Sams out through the window. He screeched like a little girl, then yelled, “Help! Someone please help me. Please help. Call the police.”
“Where is she? Tell me where she is.” I had him shoved over the hood of the crumpled Rabbit, pinned there.
An LAPD cruiser pulled up. Two uniforms jumped out, guns drawn. Wicks, out of the car now, held up his badge. “I’m a lieutenant with Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. Stand down. Stand down. He’s a wanted fugitive in an ongoing kidnap/murder investigation.”
I saw and heard it, but was focused only on Sams. I shook him again and lowered my voice. “You’re gonna tell me or so help me this time I will feed you to the fish.”
“Okay. Okay.”
His quick capitulation stunned me. A small part of me didn’t believe a seventeen-year-old kid could possess such evil. I didn’t want it to be true. “Where is she? Tell me where she is.”
One of the LAPD officers said, “That’s not right, he’s only a kid.”
Wicks said, “You have no idea what’s going on here. I’m taking full responsibility. Get back in your car and get the hell out of here.”
“I’m calling my supervisor.”
Wicks came closer and leaned in. “We don’t have much time, my friend. We have to move.”
I pulled a fist back slow to let Sams see what was coming.
“Hold it,” he said. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you all of it. Jus’ don’t hit me.”
“Then talk. Now.”
“He’s in one of dem houses on wheels. He’s always movin’ around. I don’t know exactly where.”
“Bruno,” Wicks said, “grapple his ass up, put him in the car, and let’s get outta here.”
I pulled Sams off the Rabbit and onto his feet. I half dragged him to the Dodge. I opened the back door and shoved him in. I started to climb in on top of him. Wicks stopped me, his hand tugging on my shoulder. He handed me the shotgun. “You’re driving, no argument, that’s an order.”
I froze, looked at him, still seeing red, my fists clenched. He shoved me hard. “Snap out of it.”
That was all I needed. He was right. I took a step back. He got in. Up at the shoulder, the knife wound bled and wet my shirt. The pain still had not made an appearance—that’s how powerful a drug adrenaline could be. I got in the driver’s seat and hit the gas before my door had closed.