A triggerman for one of the Oakland crews.
Dance gathered the pictures. She put them away and said, ‘I think that’s it, Mr Serrano.’
He shook his head. ‘I wish I could help you, Agent Dance. I hate the gangs as much as you do, no, probably more.’ His voice grew firm. ‘It is our teenagers and children getting killed. In our streets.’
Now Dance was leaning forward and she spoke in a soft voice: ‘If you did happen to see anything at Mr Guzman’s house and tell me, we’d make sure you’re protected. You and your family.’
Now the young man looked away once more. This time it was a moment before he spoke. ‘I no think so. I think I no be working there any longer. I’ll tell my boss to give me other jobs. Even if I make less.’
Allerton said, ‘Boy doesn’t have the cojones to snitch.’
Foster muttered, ‘She didn’t offer him anything. Why would he—’
‘You know, Mr Serrano, we have a budget for people who help us eliminate the gang threats. It’s cash, so nobody knows.’
The young man rose, smiling. ‘There only one problem with what you said. “Eliminate”. If you could eliminate the gangs, then maybe I think about it. But what you mean is, you put a few of them in jail. That leave plenty of others to come pay me and my girlfriend and her family a visit. I gotta say no.’
She held out her hand. ‘Thank you for coming in.’
‘I’m sorry. Not so clean.’ He showed his palms, though not the nails.
‘That’s all right.’
They gripped hands and he walked out of the room. Dance flipped the lights off.
CHAPTER 5
Dance stepped into the observation room and swung the door shut behind her. She walked to the table, set her notes down. She hit the button that shut off the recorder. Clicked her Glock back in its holster.
‘Well?’ Steve Foster asked. ‘Did something wonderful happen that I missed?’
‘What’s your assessment, Kathryn?’ Overby asked.
‘Very few variations from the baseline. I think he’s telling the truth,’ Dance announced. ‘He doesn’t know anything.’ She went on to explain that some people were masters of deception and could manipulate their behaviors – like the yoga experts who could slow their heart rate nearly to stopping – but Serrano didn’t strike her as that skilled.
‘Oh, I think he’s got a few skeletons. But nothing related to the CI or the gangs or Guzman. I’d guess he boosted a car when he was a kid or scores some weed from time to time. Got a ripple of evasion when we were talking about life on the Peninsula, never in trouble with the law. But it was small-time.’
‘You read that?’ Allerton said.
‘I inferred it. I think it’s accurate. But nothing we can use.’
‘Hell,’ Overby muttered. ‘Our one chance to nail Guzman.’
Dance corrected, ‘A chance. That didn’t pan out. That’s all. There’ll be others.’
‘Well, I don’t see a lot of others,’ Foster pointed out.
Carol Allerton said, ‘We’ve got that delivery boy. He knows something.’
Foster muttered, ‘The pizza kid? That’s a non-lead. It’s a dead lead. It’s a pushing-up-daisies lead.’ His face tightened. ‘There’s something about that asshole Serrano. I don’t like him. He was too slick. You learn anything in body-language school about slick?’
Dance didn’t answer.
Allerton: ‘It’s a pepper.’
‘What?’ Overby asked.
‘Serrano’s a pepper. Just saying.’
Foster read texts. Sent some.
Allerton thought for a moment, said, ‘I think we should try again – to turn him, I mean. Offer him more money.’
‘No interest,’ Dance said. ‘Serrano’s a dead end. I say we put better surveillance on Guzman. Get a team in place.’
‘What, Kathryn, twenty-four/seven? You know what that costs? Try the pizza boy, try the domestic staff in Guzman’s. Keep following up on the other leads.’ Overby looked at his watch. ‘I’ll leave it to you guys and gals to work it out.’ His body language suggested that he regretted using the second G-word. Political correctness, Dance reflected, could be so tedious. Overby rose and walked to the door.
And nearly got decked as TJ Scanlon pushed inside. He looked past them and into the observation room. Eyes wide. ‘Where’s Serrano?’
‘He just left,’ Dance told him.
The agent’s brow was furrowed. ‘Shit.’
‘What’s up, TJ?’ Overby asked sharply.
‘He’s gone?’ the young agent exclaimed.
Foster snapped, ‘What?’
‘Just got a call from Amy Grabe.’ FBI special agent in charge of the San Francisco office. ‘They busted this guy in Salinas for possession, major. He gave up Serrano.’
‘Gave him up?’ Foster’s brow furrowed deeply.
TJ nodded. ‘Boss, Serrano’s on Guzman’s payroll.’
‘What?’ Dance gasped.
‘He’s a shooter. He was the triggerman took out Sad Eyes. Serrano picked up the BMW at Guzman’s that afternoon, popped Sad, then went back and finished his shift planting daisies or pansies or whatever. He’s taken out four witnesses for Guzman in the last six months.’
‘Fucking hell,’ Foster raged. His eyes on Dance. ‘Outfielder for the As?’
‘Is it confirmed?’
‘They found the piece Serrano used. Ballistics check out. And it’s got Serrano’s prints all over it.’
‘No,’ Dance whispered harshly. She flung the door open and began sprinting down the hall.
He grabbed her before she got three feet into the parking lot behind CBI.
The tackle took Dance down hard and she sprawled on the concrete. She got her Glock out of her holster but, fast as a striking snake, he pulled the gun from her hand. He didn’t turn it her way, though. He saw that she was lying stunned on the ground and fled, a pounding sprint.