Blue Molly (Danny Logan Mystery #5) (19 page)

“Owww!” I said, tears coming to my eyes. “Son of a bitch!” My knees actually started to buckle.

“You baby.”

“Damn!” Miguel said. “You
are
a wild woman, Ms. Blair.”

She smiled. “Not usually. In fact, I was in a nice, pleasant mood until a few minutes ago. Then butthole shows up, then Mr. Funny Guy here, well, he knows how to spin me up and piss me off.”

“You gonna be alright?” I asked, rubbing my shoulder.

“Why, yes. I’m certain I will.”

“Good,” Miguel said. “The reason we dropped by was actually not for a social call. We may have caught a break. Got a place we can talk?”

I nodded. “Yeah, we sure do. Follow me.” I led everyone down the hall to the conference room, still trying to rub the feeling back into my arm and shoulder as we walked.

“How you coming along, anyway?” Miguel asked. “You gonna make it?”

I nodded. “I
was
doing good. She probably just now added a couple of days to my recuperation.”

“Baby.”

We walked into the conference room and everyone took a seat.

“Well, this won’t take long,” Miguel said. “Guess who called last night?” Before we could answer, he said, “That’s right. The DEA. Cal Montgomery. Guess what he wanted? Seems that our friends at the DEA held out on us, at least a little. Turns out that they’ve been investigating a guy named Peter Mishkin for almost two years. He’s supposed to be the biggest ecstasy dealer in Los Angeles, and they want him bad. According to Cal, Mishkin’s crew is traveling to Seattle next week to buy one hundred thousand capsules of what they’re calling a ‘very special’ type of ecstasy at the introductory special of $5 a piece. What do you suppose that might mean?”

“Pretty clear,” I said. “Blue Molly’s expanding into California. That’s the real reason Cal and Darcy came up here.”

He nodded. “That’s our guess.”

“They weren’t just up here to ‘educate themselves.’ They were in the middle of a mission, and they needed intel.”

Miguel nodded. “Yep. Looks that way.”

“Wonder where they’re getting their information about the buy?”

“He didn’t offer, and I didn’t bother asking. They’d never tell me that anyways and, besides, I don’t need to know. My guess is they’ve got somebody inside undercover.”

I nodded. “When’s it supposed to happen?”

“Tomorrow. Eleven p.m. Want to know where?”

“I give up.”

Miguel smiled. “A little establishment over on Second. Goes by the name of Pioneer Square Office Supply.”

I chuckled. “Those sneaky bastards. And let me guess. Now they want your help, right? Some kind of interagency deal?”

Miguel shook his head. “Not exactly. As a matter of fact, it’s kind of the opposite. They like to do things on their own. They want us to stand down on Laskin until further notice. They’re afraid he’ll spook and cancel the deal.”

I laughed. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Oh, they’re serious. I complained a little, and Cal said he’d have his bosses send something to our chief.”

I thought for a second, then took a deep breath. “Well, I can see giving them until tomorrow night. Hopefully, they’ll nail the bastard, and all of our problems will be solved. I wish. But this ‘until further notice’ thing? While Laskin’s running around trying to blow us up? Is Cal going to call him up and tell him to stand down, too?”

“Are they aware that this guy is the subject of a current SPD homicide investigation?” Toni asked. “More than likely, he murdered a man a couple of weeks ago?”

Miguel shrugged. “I’m not sure they care. And, for the record, I don’t like it, either.”

I said, “Miguel, we don’t even know if Laskin’s on the DEA’s target list. They’re after Peter Mishkin. The feds are snakes in the grass. I know because I used to be one. Hell, they might even cut a deal with him, let him go altogether just to get to their target. So, after appropriate deliberation, here’s my response—you can tell them: bullshit.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Bullshit,” I said again. “They want us to stand down? Okay. Fine. I’ll give them until tomorrow night to bring Laskin in. We’ll stand down until then. But after that, we’re not just going to sit on our asses with big targets on our backs while we wait for that maniac to take another shot at us. I don’t care who wants us to. I don’t know what your working arrangement is with the DEA—could be that you’re obliged to follow their orders.” I shook my head. “We’re sure as hell not.”

Miguel nodded. “Figured you’d say that. So that’s why I don’t think I’ll be telling them that. You know if their deal tomorrow doesn’t work out and if they find out later that you’re still after Laskin, they’re going to be pretty upset, right?”

I laughed. “I don’t care if they find out, and I sure’s hell don’t care if they get mad. I don’t work for them. They can go piss up a rope.”

He smiled. “I won’t tell ’em that, either.”

At Pri’s insistence, I skipped Tuesday morning’s training run. I hate it. I missed Saturday (being laid up in the hospital as I was). Sunday even I had to admit I didn’t feel well enough to run, and Monday was a normal day off anyway. But to miss a Tuesday morning training run? Sacrilege! After three days off, I was more than rested—hell, I was antsy. I was eager to hit the road on a real run—a sub-six-minute-mile burner. I needed to work off some of the tension I was feeling about the attack on us and the raid tonight. But Pri said my shoulder needed one more day to recover. I tried to explain to her that the legs weren’t connected to the shoulder.

“Oh. I wasn’t aware. I guess I can come by and tape your right arm to your chest then. Real tight so it’s completely immobilized and doesn’t move when you run. Then you can go ahead and just hit the road. I wouldn’t think it should hurt. Much. As a matter of fact, you’ll probably feel just fine. Or you can give it up one more day.”

So I relented and skipped the run. Since my molten Jeep was now “parked” at the Crime Lab’s yard undergoing investigation, we took Toni’s car in to work. I immediately walked back to my office and closed the door.

I’d thought about it overnight, and I still didn’t know what to make of the DEA news. Not that I was uncomfortable with my answer—I remained convinced that I was absolutely right on that score. But I didn’t trust these guys. Like most Feds, they have a funny way of approaching law enforcement. Most of the state and local cops I’ve bumped into are pretty decent people. They view their job—correctly—as all about serving the people. Not the Feds, though. For them, I always get the impression that it’s more about “mission performance” than it is about taking care of the people who pay their salaries. This distinction can sometimes lead to crossed purposes—like stepping over a murderer to get to a drug dealer. In the end, I’d reached the conclusion that if they actually busted Laskin, that would be a bonus—for us. Most likely, they didn’t care. With that in mind, I had no choice but to proceed as if Laskin remained a real threat to me, Toni, and maybe the rest of my crew—maybe even the Lyons as well. And that most likely, he’d still be a threat tomorrow.

This came more in the form of reaffirming an existing thought as opposed to some kind of new revelation. I’d been working on a “Laskin plan” since not long after I woke up in the parking lot last Friday. The plan wasn’t groundbreaking with regard to its originality, but given enough time, it would work. Half the battle was getting SPD to join us. We’d use our surveillance vans to positively ID the people in Laskin’s distribution network. Then, Miguel would start busting these people one by one. Eventually, we’d turn one of them and get him to incriminate Laskin. It wasn’t all that different from the plan Miguel and Steve had tried before. It had almost worked then—perhaps it was time to try again. This time, we’d take better care of the witnesses.

Of course, seeing’s how this plan relied on SPD’s help, and since the DEA had ordered them off “indefinitely,” it was going to be that much harder. To some degree, I was back to the drawing board.

* * * *

After a quick lunch at Duke’s, I was back at it when shortly before 3:00 p.m., my cell phone rang. Caller ID: Miguel.

I tapped the button. “Dude, you ready for the show tonight?”

“Danny, you gotta get down here right away,” he said.

“Where?” This wasn’t good. Miguel’s tone of voice was all concern, and at this point, if Miguel was concerned, I was concerned. “What’s happening?”

“We just got a 9-1-1 call. The caller wouldn’t give a name. He said that there’s a huge drug deal going down at Pioneer Square Office Supply.”

“Came in on a 9-1-1 call?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s a little strange, but it just confirms what the DEA’s been saying about tonight. We know about this, right? The DEA’s planning to crash the party.”

“Yeah. But the caller said the deal’s happening at four o’clock this afternoon.”

“What?” I looked at the clock on my computer. It was two forty-five now.

“Four o’clock,” he repeated. “As in just over an hour from now.”

“Holy shit!”

“I called Cal as soon as I heard. Told him about the call. He went and talked to his boss, and then he called back a few minutes later and said their official position was that they didn’t believe the call and they weren’t taking it seriously.”

“They weren’t taking it seriously? Why not?”

“Apparently, his boss doesn’t believe anyone could have better intel than what he has. But Cal also said it doesn’t matter. Even if it’s true, most of the DEA people aren’t even in town yet. They were planning on an eleven p.m. raid. Their flight doesn’t get in until just after six. They couldn’t make the bust at four anyway. He said he was told that if the deal really does goes down at four o’clock, then they’ll just cancel tonight and catch them the next time. The UA’s cover will still be solid.”

“But how do we know there’ll even be a next time?” I asked.

“Good question,” he said. “And I think Cal might feel that way, too, because he added some interesting information. He admitted their source is an undercover agent. The plan is—or at least the plan was—the UA is supposed to be wearing a Dodgers jacket so he can be ID’d. He’s got a recorder app on his phone. He’s supposed to record the deal and then send a text to Cal when it goes down.”

“Why don’t they just confirm the time change with their UA?”

“They tried. They can’t even get in touch with the guy.”

“Really?” I shook my head. “That might be a real bad sign, you know?”

“Dude,” he said, “you don’t have to tell me.”

I thought for a second. “Well, it might also just mean that they’re on their way here right now.”

“That’s what I’m hoping. Either way, though, it leaves the UA in a sticky position. I think Cal’s worried about him.”

“Even if he’s not blown, the guy’s no doubt surrounded by Mishkin and his crew, so even if the time of the deal changed and he wanted to phone in, he couldn’t.”

“Yep,” he said. “And if that’s the case and the deal goes down and there’s no one around to take action, well, it would mean missing a golden opportunity.”

“At best. At worst, it could mean trouble for the UA. Not to mention, our problem will remain in place.” I pictured Laskin behind bars, having been sent to Monroe courtesy of the three-strikes rule. It was a sweet picture, one I was reluctant to give up on. “So what’s Cal want you to do?”

“He said officially, the DEA’s still acting like the deal’s going down at eleven. Their people will still get here at six, business as usual. But he stressed the word
officially
when he told me.”

“And unofficially?”

“Unofficially, he just gave me that additional information. Between you and me, I think he’s asking for our help. He wants us there in case his UA needs bailing out.”

“So? What are you going to do?”

“I talked to my captain. We never received any sort of stand down communication. So we’re taking the call seriously. We’re going with it. I’ve got people assembling right now.”

“Good call. Where do you need us?”

* * * *

Toni, Doc, and I jumped into Doc’s car and took off.

“The rally point is in the northeast corner of the CenturyLink parking lot,” I said, as Doc hustled south on Highway 99.

“Up by the train station?” Toni asked.

“Yeah.”

“Dude,” Doc said, “what’s that? Three blocks from Laskin? Isn’t that a little close?”

“Normally, yeah. But there’s no drive-by traffic up there. The only reason to be up there is to go to a game or catch a train, and neither of those are concerns to us now. We can’t show up at Laskin’s until Mishkin and his guys get there first and we get the signal from the UA that the deal’s gone down. If they don’t show, that means the 9-1-1 caller probably got the time wrong, and we clear out. DEA gets another crack at ’em at eleven p.m. But if they do, we’re right there on top of them, and we’re ready. We swoop in in minutes. Miguel’s got SPD Swat set up to lead the way.”

“I don’t get it,” Doc said. “Who made the 9-1-1 call?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“This is a pretty odd way of sending a signal, isn’t it?” Toni asked. “If the UA is off protocol, how do we know he’s still going to send the text when the deal goes down? As a matter of fact, how do we even know he’s going to be there at all?”

“We don’t. We don’t know any of that. All they have is the anonymous 9-1-1 call. Miguel’s already got two guys on the roof across the street. If they don’t show, we pack up and leave, real quiet-like. If the LA boys do show and the UA’s not there, or even if he is there but there’s no call to Cal, then the plan is to just bust the whole lot of ’em when they come back out. I guess they feel that if Mishkin brings his whole crew to Seattle, he’s doing it for a good reason and that reason most likely has to do with Blue Molly. Hopefully, we’ll catch ’em with a whole suitcase full of it.”

* * * *

Twenty minutes later, we joined those already assembled in the CenturyLink parking lot and waited.

“You ready?” Miguel asked, his eyes eager with anticipation.

I nodded. “Yep. I’m thinking it’s about time to get this over with. Let’s hope it happens.”