Read Online Cold Hit by Stephen J. Cannell - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen J. Cannell
Tags: Fiction, General, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Crime, History, Mystery Fiction, Police, Military, War & Military, California, Police Procedural, Large Type Books, Serial Murders, Crimes against, Los Angeles (Calif.), Vietnam War, Vietnam War; 1961-1975, Los Angeles, Undercover operations, Police - California - Los Angeles, Veterans, Vietnamese Conflict; 1961-1975, Homeless men - Crimes against, Police murders, Homeless men, Vietnam War; 1961-1975 - Veterans - Crimes against, Scully; Shane (Fictitious character)
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half feet tall and shave your head every morning, you don't need reason." He leaned forward in the wood swivel. It squeaked loudly. "So, after he hears your dumb-ass idea, he's gonna call us morons and broom us both off the fucking case. No way he's gonna let us separate out John Doe-Four 'cause it's not a copycat, and that's the only murder in this chain a hits that we got a halfway decent shot at. Besides, he's also getting his nuts roasted over a slow fire every other Tuesday morning in the COMSTAT meeting." He was referring to the chief's bi-monthly meeting with all the division commanders to review computer crime statistics.
"We gotta tell him anyway," I persisted. "Because regardless of what you think, I believe I'm right."
Then, as if he had been waiting outside, listening for his cue, Captain Calloway stuck his shaved head inside our cubicle.
"You guys asked for a meeting?"
"Yeah."
"Let's do it."
He turned and walked across the squad room toward his office.
"You tell him," Zack said as I stood. "I ain't up to being screamed at by Mighty Mouse this morning." "Fine," I said. "Just hold my back."
"Only reason I still come in is so I can hold your back and watch you work." Sarcasm.
On our way out, we collided in the doorway. I caught a gamey whiff of him.
"Since you've given up showering, how 'bout investing in some cologne?" I muttered.
"This is cologne. Eau de Werewolf. I send to Transylvania for this shit."
"Go ahead and joke it off. You got half the Glass House circling you. Maybe if you didn't come in smelling like Big Foot, it would help."
"Lemme get back to you on that," he snarled. We walked into Cal's office.
"What's up?" Cal said. He removed his jacket, exposing huge arms in a short-sleeved shirt. His bi's and tri's bulged the white cotton.
"Cap, did you read the update I e-mailed you this morning?"
"On the hard gas lens? Looks promising."
"I think when we find out where it was made, it's gonna come back as being from a lab in one of the old Soviet Union countries."
"Are we having hunches again?" Cal said, half-smiling.
Zack shot me a dangerous look.
"Hunches based on shrewd observations," I corrected.
"Such as?"
"The tattoos in the vic's eyelids turn out to be Russian Cyrillic symbols. They translate: 'Don't wake up.' "
"How do you get tattoos done on your eyelids?" Cal asked. "Don't they have to press the needle down too hard?"
"I called a tattoo artist, Big Payaso, at the Electric Dragon in Venice. He told me this kind of eyelid art is mostly done in prison. They slide a spoon under the li d t o make a work table." Both Cal and Zack winced. "Also, the bullet came from a Russian automatic so I think the vic is maybe a Russian immigrant and the lens is gonna trace back to somewhere in the Soviet Union."
"Okay, so John Doe-Four is a homeless Russian who did time. That's why you wanted to see me?"
"As I told you yesterday, I think this last hit is a copycat. I think I may also have the thread that ties it together."
Cal got up and closed the door. Then he turned back and motioned for me to continue.
"I think this last guy might have done time in a Russian prison and John Doe Number Four might be an ROC hit."
"Russian Organized Crime?" Cal said, raising an eyebrow. His expression told me I better make this good.
"The Odessa mob is aggressive and proactive. They've been trying to infiltrate the department for at least fifteen years, ever since Little Japanese came over here from the Ukraine in the late eighties."
Little Japanese was a violent Russian gangster named Vyatcheslav Ivankov who got his street handle because he was short and had squinty eyes. He brought several members of the Odessa Mafia with him. They had started small, but now there were more than five thousand members listed in our gang book, with large concentrations of Armenian Odessa mobsters in Glendale, Burbank, and Hollywood. I didn't have to remind Cal that we found Forrest right on the Burbank city line.
"The
"We gotta tell him anyway," I persisted. "Because regardless of what you think, I believe I'm right."
Then, as if he had been waiting outside, listening for his cue, Captain Calloway stuck his shaved head inside our cubicle.
"You guys asked for a meeting?"
"Yeah."
"Let's do it."
He turned and walked across the squad room toward his office.
"You tell him," Zack said as I stood. "I ain't up to being screamed at by Mighty Mouse this morning." "Fine," I said. "Just hold my back."
"Only reason I still come in is so I can hold your back and watch you work." Sarcasm.
On our way out, we collided in the doorway. I caught a gamey whiff of him.
"Since you've given up showering, how 'bout investing in some cologne?" I muttered.
"This is cologne. Eau de Werewolf. I send to Transylvania for this shit."
"Go ahead and joke it off. You got half the Glass House circling you. Maybe if you didn't come in smelling like Big Foot, it would help."
"Lemme get back to you on that," he snarled. We walked into Cal's office.
"What's up?" Cal said. He removed his jacket, exposing huge arms in a short-sleeved shirt. His bi's and tri's bulged the white cotton.
"Cap, did you read the update I e-mailed you this morning?"
"On the hard gas lens? Looks promising."
"I think when we find out where it was made, it's gonna come back as being from a lab in one of the old Soviet Union countries."
"Are we having hunches again?" Cal said, half-smiling.
Zack shot me a dangerous look.
"Hunches based on shrewd observations," I corrected.
"Such as?"
"The tattoos in the vic's eyelids turn out to be Russian Cyrillic symbols. They translate: 'Don't wake up.' "
"How do you get tattoos done on your eyelids?" Cal asked. "Don't they have to press the needle down too hard?"
"I called a tattoo artist, Big Payaso, at the Electric Dragon in Venice. He told me this kind of eyelid art is mostly done in prison. They slide a spoon under the li d t o make a work table." Both Cal and Zack winced. "Also, the bullet came from a Russian automatic so I think the vic is maybe a Russian immigrant and the lens is gonna trace back to somewhere in the Soviet Union."
"Okay, so John Doe-Four is a homeless Russian who did time. That's why you wanted to see me?"
"As I told you yesterday, I think this last hit is a copycat. I think I may also have the thread that ties it together."
Cal got up and closed the door. Then he turned back and motioned for me to continue.
"I think this last guy might have done time in a Russian prison and John Doe Number Four might be an ROC hit."
"Russian Organized Crime?" Cal said, raising an eyebrow. His expression told me I better make this good.
"The Odessa mob is aggressive and proactive. They've been trying to infiltrate the department for at least fifteen years, ever since Little Japanese came over here from the Ukraine in the late eighties."
Little Japanese was a violent Russian gangster named Vyatcheslav Ivankov who got his street handle because he was short and had squinty eyes. He brought several members of the Odessa Mafia with him. They had started small, but now there were more than five thousand members listed in our gang book, with large concentrations of Armenian Odessa mobsters in Glendale, Burbank, and Hollywood. I didn't have to remind Cal that we found Forrest right on the Burbank city line.
"The
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