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Although, he had to admit, this was the area of the business where Dylan had shown a talent for organization and control, and Ruiz was pla
So, the lesson to take home from that-keep all your logistics to yourself, as Dylan had done. The thing to watch for, Ruiz knew, was one of the other guys in the shop getting ideas that he could take over if Ruiz disappeared. Just as Ruiz had. Dylan had never considered that possibility, or at least never showed it if he did.
Oh, well, times changed. Lives changed.
And now in his new life, Ruiz parked on Turk down by Divisadero-the whole area darkened now since this neighborhood, the outer Fillmore, tended to be underserved by the Department of Public Works. Streetlights were not the biggest priority here-it was hard to say if, in fact, there were any other civic priorities either.
Locking the car, checking for foot traffic-none-Ruiz heard hip-hop loud from a block or two away. The wind was light but very cold, and Ruiz pulled his parka up over his chin, hands in its pockets, around his gun in one and his money in the other, and checked doorways until he got to the address and stopped.
It was an old-style apartment building, four stories. The lobby shimmered under dull ceiling fluorescents, their coverings yellowed with age and neglect. Ruiz tried the front door.
Which was open.
How Jaime found these places, he didn’t know.
A large gray cat sat in a litter box just under the mailbox and from the smell, Ruiz was pretty sure it wasn’t the only animal that had relieved itself nearby. Maybe even some humans.
He was looking for 3F, so he pressed the single elevator button, but it didn’t light up. He only waited twenty seconds or so before he gave up and turned for the stairway. The second floor was dimmer than the lobby, but somewhat to his relief the third was brighter. Sweating now with nerves and the exertion of the climb-he had to get going making his own garden grow-he turned out of the stair-well and walked back to 3F, where he knocked twice, then once.
Spy shit. He chuckled at it. Ridiculous.
And in a moment the door opens and here is Jaime, happy as ever, slapping his five, mellow, without a care in the world. Ruiz took a last look behind him on the landing, then stepped in and Jaime closed the door behind them, threw the dead bolt.
An adequate apartment, if a little small-maybe one of Jaime’s girlfriends’. Living room, dining room, kitchen. Furnished in Goodwill, but not bad. Tasteful.
Their usual protocol was they had a beer or two and caught up, exchanged money for product, made sure they were good for the next week, and said good-bye, and this is what they did now. The whole thing took twenty minutes, tops.
And then they were saying their good-byes. Jaime was throwing back the dead bolt, starting to open the door, when suddenly it exploded in on them and they were being backed up by two guys in big parkas. Each carried a gun, pointed straight at Jaime and Ruiz. Both guns had extensions on their barrels.
The two parkas advanced, but didn’t back up their targets for long, maybe a step or two.
Then they opened fire.
34
“I know you’re awake. Pick up.”
It was still dark out, 5:42 A.M., and Hardy was having his morning coffee and reading the front-page story in the paper about his day in court yesterday, when Jansey Ticknor had implicated his client in a long-standing and, he was sure, completely spurious affair with Dylan Vogler. For not the first time-and though he already had some marginally serviceable answers-he was asking himself why she had perjured herself so thoroughly and wondering if he had anything to gain by calling her back to the stand and taking her head off.
But at the sound of Glitsky’s voice, these cogitations fled and he leaned over and grabbed the receiver. “This isn’t what we call a reasonable time.”
“You’re in trial. I know you’re up.”
“Fra
“I didn’t call that phone.”
“You’ve got all the answers.”
“Got to. I’m a cop. People depend on me.”
“Actually, I’m glad you called. I was going to check in with you today about Lori Bradford.”
“I figured you would someday, but that’s not what I called about. Do you know who Eugenio Ruiz is?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Diz. Don’t play games with me, please. Of course you know who he is, right?”
“BBW. The new manager.”
“Right. Except now he’s the new dead manager.”
“Oh, my God, poor Eugenio.”
“I don’t know, Maya. Maybe not so poor.”
“So what does this mean?” she asked him. They were next to one another at the table in the glass-block-enclosed attorney visiting room. It was still a few minutes short of eight A.M. “Besides that, after this, now we’re definitely closing the place down. We should have done it before, but Joel wanted to make a stand against Glass. So you’re telling me they were still selling dope out of there.”
“It looks like it. At least Eugenio was.” Hardy shrugged. This was by no means the most important issue of the day, nor the most unexpected. “Dylan had the whole system set up, everybody who worked there probably in on it. It makes sense somebody kept it going.”
“Do they have any suspects? I mean for who shot him.”
“No. It’s way too soon for that.”
“I hope Joel has an alibi. If he found out that Eugenio was dealing again after all we’ve been through, he would have killed him.”
“Let’s not mention that to anybody, okay? But it wasn’t Joel, even without an alibi. There were two different-caliber bullets, so it looks like two shooters. What it looks like, classically in fact, is a dope rip. Somebody followed somebody to where the money and the dope changed hands and just started blasting away.”
“That happens over marijuana?”
“Every day, Maya. Every day.”
“It seems so strange. Remember when we were younger?”
“I wasn’t young when you were, but I know what you mean.”
“It’s so hard to imagine. I mean, a little grass was like nothing, no big deal at all, and now these people are dying over it.”
“It’s illegal. So it’s prohibition all over again.”
“They ought to just legalize it.”
“That’s a different discussion which I’d love to have with you someday. But let’s not make the argument when you get on the stand. How’s that?”
The comment clearly offended her. “I’m not stupid, Diz.”
“Not even close, Maya.” He pushed his chair back a little from the table, crossed one leg over the other. “But you asked me what the killing of Ruiz meant for us. I’d like to pretend that Braun or maybe Stier will see this as the next step in a turf war that began with Dylan and Levon, and one that you couldn’t have been involved in, so they’ll just decide this whole prosecution and trial is a mistake and let you go. But unfortunately, that is not happening, not in a million years.”
“So. What’s left?”
“What’s left is a guy named Paco, who Eugenio maybe could have identified, and now definitely can’t.”
“Paco?”
“Ring a bell?”
“Well, actually, yes.”
Hardy sat back with a little thrill of surprise and pleasure. “Tell me you know him and where he lives and you could pick him out of a lineup.”