Read Online Dead Is Dead (The Jack Bertolino Series Book 3) by John Lansing - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Lansing
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“It might be connected,” Jack said, “but how many bangers you heard of that fired from a sniper’s nest? They like to get up close and personal. It’s that machismo thing.”
No argument from Nick, who had butted heads with more than his share of street gangsters in Los Angeles, working narcotics with twenty-three years in.
“Why didn’t they take the dope?” Tommy asked.
“Good question,” Jack said. “Thoughts?”
“They didn’t know the drugs were there?” Tommy continued, spinning. “They were afraid of being ID’d?”
“The shooter knew enough to set up an ambush on Vegas’s delivery route,” Jack pointed out. “And you were right about the shooting being solid. No question that Vegas was the intended target.”
“It wasn’t about the drugs,” Nick said and emptied his second shot of Herradura Silver. “It was retribution. Some fuckin’ slight. He might have looked at someone sideways. Who knows with these jamokes?” But the question left him feeling uncomfortable. “Give the information to Gallina, let him run with it.”
“Man won’t change his colors,” Jack said. “He’s comfortable with the drive-by. Path of least resistance. He wants to put the case to bed and get a pat on the ass from the mayor.”
“The mayor’s that persuasion?” Tommy asked, eyes crinkling into a smile.
“Ask his wife.”
Nick barked a laugh.
“Do we know their supplier?” Jack asked.
“I’m thinking Sinaloa,” Nick said. “The Lenox gang has ties to the Mexican mafia who have ties to the cartel.”
“We know they’re not averse to sending a shooter if someone’s double-dipping,” Jack said, knowing he wasn’t educating Nick to the cartel’s behavior.
“Or on the payroll,” Tommy said, referring to a drug dealer turned informant being managed by the Feds.
“The shooting feels too clean,” Jack said. “They would’ve shredded him to make a statement. But it’s something to think about. I’ll put in a call to Kenny Ortega and see if the DEA had Vegas in their database, or on their radar screen.”
Kenny Ortega was an old friend and DEA agent Jack had a major history with. Jack, Kenny, and a CI named Mia had shut down a Colombian drug lord and put a ton of cocaine on the table.
Nick shot a glance through a six-foot-tall metal sculpture that divided the dining room from the bar, checked out a score on the wall-mounted television behind the bar. “Fuckin’ Lakers,” he said under his breath, and then with a wolf grin, “So, Jack, you nailed her, right?”
Jack played it straight, ignoring Nick’s knowing gaze and Tommy’s chuckle.
“Who?”
“Who, my ass. Come on, bro. . . .You made the eleven o’clock news, for crissakes. You were all over TMZ. Looked like a kid on prom night with the limo and that crazy hair and goofy grin. My wife replayed it for me in slo-mo three times. We had a good laugh. No doubt about it, my friend, you nailed her.”
“You were laughing with me, right?” he said, not smiling but not upset.
“You made my night.”
“I think your detecting skills are getting rusty.” He took a bite of another fry, letting the male camaraderie die down before he deflected their attention. “We should get a car on the Sanchez house. Get someone to watch young Juan.”
Nick waved his hand. “Call Gallina; it’s his case. Bring him up to speed, he can get it done.”
Jack glanced over at Tommy, who stifled a shit-eating grin and nodded his head in agreement.
“Fuck.” But Jack knew it was the best course of action. He couldn’t roam for too long. In the end, Gallina had to take credit for the case.
----
“Yah know, Bertolino, I see you, I get an instant pain in my gut,” Gallina said from a crouched position as he eyeballed the view of the Sanchez house from the alleged sniper’s nest. Gallina grunted, and his knees cracked as he stood up. The oldest young man Jack knew.
“It’s a gift,” Jack said.
“Don’t get your
“It might be connected,” Jack said, “but how many bangers you heard of that fired from a sniper’s nest? They like to get up close and personal. It’s that machismo thing.”
No argument from Nick, who had butted heads with more than his share of street gangsters in Los Angeles, working narcotics with twenty-three years in.
“Why didn’t they take the dope?” Tommy asked.
“Good question,” Jack said. “Thoughts?”
“They didn’t know the drugs were there?” Tommy continued, spinning. “They were afraid of being ID’d?”
“The shooter knew enough to set up an ambush on Vegas’s delivery route,” Jack pointed out. “And you were right about the shooting being solid. No question that Vegas was the intended target.”
“It wasn’t about the drugs,” Nick said and emptied his second shot of Herradura Silver. “It was retribution. Some fuckin’ slight. He might have looked at someone sideways. Who knows with these jamokes?” But the question left him feeling uncomfortable. “Give the information to Gallina, let him run with it.”
“Man won’t change his colors,” Jack said. “He’s comfortable with the drive-by. Path of least resistance. He wants to put the case to bed and get a pat on the ass from the mayor.”
“The mayor’s that persuasion?” Tommy asked, eyes crinkling into a smile.
“Ask his wife.”
Nick barked a laugh.
“Do we know their supplier?” Jack asked.
“I’m thinking Sinaloa,” Nick said. “The Lenox gang has ties to the Mexican mafia who have ties to the cartel.”
“We know they’re not averse to sending a shooter if someone’s double-dipping,” Jack said, knowing he wasn’t educating Nick to the cartel’s behavior.
“Or on the payroll,” Tommy said, referring to a drug dealer turned informant being managed by the Feds.
“The shooting feels too clean,” Jack said. “They would’ve shredded him to make a statement. But it’s something to think about. I’ll put in a call to Kenny Ortega and see if the DEA had Vegas in their database, or on their radar screen.”
Kenny Ortega was an old friend and DEA agent Jack had a major history with. Jack, Kenny, and a CI named Mia had shut down a Colombian drug lord and put a ton of cocaine on the table.
Nick shot a glance through a six-foot-tall metal sculpture that divided the dining room from the bar, checked out a score on the wall-mounted television behind the bar. “Fuckin’ Lakers,” he said under his breath, and then with a wolf grin, “So, Jack, you nailed her, right?”
Jack played it straight, ignoring Nick’s knowing gaze and Tommy’s chuckle.
“Who?”
“Who, my ass. Come on, bro. . . .You made the eleven o’clock news, for crissakes. You were all over TMZ. Looked like a kid on prom night with the limo and that crazy hair and goofy grin. My wife replayed it for me in slo-mo three times. We had a good laugh. No doubt about it, my friend, you nailed her.”
“You were laughing with me, right?” he said, not smiling but not upset.
“You made my night.”
“I think your detecting skills are getting rusty.” He took a bite of another fry, letting the male camaraderie die down before he deflected their attention. “We should get a car on the Sanchez house. Get someone to watch young Juan.”
Nick waved his hand. “Call Gallina; it’s his case. Bring him up to speed, he can get it done.”
Jack glanced over at Tommy, who stifled a shit-eating grin and nodded his head in agreement.
“Fuck.” But Jack knew it was the best course of action. He couldn’t roam for too long. In the end, Gallina had to take credit for the case.
----
“Yah know, Bertolino, I see you, I get an instant pain in my gut,” Gallina said from a crouched position as he eyeballed the view of the Sanchez house from the alleged sniper’s nest. Gallina grunted, and his knees cracked as he stood up. The oldest young man Jack knew.
“It’s a gift,” Jack said.
“Don’t get your
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