TEDDY TURNED FROM SUNSET onto the Pacific Coast Highway and let the Porsche have its head. He passed a couple of cars, then saw one coming toward him in time to get back into the right lane. He saw the star in a Mercedes grille as it passed, going very fast. A moment later he was at his house: the garage door was open and Sally’s Mercedes convertible was gone.
Teddy wanted to give chase, but he had to get inside the house. He pulled into the garage and saw that the door into the house was open. He got out of the car, pulled the 9mm semiautomatic from its holster and flung himself into the hallway, stopped by the wall. He stood there for a moment, and he heard a moaning noise. He flipped a light switch and the living room lights came on.
One of the cops, the older one, Rossi, was lying on his back in the hallway, pumping blood through what looked like a knife wound to the chest. He took a step forward and found himself looking down the barrel of a pistol.
“Freeze!” Rivera said weakly. He was sitting on the kitchen floor, his back against a cabinet.
“It’s Billy Barnett. Put the gun down.”
“Help Rossi,” Rivera said.
Teddy grabbed a dish towel from the kitchen counter, knelt beside Rossi, and pressed it to his chest. He picked up Rossi’s hand and put it on top of the towel. “Press,” he said, then turned back to Rivera.
A small hole in Rivera’s shirt trickled blood. “Don’t call it in,” Rivera said.
“Why not?”
“You’re not here, and Sergei is in your car, headed down the PCH. I think he’s going to the trailer park, number 601. I fired two rounds, and I may have hit him. I’ll give you as much of a head start as I can. Check on Joe.”
Teddy went to Rossi and put a hand to his neck, looking for a pulse. The man stopped breathing.
Teddy sagged. He could hardly do chest compressions with that knife wound where it was. It would just pump out more blood. He turned his attention to Rivera.
“He okay?” Rivera asked.
Teddy shook his head.
“Go,” Rivera said. “Kill the sonofabitch. And by the way, Baxter is back in L.A., at his house on Mulholland.” He gave him the number. “Go,” he said again.
Teddy turned, ran for the garage, got the car started, and went back the way he had come. If Kasov had headed for L.A. he was gone. His only chance of catching up to him was the trailer park, if that was where he was going.
54
RIVERA SAT NEXT to his dead partner. He reached out and held his hand. “It was my fault, Joe,” he said. “I should have gone in there.” He looked at his watch; he had to give Barnett five minutes, anyway. Instead, he found his phone and called Chita.
“Carlos?”
“I’m sorry to wake you.”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
“Listen, I’m not going to make it to dinner.”
“That’s okay, we’ll do it later.”
“It’ll be a while. I got shot.”
“Carlos!”
“Don’t worry, I’m going to be okay. An ambulance is on the way now, be here in a minute.”
“Where will they take you?”
“I don’t know, maybe UCLA hospital.”
“I’ll be there,” she said.
“Gotta run,” he replied.
“I’ll be there.” They both hung up.
Carlos pulled on the cord of the land line until the telephone fell to the floor, then he dialed 911.
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?” She sounded very young.
“Two officers down, one stabbed, one gunshot wound.” He gave her the address.
“Stay on the line, Officer, while I call it in.”
“Okay.” He could hear her using the radio.
“They’re on the way,” she said. “You stay with me. Talk to me.”
“What’s your name?”
“Emma.”
“I’m Carlos.”
“Are you bleeding a lot, Carlos?”
“Not a lot. I think it was a .22. Don’t worry, I’ll make it. What hospital will they take me to?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll hear after they pick you up.”
“Do me a favor—call this cell number.” He gave her Chita’s cell. “Tell her which hospital I’m going to. She’s on the way to UCLA now. I don’t want her to go to the wrong hospital.”
“How’s your partner doing?”
“He didn’t make it,” Carlos said. “Nothing . . . I could do for him.”
“Anybody else I can call for you?”
“No, nobody else. I can hear the ambulance now, so you can go back to work.”
“I’ll wait until they’re with you.”
He heard doors slamming and people running. “They’re here,” he said. “Thanks.” He hung up and passed out.
? ? ?
TEDDY MADE THE LEFT turn into the trailer park, then eased off the throttle; he didn’t want to make any more noise than necessary. He pulled over to the side of the road, got a small flashlight from the glove compartment, got out of the car, and began trotting up the drive, unholstering the 9mm. Up ahead, he could see the rear of the Mercedes protruding from a driveway, and as he approached it, he saw that the driver’s door was open, and the car was still running.
He hoisted a foot and slid a knife out of the heel, holding it in his left hand. The trailer door was open, and a light was on. He heard a man’s voice. “Now you listen to me, Baxter,” he was saying. “I’m at Dimitri’s trailer, and I’ve taken a bullet. No! Don’t call an ambulance! There’s a doctor named Schweitzer, near the trailer park. Do you have his number? Call him and get him over here now. Tell him to bring an IV, some Lidocaine and antibiotics. He’ll need surgical stuff, have some stitching to do. I’ll need blood, type O. You got that?”
Teddy knelt and peeped around the doorjamb. Kasov was sitting at a desk, and he was wearing a shoulder holster with a weapon in it. He could see the silencer protruding from the bottom. Good.
“Don’t you worry about Barnett,” Kasov was saying. “He is a dead man. Call Schweitzer!” He hung up, and he was panting.
Teddy stepped through the doorway, pistol out in front of him. “Good evening, Sergei,” he said. The man whipped around and got a hand on the butt of his pistol. “No! Don’t reach for it! I’ll put one in your head.”
“You are Barnett,” Sergei panted. “I suppose you’re going to kill me.”
“That would be a great pleasure,” Teddy said, “but then I’d have to explain how my bullet got into your head. No, I think I’ll just wait for you to bleed out. It won’t be long. Are you in pain?”
“Yes,” Sergei replied. “What do you think?”
“I’m delighted to hear it. Dimitri died in great pain—bled out, just like you. Do you know why you’re panting like that? It’s because your body cavity is filling up with your blood, and it’s pressing on your lungs.”
Sergei made a prolonged groaning noise as he turned the swivel chair so that he was facing Teddy. “Doctor!” he said.
Teddy thought he was asking for a doctor, then he sensed someone standing to his left. He swung the blade in his left hand, not really aiming at anything. There was a scream, and he glanced to his left. A man was standing there with a slash across his face. He dropped a medical bag from his hand.
Sergei got to his feet and staggered toward Teddy, clawing at his holstered weapon. Teddy retreated in small steps; he didn’t want to fire and then have to find the bullet. Sergei fell to his knees, then facedown. Blood oozed from around his body. He couldn’t see any breathing.
Teddy went to the door and stepped over the doctor’s cowering form. “If anybody asks,” he said to the man, “my name is Dax Baxter. That’s Dax Baxter.” He left him there, still alive, and trotted back to his car. He started it, made a U-turn, and got back onto the highway, headed toward Sunset.
No need to speed now, he thought. Just take it easy.
? ? ?
CARLOS CAME TO with the pungent smell of ammonia in his nostrils. He was on a stretcher, being carried out of the house.
“Who did this to you, Detective?” a cop was asking. “Did you know the man?”
“Yes,” Carlos said.
“What was that again?”
“Yes.”
“Who was he?”
“Sergei,” Carlos replied, then passed out again.
55
TEDDY CONSIDERED GOING back to his house and talking to the police, but he thought better of it. He’d leave Sally’s car where it was and let the police deal with it. Back on the highway, he turned left and drove up Sunset. At the Arrington’s gate he stopped.