Read Online Cold Hit by Stephen J. Cannell - Free Book Online Page A
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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Odessa mob has tried to infiltrate the LAPD tw o o r three times before," I said. "Maybe they put a mole in the ME's office and somehow found out about the symbol carved on the victim's chest. With that piece of info, they could duplicate these killings and use the Fingertip case to hide a high-profile mob execution."
Cal looked over at Zack. "How 'bout you? Whatta you think?"
"I completely disagree. I think John Doe-Four is part of the Fingertip case," Zack said, not looking at me. "Besides, if we isolate the case out on weak shit like this, we got a lotta explaining to do. There's more at stake here for all of us, than just who's killing a few bums."
He was obviously talking about our careers. So, despite his promise to the contrary, Zack had left me hanging. Maybe I should call that the last straw.
Cal thought for a moment, and then leaned forward on the edge of his desk. "I agree. We're not gonna take this last kill out of the Fingertip case because no matter how we rig it, it's still only a theory with nothing to back it up. But I also agree with you that all this background is starting to make this last kill look shaky, so I'll put a little weight on the Russian angle. Hibbs and DeMarco are freed up right now. I'll send them down to Russian Town with the dead guy's photo. Have them show it around, see if anybody knows him. But until something tells us for sure, like a positive ID or a witness, this last guy stays in the Fingertip case." He got up and opened his office door. "Stay in touch with DeMarco and Hibbs, but keep this on the DL. It leak s a nd you two humps will be workin' Saturday traffic at the Coliseum."
"Yes, sir," I muttered.
Zack and I turned and started out of the office. But Cal stopped us.
"And one more thing. If this investigation doesn't get a whole lot better before the next body drops, I'm gonna have to make a move."
"What's that mean?" I asked him.
"It means you guys better hurry up and clear these murders."
We nodded and exited the office.
"Thanks for the backup," I muttered. "Motherfucker's about to replace us," Zack growled.
errell Bell has lousy footwork," Chooch said. "H e d oesn't set up good at all. Remember the Montebello game? Three picks. If he goes to USC, I'll smoke him. I can't believe Coach Carroll would be recruiting that guy."
Chooch had been going on like that since we all arrived at Toritos, our favorite Mexican restaurant near the Pier in Venice. It was 6:30 and Alexa, Delfina, and I had barely been able to find an opening in his wall of braggadocio.
"Okay, you want to know who's pretty good?" he conceded. "Andre Davis from Servite. He's not wha t y ou'd exactly call overpowering as a runner, but the guy has an okay gun. His problem is he's slow. You gotta be able to run the naked bootleg and have enough mobility so when Coach Sarkisian wants to move the pocket, you can get out there. Davis probably can't break five flat in the forty."
"Anybody want to order?" Alexa said, shooting me a hooded look that said, what's gotten into this boy?
"Maybe you ought to wait and see if they even offer you a scholarship before you do all this brilliant hatchet work on the competition," I said.
"Si, Querido," Delfina agreed. "It is not good to criticize others to make yourself strong."
"I'm just saying . . . if Coach Kiffen saw two of my games, then he's gotta know I have great mobility. That's a big plus running the USC offense." Then, without taking a breath: "If I can get rid of my last Spanish language requirement, which I should be able to test out of, maybe I can graduate early, get out of spring term at Harvard Westlake and enroll at SC for spring football. If I got a jump on those two guys, I know I'd be ahead on the depth chart by fall. Whatta ya think, Dad?"
I didn't know what I thought beyond being put off by his attitude.
Our waitress came to the table and everybody ordered the combination plate.
"Anything for dessert?" our waitress asked. "If you want the Mexican
Cal looked over at Zack. "How 'bout you? Whatta you think?"
"I completely disagree. I think John Doe-Four is part of the Fingertip case," Zack said, not looking at me. "Besides, if we isolate the case out on weak shit like this, we got a lotta explaining to do. There's more at stake here for all of us, than just who's killing a few bums."
He was obviously talking about our careers. So, despite his promise to the contrary, Zack had left me hanging. Maybe I should call that the last straw.
Cal thought for a moment, and then leaned forward on the edge of his desk. "I agree. We're not gonna take this last kill out of the Fingertip case because no matter how we rig it, it's still only a theory with nothing to back it up. But I also agree with you that all this background is starting to make this last kill look shaky, so I'll put a little weight on the Russian angle. Hibbs and DeMarco are freed up right now. I'll send them down to Russian Town with the dead guy's photo. Have them show it around, see if anybody knows him. But until something tells us for sure, like a positive ID or a witness, this last guy stays in the Fingertip case." He got up and opened his office door. "Stay in touch with DeMarco and Hibbs, but keep this on the DL. It leak s a nd you two humps will be workin' Saturday traffic at the Coliseum."
"Yes, sir," I muttered.
Zack and I turned and started out of the office. But Cal stopped us.
"And one more thing. If this investigation doesn't get a whole lot better before the next body drops, I'm gonna have to make a move."
"What's that mean?" I asked him.
"It means you guys better hurry up and clear these murders."
We nodded and exited the office.
"Thanks for the backup," I muttered. "Motherfucker's about to replace us," Zack growled.
errell Bell has lousy footwork," Chooch said. "H e d oesn't set up good at all. Remember the Montebello game? Three picks. If he goes to USC, I'll smoke him. I can't believe Coach Carroll would be recruiting that guy."
Chooch had been going on like that since we all arrived at Toritos, our favorite Mexican restaurant near the Pier in Venice. It was 6:30 and Alexa, Delfina, and I had barely been able to find an opening in his wall of braggadocio.
"Okay, you want to know who's pretty good?" he conceded. "Andre Davis from Servite. He's not wha t y ou'd exactly call overpowering as a runner, but the guy has an okay gun. His problem is he's slow. You gotta be able to run the naked bootleg and have enough mobility so when Coach Sarkisian wants to move the pocket, you can get out there. Davis probably can't break five flat in the forty."
"Anybody want to order?" Alexa said, shooting me a hooded look that said, what's gotten into this boy?
"Maybe you ought to wait and see if they even offer you a scholarship before you do all this brilliant hatchet work on the competition," I said.
"Si, Querido," Delfina agreed. "It is not good to criticize others to make yourself strong."
"I'm just saying . . . if Coach Kiffen saw two of my games, then he's gotta know I have great mobility. That's a big plus running the USC offense." Then, without taking a breath: "If I can get rid of my last Spanish language requirement, which I should be able to test out of, maybe I can graduate early, get out of spring term at Harvard Westlake and enroll at SC for spring football. If I got a jump on those two guys, I know I'd be ahead on the depth chart by fall. Whatta ya think, Dad?"
I didn't know what I thought beyond being put off by his attitude.
Our waitress came to the table and everybody ordered the combination plate.
"Anything for dessert?" our waitress asked. "If you want the Mexican
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