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“How do I know you’re notRussian?” Able asked. “That raven tattoo looks sorta Russian.”
“Ah fuck it, let’s load up the drums,” Letty said to Baxter. And to Able: “Better watch yourself, man. Those guys at Barron’s place weren’t fuckin’ around. They went in there and capped their asses, cool as you please. Never broke a sweat. We were right up the street and never heard a shot, neither. Had to be professionals, the way they did it.”
“So what do I do?” Able demanded. He looked around. “This is my place. It doesn’t look like much, but I could get six, seven hundred thousand for it. I can’t jump in my car and drive away and never come back.”
“I don’t know,” Letty said. “We’re not like private eyes. Are we being watched? Areyoubeing watched? The feds were all over the shooters and pretty damn quick, too. I don’t know how they did that.”
“If we hang around, and we’re really careful, and we spot these guys, Russians, we could use a burner and call the FBI and turn them in,” Baxter said.
“What if we’re wrong?” Letty asked.
Baxter shrugged: “What if we are? Some innocent guy gets hassled, and we’re not dead. That’s better than some guilty guy doesn’t get hassled and we get murdered.”
Letty nodded: “When Paul’s right, he’s right. I’m afraid the Russians might already have me and Paul. We were here for a long time, at the same time as Barron and what’s-her-name...”
“Brianna Wolfe...”
“So they might be onto us, too.”
“You know what we could do?” Baxter suggested. “We could go right to the FBI. Tell them that we knew Loren and Brianna, and we didn’t know what they were up to, but we heard rumors...”
“I can’t talk to the feds,” Able said. “Neither can you unless you’re out of your minds. You did take down that hospital in Georgia. When they start looking at your background, tracking you, and where you’re from... They might be a little light on brains, but not that light. They’d figure you out.”
“Get the drums and go to Seattle,” Letty said to Baxter.
Baxter was literally walking in circles. “I dunno, I dunno... They were fuckin’ assassinated. Loren and Brianna. This isn’t a fuckin’ shooter game, they don’t get to come back fromgame over. They’re dead! The problem is, if the Russians did it, the Russians have the money and the people to get you wherever you go. And if Loren really did fuck with the Russian train systems...”
“TV says the Russians are going to invade Ukraine,” Letty said. “They maybe don’t want somebody fuckin’ with their trains again.”
“Jesus. We gotta... I gotta call some people,” Able said.
Able called peoplewhile Letty and Baxter disassembled the drum kit and loaded it into the pickup, packed in Bubble Wrap. When they back came inside, ostensibly to say good-bye, Able said, “You gotta hang around. Gonna be a serious meet-up.”
Letty said, “If they’re following even one person to a meeting, they’ll get to see all of us. Not a good idea.”
Able shook his head. “It’ll be okay. It’s a bar. There’s always a lot of people there, no way to know who’s talking to who. And everybody there knows everybody else, so any strangers will stand out.”
“Where?” Letty asked. “And when?”
“Venice Beach. A place called Poggers. There’s a public parking structure near there, you can walk to the bar,” Able said. He looked at his Apple Watch. “It’s an hour from here and we’re gonna meet in an hour. We gotta roll.”
“Sounds pretty hurried...” Baxter said.
“It is. People are panicking, they’ve heard about Loren and Brianna. Nobody wants to talk on telephones.”
Letty: “Poggers.”
“In an hour.”
Thirteen
The sun was out and bouncing harsh off the ocean when they got to Venice. They put the truck in the parking structure and walked two blocks down the beach, past the low pastel buildings where aging stoners, pushing their use-by dates, sold crap to tourists, past a pile of weather-beaten tents and caves made of plastic tarps, homeless people sprawled passed out on sandy blankets, their dogs passively watching the passersby, little hope in their canine eyes.
Skaters and bladers wove through the thin winter crowds as they got up to Poggers, a nondescript salmon-colored cube with a bar on the sidewalk. Able had parked on the street and was waiting when they walked up. “This way.”
A narrow entrance opened into a dim room housing a few tables and a dozen old electronic arcade games, all being used as theypassed through. The place smelled like popcorn, beer, hot dogs, and sweat. Eminem was rapping “Stan” from wall-top speakers.
Able led them through the bar, past the arcade games, nobody paying attention. A tight cluster of men, mostly in their thirties and forties, were gathered around an ancientMarvel vs. Capcom: Clash of Super Heroesmachine, watching the play. One of them nodded at Able as he led Letty and Baxter between the men, who, Letty thought, might not have been inclined to move for strangers.
