Hollywood Station

But Ethan Munger was a problem. The young guard began backing toward the van, unaware that his partner had been disarmed. Ethan Munger had his free hand in the air, the other holding the metal container. And he said, “Lady, you don’t want to do this. Please put that little gun away. It will probably blow up in your face. Just put it away.”

“Drop the can!” Ilya screamed it. And it was all she could do not to burst into tears, she was so scared.

“Just don’t get excited, lady,” the young guard said, still backing up with Ilya coming toward him.

It seemed to Ilya like minutes had passed, but it was only seconds, and she expected to hear sirens because several passing shoppers were looking and a woman was yelling, “Help! Somebody call the police!” Another woman was shouting into her cell phone.

Then Cosmo came ru

Ilya didn’t grab the can. She just put her pistol in her purse and ran screaming back toward the stolen car, the gunfire ringing in her ears. Within a minute, which seemed like ten, Cosmo jerked open the back door of the car and threw the can and two guns inside. And for one terrible moment couldn’t get the old Mazda to start. Cosmo turned the key off, then on again three times, and it started and they sped from the parking lot.

Watch 5 was just loading up their war bags and other equipment when the code 3 hotshot call was given to 6-A-65 of Watch 2. And of course all the midwatch officers started throwing gear into their shops, jumping in, and squealing out of the station parking lot. They headed in the general direction of the robbery but really hoped they’d spot the red Mazda containing a dark-haired man wearing a baseball cap and a red-haired woman on the way. It wasn’t often that there was a robbery and shooting of a security guard to start off their evening.

Be

Be

There was still no court date set for the pimp who had assaulted her. Mag had suggested to Be

“I jist wish I coulda been there, Mag,” Be

Mag had looked at her tall black partner and said, “I’m glad you weren’t, Be

Be

Be

B.M. Driscoll didn’t respond, only taking off his glasses and cleaning them with a tissue so that he could better read the dosage on the antihistamine bottle.

All that Cosmo Betrossian could think about as he drove away from the scene of the robbery while the young security guard lay dying was the bartender at the Gulag. Cosmo was going to ask Dmitri to torture and kill that Georgian if he and Ilya were not killed themselves in the next few minutes. The stolen Mazda that the bartender assured him was in good working order had stalled at the first traffic light. And as Cosmo sat there grinding and grinding the starter, a police car sped past, light bar flashing and siren screaming, going to the very place from which they had just escaped.

“Let us get out of the car!” Ilya said.

“The money!” Cosmo cried. “We have money!”

“Fuck money,” Ilya said.

The engine almost started, but he flooded it. He waited and tried again and it kicked over, and the Mazda began lurching south on Gower.

Cosmo decided that she was right, that they must get out and flee on foot. “Son of bastard!” he screamed. “I kill fucking Georgian that give me this car!”

“We leave it now?” Ilya said. “Stop, Cosmo.”

Then the idea came to him. “Ilya,” he said, “you know where we be now?”

“Yes, Gower Street,” she said. “Stop the car!”

“No, Ilya. We be almost at the house of the miserable addict Farley.”

Ilya had never been to Farley’s house and could not see the significance of this. “So who gives damn about fucking tweaker? Stop the car! I get out!”

Cosmo realized that he was a block and a half away, that was all. A block and a half. “Ilya, please do not jump out. Farley has little garage! Farley always park his shit car on the street so is easy to push it.”

“Cosmo!” she screamed again. “I am going to kill you or me! Stop this car! Let me out!”

“Two minutes,” he said. “We be at house of Farley. We put this car in garage of Farley. Our money shall be safe. We shall be safe!”

The Mazda bucked and shuddered its way down Gower to the residential street of Farley Ramsdale. Cosmo Betrossian was afraid that the car wouldn’t make the final turn, but it did. And as though the Mazda had a mind and a will, it seemed to throw itself in a last lurching effort up the slightly sloping driveway, where it sputtered and died beside the old bungalow.

Cosmo and Ilya got out quickly, and Cosmo opened the garage door and threw some boxes of junk and an old, rusty bike from the garage into the backyard, making room for the Mazda. Cosmo and Ilya both had to push the car into the garage. Cosmo tucked both pistols inside his belt, grabbed the container of money, and closed the termite-riddled door.

They went to the front door of the bungalow and knocked but got no answer. Cosmo tried the door and found it locked. They went to the back door, where Cosmo slipped the wafer lock with a credit card, and they entered to await the return of their new “partners.”

Cosmo thought that now he had more reason than ever to kill the two tweakers, and that he must do it right after they entered the house. But not with the gun. The neighboring homes were too close. But how? And would Ilya help him?

The canister contained $93,260, all of it in twenty-dollar bills. By the time they had finished counting it, Ilya had smoked half a dozen cigarettes and seemed calm enough, except for her shaking hands. Cosmo began giggling and couldn’t stop.

“Is not so much as Dmitri promised, but I am happy!” Cosmo said. “I am not greedy pig.” That tickled him so much he giggled more. “I must call Dmitri soon.”