“Where are you?” Orzana asked Lock.
“We’re almost there.”
“Okay, well, hurry up. We’re not going to wait around forever.”
“You’re there now?” Lock asked.
No response.
“Orzana? Hello?”
He looked again at the screen. Orzana had hung up.
Lock spun the wheel, turning left from Hill Street onto South Broadway, and dodging around an LA Metro bus.
“So, I gave Li Yeng the bank details,” said Ty. “What was the call from Galante?”
Lock told him.
“Dammit. This guy’s going to get these kids killed if he keeps this up.”
“I’m not sure that’s how he sees it. He’s probably thinking he has some leverage now.”
Ty made a tutting sound. “If he thinks those guys’ll prioritize one of their own over a couple million dollars he’s dreaming.”
Lock nodded. “No kidding.” From his own experiences with criminal gangs, including time undercover in a Supermax prison, he knew that gangs might use solidarity and family as a hook to get people on board. But when it came down to it, the color green trumped any other.
He turned into an alleyway across the Grand Central Market. There was a prominent “No Parking, Tow Zone” sign. They would have to risk it.
“Weapons?” said Ty.
Lock nodded. They grabbed jackets and put them on. Both he and Ty looked sufficiently like cops that people rarely questioned why they had a firearm, but it was good practice not to make it too obvious.
Although they were entering a crowded public place they still had no idea what they were walking into. Innocent members of the public didn’t count for much in the world of MS-13. If the gang had gotten word that one of their own had been taken, there was every chance Lock could be walking into an execution rather than a hostage exchange.
“You ready?” said Lock.
They dodged through the traffic on South Broadway and into the dimly lit hustle and bustle of the Grand Central Market. They wove through the flower stalls, a riot of scent and color, toward the food stalls that sold everything from some of the city’s best tacos to ice cream, ramen noodles to bento boxes.
The smells were making Lock’s stomach rumble, so who knew what effect they were having on Ty, with his vast appetite? Lock focused back on the task in hand. He scanned the shoals of people sitting at benches eating, or waiting in line at one of the stands, or simply cruising around, paralyzed by the sheer variety of options. He was looking for someone who stood out, or someone who was watching them, but it was close to an impossible task. The place was jammed.
He looked down at his cell phone, hoping for a text message, or some kind of signal about what they should do next.
There was nothing.
“Damn that smells like good barbecue,” said Ty, as they strolled slowly past a stall called Horse Thief BBQ.
“You want to get something?” said Lock.
While they were waiting, they might as well blend in. Walking around the place staring at people wouldn’t achieve that.
Ty seemed taken aback. “You sure?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
Ty stepped forward to order. Lock stood with his back to the counter and swept the area around them, looking, as he always did, for something, or someone, that was off. He caught a likely candidate sitting alone on a bench about twelve feet away, a teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Hispanic. He had a baseball cap pulled down low, and he was hunkered over a plate of tostados. Lock caught the kid glancing straight at him. He was going for casual and doing a bad job of it. He quickly looked away.
Lock stayed where he was as Ty placed his order, handing over the money at the same time in case they needed to make a swift exit. “Yeah, gimme the fried-chicken sandwich.” He turned to Lock. “You want anything?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Okay. Don’t change your mind and be asking for some of mine.”
“Yes, Mom,” said Lock, catching sight of the kid’s sneakers.
They were blue and white Nike Cortez, as good a giveaway that he was Mara Salvatrucha as a flashing neon sign around his neck. A middle-aged person might wear the sneakers not knowing what they signified on their streets, but a teenage kid in this part of town would know for definite that they were a symbol of gang allegiance.
In this situation, they were more than that. Galante had told Lock and Ty that word had come down from MS-13 high command about a year ago to ditch those sneakers. Their meaning had become too well known among law enforcement.
Now they were reserved for certain situations. When you wanted to flaunt affiliation. Or let someone else know who you were with.
As Ty waited for his food, Lock decided to move things along. The kid watched Lock coming toward him. He didn’t get up, but he did take a last forkful of food.
“Where you going?” said Ty.
“It’s cool. Just checking something out.”
Lock reached the bench. He pulled out a chair and sat down close by, careful to keep an eye on the boy’s hands in case he reached for a weapon. The kid’s body language shifted. He turned his plastic fork over in his hand. He threw it down on his half-finished meal. Finally, he picked up his plate, and stood up. He slid the tray over so that it was in front of Lock, the white paper receipt from his order turned over.
On the back an address was scrawled in blue pen. Lock picked it up as the kid dumped his plate in the trash and took off.
Lock got up and walked back to Ty. “Let’s go.”
Ty looked pleadingly at the young man who was making his sandwich. “Hold that for me, would you?” he said.
“Sorry, dude,” said Lock, as they walked back past the flower stalls and out onto the street.
“This job’s going to give me an ulcer,” complained Ty. “It’s not good for your stomach to think it’s getting some food and then it doesn’t. All those juices floating around with nothing to digest.”
Lock was checking the address. It was four blocks away. He dodged across the street back toward the alley where he’d left the Audi. The good news was that it was still there. The bad news was that two teenage hood rats were already scoping out the rims.
“Sweet ride,” said one of the kids, seeing Lock walk up on them.
“Thanks,” said Lock, shouldering past them.
One of the hood rats must have caught a glimpse of Lock’s holstered SIG. He nudged his buddy. “Let’s bounce.”
They swaggered off down the alley, fading into the concrete gloom of the nearby buildings.
The Audi chirped, and Lock opened the driver’s door. Looking over the top of the car, he saw Ty’s stance change. He had one foot planted behind the other, and was standing side on to the street, like he was ready to throw down.
The kid who’d left his tray for Lock was walking toward them. He had a posse of four others with him. They looked like they meant business.
Lock reached for his SIG, ready to draw. The kid held his hand up.
“Chill, ese. We’re your escort.”
“I think I can find it,” said Lock.
“No car,” said the kid. “We have to walk there.”
Ty took a step forward. The kids visibly shrank back. Ty had that effect on people.
“I wouldn’t mess with him,” Lock told them. “He’s pissed that he didn’t get his chicken.”
The kid looped his thumbs into his pants. “I don’t make the rules. Don’t worry about your car.” He turned to one of his compatriots. “You stay here. Make sure no one messes with it.”
One of the kids peeled off, and took up position next to the Audi, arms folded.
Lock didn’t like that. He wanted to have his car to extract Emily and Charlie when the time came. But he wasn’t in a position to dictate terms.
This was a power-play. An effective one.
He took in the kid standing sentry over the Audi. He clapped a hand on his shoulder. “So much as a scratch when I get back and I’ll find you. You hear me?”