He saw her purse across the table and realized that wasn’t the case. Something was wrong.
Chapter 28
Jennifer caught up to me in the park and said, “Whoa, whoa, what do you mean, ‘Get some answers’? What are you looking to do?”
We entered crisscrossing paths, the foliage increasing on both sides. I said, “It means the least we can do is take out some of the opposition. The most is we use these guys to find Dunkin.”
A jogger came by us, the sun finally dropping past the horizon. She said, “I’m not sure we can do that here. It’s still crowded.”
I started moving with a purpose, looking left and right, trying to find the guys who had been searching the park. If they were gone, it was bad news. It meant they were no longer needed.
I said, “Guess we should be discreet, then.”
We snaked through displays of exotic vegetation, the growing darkness making it hard to see people on the trails. We crossed a little creek, a sign pointing the way to the Sydney Opera House, and Jennifer grabbed my arm.
To our front was some sort of fern greenhouse, but that wasn’t why she stopped me. Outside the greenhouse was a group of seven men and a woman, deep in conversation. All of them Asian. They talked for about five seconds, and then split up like a flash-bang had gone off in the center, the man and woman running down a trail, four others racing back up the path to the freeway, and a single man running back by us, toward the rear of the park.
I watched him go by us, and said, “That’s our man.”
She said, “What are we going to do?”
“Take him down. He’s rear security. They’re sending him just to watch the backtrail to the apartment. And wherever Dunkin is, that guy’s in touch with the others hunting him. If we can’t find him, they will.”
She started to say something and I cut her off. “Stop. We’re doing it. And I need your help. Right now.”
I watched her deliberate for a half-second. She looked left and right, saw no one, and said, “If it’s going to work, we need to hit him quickly. Before someone else shows up.”
I grinned and said, “Get ready to catch this guy’s attention, because he’s going down.”
We followed behind him until he was back at the pedestrian bridge to the roof of Dunkin’s apartment. He pulled up against the metal rail, lit a cigarette, and just stood there.
I said, “Get him back into the garden. Away from the bridge. I can’t take him there.”
She said, “How? What do you want me to do?”
“Figure it out,” I pointed to her left and said, “but get him next to that patch of bushes. I’ll be inside.”
She gave me her disapproving teacher stare, but I saw she was willing. She leaned in and pecked me on the cheek. “You’d better take him down quickly if you want anything more than that. No letting him get a knife on me, like last time.”
I smiled and said, “Won’t happen.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. Now go.”
She went down the trail and I sidled over next to some Southeast Asian shrub that was apparently the cat’s meow, according to the plaque in front. All I cared about was it could hide me in its leaves while still allowing me to strike.
I watched her walk to the railing next to the bridge, then engage the guy in conversation. She talked to him for a minute, and he became agitated. He pushed her away, and I knew that she wasn’t going to get him to follow her. I started to consider my options, and she leaned into his ear, whispering. His mouth dropped open, the cigarette falling out, and she literally kicked him straight in the ass.
He swung at her and she took off running right at me. He pulled out a suppressed pistol and took a shot, the snap of the round causing her to flinch.
Jesus Christ. Bad call.
She passed me and he followed like an Olympic sprinter right behind her. She shouted, “Pike! He’s shooting!”
He came abreast and my mind began snapping through courses of action like a neon strobe. Originally, I’d planned on a movie-type stalk where I appeared behind him like the alien tracking Sigourney Weaver, taking him down while he was stationary, but that was out of the question now.
He passed right to my front, and I made my decision. I dug my heels into the earth and sprang up, slamming into him like a linebacker and hammering him to the ground with my full weight. I felt the air whoosh out of his lungs, but he still brought the pistol to bear. I slapped it aside and punched him in the throat, crushing his trachea. His eyes went comically wide and he started gasping for air, his lungs wheezing like he was breathing through a straw. His arms and legs started flailing around like a turtle turned over, his breath coming in rasps. I knocked the pistol out of his hands and dragged him deeper into the brush, away from the view of any stray joggers. I rolled him over, now sitting on top of him, working through the damage I’d caused trying to save his damn life.
Jennifer had forced me to react instinctively in self-defense, but I needed what was in his head. He struggled for air, his throat swelling with the injury I’d inflicted, and then his eyes rolled back into his skull. He passed out.
He was breathing now, and I didn’t know if he’d die later from the blow I’d given him, but I sure as shit lost him for any information.
Jennifer reached me, saw the damage, and said, “What happened?”
I started searching his body, saying, “What happened? What happened? You caused him to start shooting, that’s what happened. What happened with you?”
She heard my tone and looked like she’d been slapped. She bent down and started helping me with the search, saying, “He wouldn’t come with me. He had no interest. I had to get him to you.”
I pulled out a passport, pocketed it, and said, “So how’d you do that?”
“I told him I was Dunkin’s girlfriend, and then kicked him in the ass.”
I stopped what I was doing and said, “You did what?”
She said, “What?”
I shook my head. “Maybe we should talk more before I send you out.”
She kept searching his jacket pockets, not looking at me, and said, “Maybe you shouldn’t let a guy put a knife to my breast.”
I grinned. “Okay, touché. Find a phone?”
She caught my eye and grinned back, saying, “Nope.” Then, “Wait . . . Got something.”
She pulled out a small radio, the transmitter spitting out Chinese. She tossed it to me and I heard chatter like a military operation, only in a language I couldn’t understand. I said, “Get Creed back on the line. We need this translated.”
She did so, and Creed started his usual bullshit. I took the phone and said, “I need something translated from Chinese.”
I held my phone up to the speaker of the radio, let the chatter go on for a second, then put it back to my ear. He said, “Pike, what the fuck? I don’t speak Chinese. I can’t work miracles.”
I said, “Oh, bullshit. Get the translation software going, right now. Slave it to your phone. I’m going to do it again, and you’d better be ready.”
He dropped the phone and I heard a bunch of shuffling going on, then he came back, now sounding like he was speaking through a tube. He said, “Okay, Pike, go.”