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According to Brady, it did.
“Are you listening to me, Boxer?”
“I’m sorry. No. What did you say?”
“I said, if anyone can talk him in, it’s the two of you. I’ll tell you where to be and when. That’s all.”
Chapter 53
AT JUST AFTER 6:00 p.m. Revenge was standing at the counter at Peet’s waiting for take-out coffee for his drive home.
Someone had left the Post behind and he read the front-page story about the shooting outside the projects. Despite the overheated writing about the deaths of the three dirtbag drug dealers, it was clear that the cops had nothing on the shooter except the gun he’d tossed into the car, the gun that had been used to take out Chaz Smith.
There were no prints on that gun, and there was no way to link it or anything else to him.
The primary on the case was Lindsay Boxer. He had met Boxer a couple of times back in the day. She was a hands-on homicide cop, maybe gifted, and certainly tenacious. But smart and dogged could only help you so much when you didn’t have a clue.
Martina, the girl behind the counter, took cash from an old man with a limp, said, “Thank you. Come back soon.”
She closed the cash drawer, dropped the small change into a cup, and exhaled a long sigh.
Revenge knew that Martina was depressed about her pending divorce. Although she laughed it off, called it “losing a hundred and seventy-five pounds,” Martina was obviously heartsick.
She put on a brave face for him and said of the front-page story, “That’s something, isn’t it?”
She poured hot coffee into a cardboard coffee cup, leaving two inches at the top for milk, the way he liked it. “Some kind of vigilante is killing drug dealers. Have you heard about him? He’s called Revenge.”
“Just reading about it now,” he said. “I don’t read the paper all that often.”
“But you do watch TV, right? One of the guys Revenge killed was a big-deal undercover cop, and his wife is going to be on TV tonight. With Katie Couric.”
“No kidding. Well, maybe I’ll watch it then.”
He smiled at the waitress, poured milk into the cup, and capped it. He left four dollars on the counter, told Martina to take care, and went out into the strip mall.
He got into his vehicle and called his wife, told her he’d be home in half an hour; did she need him to pick up anything?
“No, thanks. We’re good, sweetie,” she said.
Revenge hung up and had just started the engine when he saw something that almost snapped his head back. It was Raoul Fernandez, a scumbag drug dealer who was moving up in his world from small-timer selling teenths in the hood to distributor with young kids doing the dealing for him.
While Revenge was with the DEA task force, he’d looked for evidence against this ugly piece of work. Fernandez was cagey and elusive, and after serving two years for dealing, he had been released.
That should never have happened. Now Revenge watched Fernandez lock up his sporty little Mercedes and head across the parking lot toward the Safeway.
The strip mall was busy. Revenge had just been seen by Martina and everyone who’d been in Peet’s. He knew he ought to let Fernandez go. He should drive home to his family, just drive away.
But fuck it. He might not get this chance again.
Revenge got his gun out of the glove box and stepped out of his car. He walked past the Mercedes and followed a dozen yards behind the drug dealer, his gun pressed against his leg.
Fernandez might have heard something, or maybe he just had a sixth sense; the dealer turned toward Revenge, and he had a gun in his hand.
Revenge felt his heart rate spike.
The voice inside his head was saying, This was a mistake. This is where I go down. I guess I want it to happen. Today.
Chapter 54
