to the curb of Firestone Boulevard. The Los Angeles River dribbled before them, a trickle in a concrete channel.
“Let me tell you what I see in you,” said Bradley. “I see a cautious man with the heart of a warrior. I see a man who knows right from wrong. I see a man who took an oath and meant it. Am I right?”
“Well, sure, okay.”
“Jerry, sometime tonight I’m going to find out where Stevie is. And when I do I’m not calling in SWAT or hostage negotiation or backup. I’m calling in me. And that could mean you, too. I’m going to get that boy out alive. I’m going to make sure the world knows about it, too. Because I don’t work for free. Are you in or out?”
“I’m in.”
Bradley bored into Clovis’s eyes but liked what he saw. “I can leave you out. You can sit it out.”
“I’m in.”
“Sweet, Jerry. Good. Okay, let’s drive.”
Clovis had just pulled back into traffic when Bradley’s cell phone buzzed. Rocky told him no news yet, all his men were working it hard, they’d grabbed a Salvadoran who was bleeding a lot but talking not at all, and Rocky’s wife was out of her cabeza with worry. Rocky said if they hurt Stevie, he’d kill every Salvadoran kid in L.A., every single last one of them.
“You be cool,” Bradley said. “You get that address for me.”
8
Rocky’s call came in at nine thirty-eight P.M.
“The Salvadoran cracked when we started breaking off his teeth,” he said. “They got Stevie in Maywood.”
“How many of them?”
“Three Maras. Experienced guys.”
“Talk to me.”
“I’m on my way to drop the ransom at a church parking lot in Maywood. After they pick it up, the Salvadorans are gonna leave Stevie at Freeway Liquor in Bell Gardens.”
“They think you’re dumb enough to do that?”
“They have my solemn word I’m dumb enough. Bradley, man. You do this for me . . . You get Stevie outta there okay . . .”
“I’ll get him.”
“I can be there with some of my best friends. I’ve done this kinda shit before.”
“Stevie will end up dead and you’ll end up in prison again. I’m the one for this job. My partner and I. Now, is there a dog at that house?”
“I don’t know.”
“I need to know if there’s a dog. I need to know if it’s between other houses, or on a corner. Now, give me the address, man.”
When he’d gotten the street and house number, Bradley hung up. Perfect good luck , he thought: The Maras had Stevie in unincorporated territory patrolled by LASD—no jurisdictional problems. He asked Clovis to pull over so he could make some calls in private.
He stood in a 7-Eleven parking lot and told Deputy Caroline Vega where and when to meet; then he told Theresa Brewer that they would be there in ten minutes. He went into the store and got an enormous energy drink and a pack of chocolate chip cookies and drank and ate them while looking at the covers of the car magazines in the stand. Too many fuel-efficient dinks, in Bradley’s view, but the new M5 looked otherworldly. He thought of his mother, who had taught him to drive fast cars. He’d buy her that M5 if she were alive. Would have been thirty-five this year. He looked at his watch. According to plan, Rocky would call back in a minute or two, to confirm that his last call was of his own free will and not a setup.
The call came. No dog, corner house. Bradley popped the last cookie into his mouth and walked back to the prowler.
“We’ve got what we need,” he said.
Clovis popped his holster strap. “This is good. I’m glad we’re doing this.”
“Be cool.”
“From a twenty-year-old deputy on his first patrol.”
“I’m twenty and a half, Jerry.”
Clovis smiled and shook his head.
They met Theresa Brewer and a cameraman at a Shell station in Bell Gardens, around back near the restrooms and the air and water dispensers. She was a dimpled, green-eyed blonde and she greeted Bradley with a smile. She wore light slacks and a green blouse and a black
“Let me tell you what I see in you,” said Bradley. “I see a cautious man with the heart of a warrior. I see a man who knows right from wrong. I see a man who took an oath and meant it. Am I right?”
“Well, sure, okay.”
“Jerry, sometime tonight I’m going to find out where Stevie is. And when I do I’m not calling in SWAT or hostage negotiation or backup. I’m calling in me. And that could mean you, too. I’m going to get that boy out alive. I’m going to make sure the world knows about it, too. Because I don’t work for free. Are you in or out?”
“I’m in.”
Bradley bored into Clovis’s eyes but liked what he saw. “I can leave you out. You can sit it out.”
“I’m in.”
“Sweet, Jerry. Good. Okay, let’s drive.”
Clovis had just pulled back into traffic when Bradley’s cell phone buzzed. Rocky told him no news yet, all his men were working it hard, they’d grabbed a Salvadoran who was bleeding a lot but talking not at all, and Rocky’s wife was out of her cabeza with worry. Rocky said if they hurt Stevie, he’d kill every Salvadoran kid in L.A., every single last one of them.
“You be cool,” Bradley said. “You get that address for me.”
8
Rocky’s call came in at nine thirty-eight P.M.
“The Salvadoran cracked when we started breaking off his teeth,” he said. “They got Stevie in Maywood.”
“How many of them?”
“Three Maras. Experienced guys.”
“Talk to me.”
“I’m on my way to drop the ransom at a church parking lot in Maywood. After they pick it up, the Salvadorans are gonna leave Stevie at Freeway Liquor in Bell Gardens.”
“They think you’re dumb enough to do that?”
“They have my solemn word I’m dumb enough. Bradley, man. You do this for me . . . You get Stevie outta there okay . . .”
“I’ll get him.”
“I can be there with some of my best friends. I’ve done this kinda shit before.”
“Stevie will end up dead and you’ll end up in prison again. I’m the one for this job. My partner and I. Now, is there a dog at that house?”
“I don’t know.”
“I need to know if there’s a dog. I need to know if it’s between other houses, or on a corner. Now, give me the address, man.”
When he’d gotten the street and house number, Bradley hung up. Perfect good luck , he thought: The Maras had Stevie in unincorporated territory patrolled by LASD—no jurisdictional problems. He asked Clovis to pull over so he could make some calls in private.
He stood in a 7-Eleven parking lot and told Deputy Caroline Vega where and when to meet; then he told Theresa Brewer that they would be there in ten minutes. He went into the store and got an enormous energy drink and a pack of chocolate chip cookies and drank and ate them while looking at the covers of the car magazines in the stand. Too many fuel-efficient dinks, in Bradley’s view, but the new M5 looked otherworldly. He thought of his mother, who had taught him to drive fast cars. He’d buy her that M5 if she were alive. Would have been thirty-five this year. He looked at his watch. According to plan, Rocky would call back in a minute or two, to confirm that his last call was of his own free will and not a setup.
The call came. No dog, corner house. Bradley popped the last cookie into his mouth and walked back to the prowler.
“We’ve got what we need,” he said.
Clovis popped his holster strap. “This is good. I’m glad we’re doing this.”
“Be cool.”
“From a twenty-year-old deputy on his first patrol.”
“I’m twenty and a half, Jerry.”
Clovis smiled and shook his head.
They met Theresa Brewer and a cameraman at a Shell station in Bell Gardens, around back near the restrooms and the air and water dispensers. She was a dimpled, green-eyed blonde and she greeted Bradley with a smile. She wore light slacks and a green blouse and a black
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