Now came the tricky part, but they’d anticipated it. Leffler wasn’t going to risk selling stolen guns to a cop. Koa heard the john door close.
“Lose the shirt,” Leffler ordered.
There was a pause before Leffler said, “That’s some fuckin’ scar.”
“Knife fight,” Bane said. “The other dude went to the hospital.”
“Okay,” Leffler said, “turn around.” Unintelligible noises. “Now the pants.”
Koa heard the rustling of clothing and a clank, like a belt buckle hitting the floor. “Satisfied?” Bane asked.
Koa tensed as he heard a grunt. Then Leffler asked, “What kind of shit you movin’?”
“How do I know you ain’t a cop?” Bane asked.
Koa heard sounds he couldn’t identify before Leffler said, “You ever see a cop carrying one of these?”
A pause. Then Bane said, “Nice. That’s what I’m lookin’ to buy.”
Koa felt a rush of excitement. Leffler carried a 9 mm Beretta with a filed-down serial number. Just possessing such a weapon was a felony. Things were moving fast—much faster than Koa had anticipated. He grabbed the radio mike and called for backup with a silent approach.
The bar sounds increased as someone opened the john door. “We’re busy, man. Shut the fuckin’ door. Use the girls’ if you got to pee,” Leffler growled in a loud voice. The bar noises receded.
“I asked you what kind of shit you’re movin’?”
“Butter.” Bane used Hawaiian street slang for marijuana. “But the buyer’s a newbie an’ I ain’t sure I kin trust him.” Bane spun out his cover story.
“Ought not to do business with people you don’t trust,” Leffler said.
“You got that right. But a dude’s gotta make money where he can.”
Leffler still wasn’t ready to do business. “Why a nine?”
Koa and Bane had predicted this question. “The Army taught me to use a nine, so it feels right. Ya know what I mean?”
“Where’d you serve?”
They’d picked a place where Leffler had never been stationed and where none of his buddies likely ever served. “The ceremonial guard at Fort Meyer, Virginia.”
“Fuckin’ pansies.”
“Yeah, well, I bailed as soon as I could.”
“It’ll cost you three grand.”
Leffler asked for more than five times the cost of the comparable civilian model from a legitimate dealer. The price was steep even for an untraceable, stolen Beretta. Bane wasn’t spending his own money, and the police were going to get it back when they arrested the son of a bitch, but Bane didn’t want his eagerness to queer the deal. “Can’t ya give me a break … say twenty-five hundred?”
Leffler knew a hungry pigeon and had no incentive to bargain. “Three grand.”
“Okay.” Koa held his breath as he heard more sounds, which he assumed involved counting out thirty one-hundred-dollar bills. Then the bar noise increased as one of them opened the john door. A few moments passed. Bane spoke in hushed tones. “Thanks, Drake. Here’s your bread. Good doing business with you.”
“Any time, my man, any time,” Drake responded.
Moments later, Bane walked out of the bar. After making sure Bane was alone, Koa flashed his lights. The cop climbed into the passenger seat and placed a U.S. Army 9 mm Beretta with a filed-down serial number into an evidence bag.
Satisfied they had the goods on Leffler, Koa wanted to get the cuffs on the man, but not inside the Monarch. With a killing machine like Leffler, Koa couldn’t risk possible collateral damage in a barroom confrontation. They’d wait until Leffler called it a night.
With an unmarked car and two patrol officers at his disposal, Koa parked two policemen in front. He placed one officer against the wall on the hinge-side of the bar’s front door, where he’d be out of sight behind any patron exiting the Monarch. He positioned the last uniformed officer in the bushes on the other side of the door. Koa had the front door covered but figured a pro like Leffler would sneak out the back. If Leffler came out this back door, they’d have to wait until he stepped outside and closed the door. Otherwise, he could duck back inside and create a possible hostage situation inside the bar.
A streetlight at the end of the alley provided only dim illumination. Koa spotted two hiding places. He positioned Bane behind a trash container to the right of the bar’s back door. Koa stood in the shadow of ventilation equipment for the building across the alley. Both men checked their weapons. Once in position, they waited.
An hour passed. All remained quiet, and it seemed as if Leffler would never call it quits when Koa heard a creak from the back door. Koa drew his Glock. Leffler peered out checking for danger. A cautious man even after several beers. Leffler stepped into the alley, and the bar door closed behind him. Perfect.
Koa, his Glock pointed at Leffler’s chest, stepped out of the shadows. “Police. Hands up, Mr. Leffler.” Bane moved from behind the trash container, his Glock also out and pointed at Leffler.
Leffler stopped, hesitated, looked from Koa to Bane, and slowly raised his hands.
“Face the wall,” Koa ordered.
Leffler turned.
“Hands above your head, flat on the wall. Feet spread. Do it, Leffler.”
Leffler turned, put his hands high on the wall, and spread his legs. Koa signaled to Bane, who holstered his gun, grabbed his cuffs, and approached Leffler without blocking Koa’s line of fire.
When Bane stepped behind Leffler, the man whirled on one foot, slamming his free leg into Bane’s left knee, toppling him to the ground. In the same instant, Leffler threw a knife at Koa. Koa caught the glint of metal coming straight at his head and ducked. As he did so, his gun hand dropped. He felt the knife slice through his hair missing his head by less than a centimeter. Behind him, the knife pierced the metal ventilation duct with a loud thunk.
By the time Koa recovered and brought his gun back up, Leffler was twenty feet down the alley, bobbing and weaving, to avoid getting shot. Koa aimed and fired, but Leffler juked right and Koa’s shot missed. Adopting a shooter stance with a two-handed grip, Koa aimed carefully at the fleeing suspect. Just as he began to squeeze the trigger, a woman crossed the mouth of the alley. Shit. He couldn’t risk hitting a civilian. Leffler made it to the end of the alley and disappeared around the corner. Koa turned to check Bane.
“Go after him,” Bane yelled as he hobbled to his feet.
Koa raced after Leffler, but by the time he reached the mouth of the alley, the Army supply sergeant had disappeared. Koa alerted the police duty officer, directed dispatch to muster reinforcements, and broadcast an ABP for Leffler. Then he walked back to Bane, who was in obvious pain. “Son of a bitch,” Bane swore as he rubbed his bruised knee and brushed the dirt from his pants.
Within minutes, emergency vehicles and policemen flooded the area—Sergeant Basa in the lead. “Be damned careful. He’s a trained killer, armed, and as dangerous as they come,” Koa warned.
Koa now put the second part of his Leffler plan into operation. With Zeigler’s surveillance records showing Leffler a frequent nighttime visitor to his girlfriend’s apartment, Zeke Brown had obtained a search warrant for Linda Huang’s place. The woman, a recent immigrant from Taiwan, lived legally in the U.S.