the Viking Funeral (2001) (15 page)

"Whose wheels are those?" Alexa asked, nodding at the van as she got out of the Crown Vic.

"Rental. Didn't want to use my car--Jody knows it," Shane answered.

Alexa approached him with the manila file in her hand. She was dressed in jeans with a blue LAPD windbreaker and had skinned her black hair back and fastened it with a clip. She wore no makeup, and he could see tension pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Suddenly, Jody's voice came over the radio, startling both of them: "Snake, this is Gopher.... Hold your position. I'm comin' to you."

"Dick-brain is still in there with his dealer. They're probably gonna inhale the retail," Rod's voice answered. "If these assholes are chalked up, it could get screwy."

"Roger," Jody said. "We're holding the back door. Let 'em come out. We'll do the takedown on the street. Out."

Shane smiled at her. "Sounds like they're gonna be occupied for a while." She nodded. Jody and Rodriquez were doing the scam broadcast for Alexa's benefit, but she already knew it was bullshit. Shane and Alexa didn't dare break cover for fear that there was a mike hidden in the van--the ultimate game of cheating the cheaters.

The file in her hand was the original. The copy had been scanned into the computer and was in a safe at the Questioned Documents Division. Filosiani had wanted them to use the original in Shephard's ballpoint pen, so Jody wouldn't become suspicious.

"That it?" Shane asked, pointing to the folder and reciting his first line, not knowing whether Jody could even hear him, but taking no chances.

"Yeah. Where is this place you found-- how far from here?" she responded.

"It's right on the other side of the fence; the blue and white hangar by the gas pumps. The whole place is deserted. I'm not gonna lug this thing," he said, and switched off the radio.

Then he led her a hundred yards up the road to the padlocked gate.

"There," he said, pointing through the fence at the hangar. "The big blue and white one. I've been through it. They got sleeping bags, Coleman lanterns, ice coolers.... Place looks like an ad for Field and Stream."

"That's private property. Did you even bother to get a search warrant?"

"No, where'm I gonna get a warrant in the middle of the night?"

"You need a warrant, dummy. We can't go on private property without one. Anything you find there will be inadmissible."

"Fuck court. This isn't about court; it's about me an' Jody. That fucker lied to me. I'm gonna bring him down." Shane was almost screaming at her, hoping the argument would be overheard.

"That was it all along, wasn't it?" she said. "You don't care about prosecuting these guys; you just want revenge. You're a bleeding sore, Scully..
. N
o wonder you're going through a Pattern of Conduct Review. Gimme the book," she demanded.

"I left it in there."

"Why on earth did you do that?" she challenged.

"Because if they got back before you arrived and the book was gone, they'd know somebody tossed the place. Jesus, how many of these have you been on?"

"Okay..
. I
t can still work," she said. "We won't touch anything or leave our prints around. We'll check out the book together. If it translates, we'll back out, call for a warrant and SWAT. Nobody has to know we went in there illegally first. That way we can still use the evidence." Lines written by the Day-Glo Dago.

Shane and Alexa had now arrived at the chain-link gate. After Shane picked the lock
,
they moved onto the deserted airfield, past a windsock long ago eaten by the toxic L
. A
. air. It hung at the end of a rusting pole, like the shredded skin of a dead animal. They had agreed earlier to say nothing unscripted, to avoid surreptitious communication for fear they might be under high-powered directional mikes and a telephoto lens. Shane thought this choice of an open location might have been designed by Jody to give Shane and Alexa a chance to reveal themselves to some long
-
range listening device.

Once they got to the hangar, Shane picked another padlock. He swung the door wide, and they walked into the huge, seemingly empty space.

The timing was now very critical.

Filosiani's idea was simple but dangerous: Shane was to lure Alexa out and then shoot her with a light load. The Day-Glo Dago explained that she would be wearing Kevlar. Filosiani wanted to know who they were working for, what crime they were about to pull off, and how deep the corruption went inside the LAPD--from possible Glass House commanders all the way down to the suspected moles inside the Clerical Division. If Jody thought Shane had murdered another police officer to acquire Shephard's file, the hope was that he would eventually accept Shane into the conspiracy and give him its entire scope.

The critical part of the timing came right after Shane fired his light load into Alexa's Kevlar vest. SWAT was supposed to arrive immediately after the gunshot, before Jody would be able to check Alexa and see that she was wearing body armor. They were then going to let Shane and Jody escape amid a hail of nonfatal gunfire. It had to look good and go down fast.

Shane glanced around the hangar's interior, but because it was windowless and dark, he couldn't see if anybody was hiding in the blackness. He knew that SWAT had tailed Alexa's car from a distance, using a GPS sending device attached to her bumper. They should be a mile or more back, so Tremaine would not be able to spot them. Shane hoped that Jody had sneaked inside to witness the "killing."

"Hand over the file," Shane said.

"I want the key book first."

"There isn't one, you dumb bitch," Shane said, then pulled his gun, ominously aiming it at her.

"You piece of shit. You cut a deal with Jody, didn't you?" she shrieked.

"Gimme the file," he repeated, cocking the gun for emphasis.

"This is a dumb play, Scully. I called in SWAT. They followed me. You didn't think I was gonna wander in here without cover, did you?" Alexa said. This sentence was supposed to keep Shane clean when SWAT did in fact arrive.

"Whatta I do, Jody?" Shane called into th
e d
arkness.

"It's bullshit..
. A
bluff," Jody's voice calle
d b
ack from somewhere inside the hangar. "What the fuck you waiting for? Give her the pill."

Shane and Alexa gave each other tight smiles. The trap was set; Jody was inside the hangar with them, watching.

Shane stepped forward, snatched the manila file out of her hand, and checked it.

"Cap her!" Jody ordered. "Do it now!"

Shane aimed his gun at Alexa, but even though all of this was rigged and she was wearing Kevlar under her windbreaker, he was afraid to fire.

"Do it, man! Whatta ya stalling for? She's bluffing.... There's no SWAT team!" Jody screamed from somewhere above. "Blow the bitch away, or I will!" They heard him trombone the slide on his automatic weapon.

Shane had no choice. He fired.

The Mini-Cougar bucked powerfully in his hand, surprising him with its kick.

It felt like a full-load recoil. How could that be? The clip contained Remington Lights.

Alexa flew backward, blood spurting from her chest where his bullet had entered.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing: His round had punched through the Kevlar. "Shit!" he screamed.

Suddenly, all hell broke loose. A machine gun started chattering outside, then two others joined in.

"Let's go! Let's go!" Jody screamed. "She brought backup!"

Shane was standing over Alexa's dead body, looking down at a growing pool of blood spreading out around her shoulders. "No..." he murmured in shock. More gunfire outside. Jody's footsteps pounding down a set of stairs somewhere behind him. At least ten weapons were now working outside.

Shane was still looking down at her, dumbfounded, when Jody grabbed him and pulled him across the hangar. Shane stumbled over his feet while his stomach leaped toward his throat. He barely avoided vomiting.

A door flew open on the far side of the hangar, and Rodriquez appeared. "Let's go, man! It's a fuckin' SWAT meet out there--they got ten guys and a step van!"

Shane was dragged along by Jody as they followed Rodriquez through connecting doors into an adjoining building. He could see a red-and
-
gray Bell Jet Ranger with skids and no FAA numbers parked inside on a rolling platform under a center light. Both side doors had been removed from the chopper. A blond man Shane had never seen before was in the pilot's seat; he already had the helicopter whining to life. The big rotors began to turn slowly overhead. Jody snatched a garage
-
door clicker off a nearby table and aimed it at a huge set of electric elephant doors. He pushed the button. Immediately, the metal slats of the doors began rattling, creaking, and clanking as they went up. Rodriquez moved to the opening door and stood just inside, pouring lead into the predawn darkness. Hot brass clattered and chimed at his feet. Jody pushed Shane into the back of the chopper, then dove in behind him. They could hear a constant barrage of machine-gun fire as SWAT team officers and rogue cops swapped 9-millimeter ordnance.

"Pick it up!" Jody shouted at the pilot.

The helicopter, with its engine at full roar, lifted up slightly and hovered inches above the portable pad. The rotor wind set up a perilous cross-draft inside the hangar, buffeting the Bell Jet Ranger from all sides. It began rocking dangerously but crept forward. When it was halfway out of the building, Tremaine jumped onto one skid and the gray-eyed Mexican hopped onto the other. The pilot pulled the collective back, and the helicopter rose while both men stood on the skids firing MAC-10 pistols at the SWAT officers below.

They were climbing rapidly, crossing the dirt taxiway. Shane could see three police cars and a black SWAT van falling away quickly beneath them as they pulled up. He could see sparks of gunfire aimed at them, but the chopper was moving too fast and SWAT was aiming low. Then they were heading north, leaving the police gunfire behind.

"Fuck you!" Jody yelled triumphantly out the open helicopter door at the distant line of black-helmeted police.

Tremaine and Rodriquez, still hanging on the skids, emptied their clips until the slides locked open. The airfield was now far away, out of sight.

"Mexico," Jody said, grinning at the pilot.

The helicopter turned south to meet the Pacific coastline.

Shane sat numbly in the backseat wedged beside Jody, who suddenly grabbed the file out of his hand.

"We're clean," he was looking at the file full of pages crowded with numbers.

Rodriquez and Tremaine swung inside the helicopter and found seats, forcing Shane to slide over, pinning him to the bulkhead next to the door opening.

"Good catch, Salsa," Jody shouted triumphantly. "Way t'dig it outta the dirt."

He reached over, took the gun out of Shane's grip, and popped the clip. "You see the way she flew when your slug hit her? That's 'cause she was flacked, man. Good thing I put one of these in the pipe for you." He pulled a bullet out of his pocket and held it up. The Remington Lights Shane had checked were still in the clip, unfired. "Black Talons. Cop killers! I put one in the breech. Bastards explode on impact." Jody smiled at Shane, who just sat there, unable to get his mind around it. "You never woulda got the job done with that light load."

Shane was reeling.

He had shot and killed a woman whom just two days ago he had decided to marry.

"Hey, lighten up," Jody yelled over the helicopter roar. "You said you wanted her wet. It's done. You made your bones, man. Don't fuck it up. Don't gimme a reason to have second thoughts now."

Shane looked at Jody and forced a smile onto his face, but it felt as wide and ghastly as the grille of an old Buick.

Chapter
21.

THEY FLEW STRAIGHT out over the ocean, staying under the radar, skimming the whitecaps kicked up by a gusty Santa Ana wind. Once they were six miles out to sea, they banked south toward Mexico. Occasionally, Shane could see a large fishing boat off on the horizon, drifting lazily in the chop, packed to the rails with beer-drinking day fishers.

They streaked over a school of dolphins, twenty or more, humping playfully along in the same direction.

Then after an hour, Jody screamed something at the pilot that Shane couldn't make out over the roar of the engine and slipstreaming air that was rocketing in through the missing side doors. It must have been a shouted direction, because a minute later the pilot altered his course and headed northeast, until they passed over the rugged shoreline of Mexico. Then they were flying low over the open sandy beaches of the Baja Peninsula, streakin
g a
long above the windblown surf, the seven o'clock morning sun climbing out of the mountains to the east, lighting the frothy tips of waves and throwing long streaks of sunlight across the white windblown beaches. The helicopter's shadow chased beneath them on the sand, catching up to them a foot at a time as the sun began its slow climb.