Indigo Slam: An Elvis Cole Novel (21 page)

Pike pushed Clark down behind the litho press. I ran for the door, shooting three times into the darkness and once into the wall. Dobcek yelled something in Russian, and he and another guy fell back along the hall into the parking lot. I fired twice more, then pulled Billings back into the big room, but he was already dead. I said, “The Russians. We’re outta here now.”

I saw a flash of men moving in the parking lot, and I heard crashing at the front of the building.

Jasper checked Billings. “Jesus Christ, how in hell did they find us? How many you see?”

“Five. Maybe more. They were running toward the front, so they’ll probably enter that way.”

Clark said, “But what about the money?”

Pike pulled him to his feet. “That’s over now.”

“What about Charles?”

“If they get you they won’t need Charles.”

Jasper snuck a fast look out the door and down the hall that led to the parking lot. That door was closed, and there was probably a man with a gun waiting for whoever opened the door. All the noise was coming from the other hall, which led to the front. Jasper said, “Shit, man, they’ve got us boxed.”

Pike said, “Up.”

I pushed Clark toward the metal stairs and told him to climb. “There’s a stair at the front door and offices on the second floor. If we move through the offices and they stay on the ground, we can come down behind them and get out of here.”

Clark and Jasper and I clattered up the stairs to the catwalk and into the offices as Pike went back to the hall, fired four fast shots in the blind, then followed.

The upstairs offices were dark and hot, and we could hear the Russians moving beneath us, faint and faraway. I thought we were going to make it just fine until a squat guy with a thick mustache turned a corner, saw us, then ducked back behind the corner, shouting. I pushed backward into Jasper and Clark, yelling for them to get back, when the mustache popped out again, snapping off two shots that hit the ceiling above us. I shot back, then Alexei Dobcek darted across my field of fire into an adjoining doorway, firing as he ran. Jasper said, “This really bites.”

We fell back along the hall, retracing our route onto the catwalk and down the stairs into the warehouse, reaching the bottom just as Dmitri Sautin and the guy with the mustache blew through the catwalk door, firing as they came. Dmitri Sautin was wearing a
HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH
T-shirt from Disneyland.

I yelled, “Joe,” and pushed Clark down behind the platemaker as Joe Pike spun around and shot Sautin once with his .357.

The guy with the mustache dove back into the upstairs hall, but Sautin didn’t. Sautin weighed three hundred pounds, but the .357 pushed him into the wall and knocked the gun from his hand. He looked down at his chest as red soaked through the
HAPPIEST PLACE
shirt. He said, “Alexei?” Then he fell headfirst over the rail and hit the cement floor like a bag of damp flour.

A blond guy appeared in the hall door, fired twice, then disappeared.

The shooting stopped and no one was shouting and the only sounds in the place were my own heart and a bubbly wheeze from Dmitri Sautin. He coughed twice, and then he started to cry. Jasper was under the stairs.

Dobcek said, “I think we got you trapped. What do you think?” He said it from behind the catwalk door.

“I thought we had a deal, Dobcek.”

“Da. An’ I think you were going to set us up.”

I was looking at the truck door. It was big and electric with a red open-close switch next to it on the wall about twenty feet away from me. All I had to do was run over there, hit the switch, then run back and hope that no one shot me.

Dmitri Sautin managed to roll onto his side, but that was as far as it went. He was crying the way a small child cries, with little gasping whimpers. He said, “Oo, it hurts, Alexei. I need help.”

Dobcek called back, “Shut up, fool.”

The sobbing became a wet, phlegmy cough.

Dobcek said, “You give us Hewitt, maybe we let you live, yah?”

Pike snapped his fingers and pointed at the truck door.

I nodded. Somebody was probably waiting out there to shoot us, but if the door was up at least we could see. If we could see, maybe we could lay down a suppressing fire so that we could get out.

Pike reloaded the Python, and I reloaded the Dan Wesson. I said, “Jasper, are you in?”

“Sure.”

“Joe.”

Joe Pike swung out from behind the platemaker, popping off two shots at the hall door, then three shots at the catwalk. I moved when he moved, sprinting hard to the door and slapping the big red button. The door started up with a lurch, and Dobcek yelled something and suddenly the Russians upstairs and the Russians in the hall were shooting as hot and as heavy as they could and I knew that they were coming.

Bullets slammed into the big door like hammers. The noise from the firing hurt my ears and made me squint, and I tried to stay low and close to the floor as I fired back. The closed space filled with smoke and the stink of gunfire and the shouts of men in a foreign tongue. I heard Jasper shout, “I’m out,” and then his magazine hit the floor. Pike was reloading the Python and I was futzing with the Dan Wesson and the Russians in the hall door opened up again, pouring out rounds. One of them came through low and fast and made it to the base of the stairs to set up a cover position so that another could follow and then there came the surprising
boom-boom-boom
of a combat shotgun. Men in the parking lot screamed, and the big door was finally up enough for us to see Mon and two other guys running hard from the warehouses across the street as a black BMW with more Vietnamese guys screeched into the parking lot.

The three men running across the street had the shotguns, and all three of them stopped at the front of the warehouse and cut loose at two Russians in the parking lot, kicking one of them up and onto the Pontiac. The other Russian scrambled for cover behind it.

The Russians in the hall were shouting and running and shooting. One of them must’ve run to the parking lot door and seen the Viets. Dobcek was shouting more Russian, and shooting down through the doorway at us, but then the shooting stopped and there was a crashing noise from the second floor and Pike said, “They’re pulling back.”

“Stay down. Clark, you okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Jasper?”

“What the fuck just happened here?!”

Mon and another guy ran in through the big door with their shotguns, and I pointed upstairs. Mon and the other guy went up the stairs with practiced moves.

“Dak must’ve wanted his people to keep an eye on us. His people were across the street, and when they heard the shooting, they came.”

There was more shooting at the front of the building, and then from the street, and then a couple of cars roared to life and screeched away and the shooting was done.

Pike said, “Charles.”

I ran to Sautin, kicked the gun away from his hand, and grabbed him by the shirt. “Where’s the little boy, Dmitri?”

Dmitri Sautin was making gasping noises. Mon and another guy ran back into the room, looked around, then high-fived each other like they’d just won the big game.

I shook Dmitri by his shirt. “Damnit, where’s the little boy?”

“With Markov.” You could barely hear him.

I shook him again. “Where’s Markov?!”

Dmitri Sautin made a soft gurgling sound, his eyes rolled back in his head, and all three hundred pounds of him died.

I pounded on his chest, and started CPR, yelling at him about Charles, demanding that he tell me where Markov had the boy, but Dmitri was beyond that now, and finally Jasper said, “Jesus Christ, Cole, he’s over. Lay off.”

I kneeled there, the points of my knees hurting from the cement floor. I said, “Mon!”

Mon stopped all the high-fiving and looked at me with a big smile just as Dak walked in through the big door. He looked scared.

“They leave any cars?”

Mon shook his head. “Two cars come, two go. We got three of the bastards!”

Pike said, “I’m on it,” and trotted out through the big door.

I shoved between Mon and his pal. “Get on the phone and describe their cars to the police.”

Mon’s eyes went wide and he pointed the shotgun at me and when he did I rolled it away from him and hit him in the face with the barrel. “You’re safe from the cops, goddamnit. Now get on the phone and maybe we can find those people before they kill the kid.”

Mon looked like he wanted to kill me, but Dak said something in Vietnamese and Mon hurried away.

Sautin’s shirt was wet with blood and the wet was spreading to his pants and along the cement floor. I didn’t think about it. I rolled his body over and tore out his shirt pocket, and then his front pants pockets, hoping to find something that would point toward Markov. There was nothing. I felt something gritty in my eyes and I wanted to kick his dead body. Instead, I pushed up out of the warehouse and ran out into the parking lot to help Pike, but Pike had already found it.

Pike stepped away from the guy on the Pontiac with a hotel key card and said, “I know where they are.”

It was a key card from the Disneyland Hotel.

Disneyland was fifteen minutes away.

I used Dak’s cell phone to call Marsha Fields, who said that she would contact the Orange County Sheriff’s Department, as well as dispatch both Secret Service and FBI agents from the Orange County field office to the Disneyland hotel. She told me not to leave the crime scene. I said, “Sure, Marsha.”

When I broke the connection, Pike said, “If Dobcek tells Markov that it’s over, Markov will kill the boy just so he can’t testify in a kidnapping beef.”

“I know. You drive.”

Jasper didn’t like it, but he came, too, the four of us piling into Pike’s Jeep. We cranked hard onto the Garden Grove Freeway, then east to Anaheim. The Garden Grove was a nice straight shoot, but it was heavy with morning traffic, and Pike spent more time on the shoulder than on the freeway, blowing his horn and pegging his brakes, then jumping hard on the accelerator to shoot through gaps in the flow. Reed Jasper said, “Do you have a death wish?”

Pike said, “Pretend it’s fun.”

We careened off the freeway at the Harbor Boulevard exit, then turned north toward the park and pretty soon we could see the peak of Matterhorn Mountain and then we were at the hotel. An Orange County sheriff’s highway car was waiting beneath the monorail station, both deps sitting in the front seat with the doors open. One of the deps was a tall ropy guy with a mustache, the other a slender African-American woman. Jasper flashed his marshal’s badge, and the mustache said, “They told us to wait here for the FBI.”

“You do that.”

We went inside. Jasper badged the desk clerk, then gave her the key card and asked for a room identification. Markov had four rooms blocked together on the ninth floor, one of them a suite. Jasper said, “Okay. We’ll wait for the others.”

I said, “Come on, Jasper. If he’s already taken off with the boy we’re wasting time.”

Jasper looked worried. “But if he’s up there, we should go in with as many people as possible.”

Pike pushed past him. “Forget it, Jasper.”

Jasper said, “Ah, hell,” and followed.

The four of us walked fast across the back grounds past the swimming pool and into the rear building, and took the elevator to the ninth floor. Housekeeping carts were parked along the hall, and Andrei Markov’s suite was open, the sound of a vacuum cleaner coming from inside. Markov was gone. We went through all four of Markov’s rooms, trying to figure out what to do next when one of the housekeepers smiled at us. “You looking for the man and the boy?”

All four of us stared at her. She was short and squat, and had probably come up from Ecuador. I said, “That’s right.”

She pursed her lips. “They only go a few minutes ago. They said they were going into the park. The big man, he say he want to ride the mountain.” The big man. Markov.

Clark frowned. “Matterhorn Mountain?”

She described how they were dressed as well as she could remember, then we thanked her and went back to the lobby. Clark was making little huffing sounds as we walked back past the pool, and I said, “You okay?”

He didn’t look at me. “Fine.”

Two more Orange County deps had arrived, along with an FBI agent named Hendricks. They were standing with the manager and a tall blond guy named Bates who introduced himself as an executive with park security. When I introduced Clark, I said, “This is the boy’s father.”

Both Hendricks and Bates nodded, and Hendricks said, “Maybe you should wait outside, sir.”

“But he’s my son.”

Hendricks said, “Please.” Polite.

Clark went outside. Jasper and I told them what we knew, and what the housekeeper had told us. More feds and Orange County cops were on the way, along with representatives from the Secret Service. Bates was calm and competent, and after we told him what the housekeeper said, he nodded. “If they’ve gone into the park, we own them. We can put people at every egress, then just wait until they walk out.” He nodded, but maybe the nod was meant to bolster himself as much as us. “We’ve worked with the authorities before. We know how it’s done.”

It sounded workable. Markov wasn’t likely to harm the boy inside the park, even if Dobcek found them. There was too great a possibility of being seen, and if he hurt the boy inside the park, what would he do with the body? So all we had to do was wait, and then we could recover Charles with a minimum of risk.

Pike and I left them to work out the details, and went back to the car to tell Clark, only Clark wasn’t in the car. He wasn’t standing around outside the hotel or in the lobby rest room, either. Pike said, “He’s on the monorail. He’s going to get his son.” The monorail was pulling away from its station.

I yelled inside for Hendricks, and Pike and I were climbing the stairs to the monorail station when they ran out of the lobby. Jasper said, “Hey, where are you guys going? Where’s Clark?”

I told them, and I told them we were going in after him.

Hendricks said, “Goddamnit, we said we’d wait. We got more people coming in.”

“He’s going after them, Hendricks. If he gets to Markov or Dobcek, those guys are going to kill him. Then they might kill the boy, too, and the whole damn thing will blow up.”

Hendricks ran up the stairs after us, Jasper and Bates and three of the Orange County deps behind him. Bates talked us past the gate guard, and then we stood on the platform, waiting for the next monorail. We waited for two minutes that seemed like forever, and then the monorail came and Bates asked the people in the front car to please get off. He was polite and professional, but you could tell he was nervous about doing it. I guess things like this just don’t happen at the happiest place on earth. When the car was clear we hustled aboard like an airborne assault team piling into an attack chopper, Bates talking into a Handie-Talkie. He said, “I’m really not sure about this.”

Hendricks said, “It’ll be fine.”

“The shift supervisor’s going to meet us at the station with some of our people.”

“It’s going to be fine, goddamnit.” Hendricks’s jaw was working and he looked like he wanted to hit someone. Probably me.

We glided silently over the parking lot, me describing Markov and Dobcek and Clark and Charles to the cops. Hendricks told them that our first goal was to find Clark, and remove him from the park before he stumbled into the Russians. After that, we would locate Markov and the boy, but he didn’t want any move to be made against them until they had exited the park. When he said that part Bates looked relieved. Hendricks said, “We’ll hang back and watch them until they’re in a safe place, then we can neutralize them with no danger to the boy.” Neutralize. There’s a good word.

A small army of park security officers with hand radios met us at the Tomorrowland monorail station, and nobody looked like Mouseketeers. They looked like hard-core professional men and woman who would be more than happy to quell a small rebellion. Hendricks went through it again for them, and I once more described Markov and Charles and Clark. The park security people didn’t want me or Pike involved, but we were the only ones besides Jasper who had actually seen the people we were looking for. Hendricks said, “Just give ’em the radios, for chrissakes. They’re for real.”

So they gave us little Handie-Talkies even though they weren’t happy about it, and told us to take no action if we spotted Markov. They said hang back and call. I said, “Fine.”

When Bates found out we had guns, he got red in the face and demanded we hand them over.

Pike said, “Screw that.”

Jasper said, “Look, it’s private property and they’re being damned cooperative. We don’t want another goddamned war.”

Hendricks rolled his eyes, sighed, and looked at me. “Please give ’em your guns and let’s get this show on the road.”

Pike looked at me and I shrugged. I gave them the Dan Wesson and Pike gave them the Python. The security guy looked mollified, but not a whole lot. I guess he was thinking about lawsuits.

They gave us the radios, told us to check in, and then Pike and I went down the escalator and into the park. The security people broke into teams, and they moved out also, everyone going in a different direction.

We were walking past a cotton candy cart when Pike said, “Over here,” and moved behind the cart like he was going to tie his shoe. He took a little Sig .380 from his left ankle and palmed it to me.

I smiled. “What about you?”

“I’ve got something for me.” Always prepared.

We worked our way up past the Submarine grotto toward Matterhorn Mountain, doing our best to search the twenty or thirty thousand people we passed, with the grim and depressing awareness that we couldn’t see everything and everyone, and that we might’ve passed Markov and Charles and Clark a dozen times without seeing them. Maybe they were in a rest room. Maybe they were standing in line for a hot dog or riding one of the submarines.

We split up at the Matterhorn, Pike circling to the left and me to the right, but we met again on the other side without having seen them. Pike said, “The housekeeper said the mountain.”

“Yeah, but maybe they already took the ride, or they’re on it. Maybe they’re going to do something else and ride the mountain later.” Maybe a million things.

Pike’s dark glasses were empty.

I said, “You stay with the mountain, I’ll follow the flow to Fantasy Castle. I’ll go as far as the bridge, then circle back.”

Pike disappeared into the crowd as I continued along the walk. I moved past a pretty young woman selling frozen bananas, then between a small group of British sailors when Markov, Charles, and a hard-looking guy with leathery skin stepped out from behind a Kodak film kiosk and turned away from me. The hard-looking guy had a hand on Charles’s shoulder. Charles was wearing a Mickey Mouse hat, but he didn’t look happy about it. Markov was eating an ice-cream cone and wearing a set of Mickey Mouse ears, also. His name had been embroidered on the back of the cap in red.
Andrei
. I guess it’s a magic kingdom even for mobsters from Seattle.

I stepped behind an overweight couple and keyed the Handie-Talkie. “It’s Cole. I’ve got ’em.”

Hendricks’s voice came back. “Where?”

I was telling him when Dobcek pushed through a tour group of elderly people from Florida, shouted something in Russian, then shot at me three times fast.

Around me, forty thousand people jerked as if hit by an electric current.

The shots went high and wide into a monorail support, and then Dobcek was running toward Markov. Markov dropped to the ground at the shots, but now he was up, grabbing for the boy as he listened to Dobcek. Markov pulled the boy close, using him for a shield as he scuttled backward through the panicked crowd and I gave Hendricks our location. Hendricks said, “Stay the hell away from them.”

“Just get your people over here, Hendricks, but tell them to come in soft. Markov’s using the boy as a shield.”

They ran toward Fantasyland, and I followed them, giving Hendricks a play-by-play, and trying to keep Markov in sight without getting too close. When they crossed the bridge into Fantasy Castle, I lost them. I told Hendricks, and ran faster, pumping across the bridge into the castle, and there was Markov and Charles, Markov’s arm locked around Charles’s neck, a small black pistol in his free hand, standing by Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride like they were waiting for me. Dobcek was maybe ten yards behind him, but I couldn’t see the leathery guy. Markov said, “You lying prick. You tried to set me up.”

I wanted to stall him. I wanted the security people and cops to get here and cut him off and clear the crowds. “Let him go, Andrei. The park’s tied up. You can’t get out.”

Markov said, “You be surprised.” That’s when the leathery guy stepped out from behind a juice bar cart, put his gun into my back, and said, “Kiss your ass goodbye.”

When he said it, Clark Hewitt lurched past the line waiting to board Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, and shouted,
“You let him go!”

No one was expecting Clark.

Markov jerked sideways and so did Dobcek, and when they moved I spun into the leathery guy’s gun side, forcing his gun away and bringing the little Sig up into his ribs. I pulled the trigger one time and its
pop
sounded hollow and faraway. A deep, larger
bam
sounded in almost the same instant, and Andrei Markov was slammed down onto the ground, the crowd of people in the small place suddenly surging in a panic, unsure where to go, moving in every direction like flakes in a human blizzard.

Joe Pike was standing above us on the castle’s parapet with a foot-long stockless shotgun. Dobcek fired five fast shots—
powpowpowpowpow
—to drive Pike down, then ran to Markov. I rode Charles and Clark to the ground, yelling for them to stay down. I thought Pike would shoot again, but he didn’t.

I listened to my heart beat, and I took careful breaths, and felt the sobbing father and son beneath me as the herd of people ran around and over us with all the thought and caring of Cape buffalo. All the while I was on them, Clark said, “We got you, Charlie. We got you.” Over and over. I had never thought of Charles as a Charlie before.

I looked around until I spotted Pike, still high overhead on the parapet like some kind of avenging angel. I mouthed, “Markov?”

Pike shook his head.

Markov and Dobcek were gone.