Read Online Private L.A. by James Patterson, Mark Sullivan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Patterson, Mark Sullivan
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clapped, pointed at the iPad in front of him, and roared, “Thar she blows! ‘Tribute’ on the LAPD Facebook page!”
Cobb set down a cup of hot coffee and hurried to see. There it was: “Tribute to the fallen at CVS.”
“You were right on the money, Mr. Cobb,” Johnson said admiringly.
Cobb glanced at his watch. It was eight thirty in the evening. “An hour before I’d predicted, but we’ll take it.”
He turned to Kelleher, said, “Your ball from here.”
The big man smoothed his red beard and began typing on his keyboard.
“Use the New Delhi and Panama crisscrosses,” Watson said.
Kelleher’s left eye screwed up. “Who taught you about the New Delhi and Panama crisscrosses?”
“Just saying,” Watson said.
“No chance they’re paying us two million tomorrow,” Nickerson said.
“Of course not,” Cobb agreed. “They’ll try some sort of scam. Why?”
Watson muttered, “Because the whole world’s a scam, Mr. Cobb.”
“Damn right it is,” Cobb said, feeling in the groove of a familiar rant. “Everybody’s in a scam or being worked by a scammer. Look at Wall Street. Scam. Medicine? Scam. Politics? Scam. Religion? Bigger scam. Military?”
“Biggest scam,” said Hernandez and Johnson in unison.
“Plunderers,” Nickerson said.
Cobb cracked his knuckles, gestured with his scarred chin to Kelleher. “Time to work them a little harder now. Turn up the voltage.”
Chapter 22
I GOT BACK to my house around ten. I’d been up for forty-two straight hours, running on fumes, desperately in need of rest. The following day was shaping up to be a brute and I wanted to have my wits about me, rather than stumbling around foggy, maybe making a mistake that might cost six innocent people their lives.
Justine called while I was brushing my teeth after a well-deserved shower.
“I just got home,” she said.
“Join the club,” I said, and yawned.
“What was the emergency meeting about?”
“Can’t talk about it. Anything new up at the Harlows’?”
“Not at the ranch, no. Or at least nothing until Sci and Mo-bot can run tests on the samples they brought back. I don’t like Sanders and the other two.”
“I could tell. They’re playing us somehow.”
In the background I could hear dogs barking. “How’s the bulldog?”
“Better,” Justine said. “Settling in.”
“You took her with you?”
“You think I was going to let the dog be taken hostage by Camilla Bronson and locked in some hideaway along with the Harlows’ help?”
“Locked? That’s a little strong.”
“Is it?”
I knew better than to argue any further. “Listen, I’ve got to sleep.”
“One more thing,” she said. “When I went online, I saw a story the AP picked up from a newspaper in Guadalajara.”
I rubbed my head, which was pounding. “Okay?”
“It says that Thom and Jennifer Harlow were spotted stumbling around one of the more notorious sections of that city last night,” she said. “Witnesses claimed they looked past the point of drunkenness.”
“Guadalajara?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed my temples. “Looks like you’re going to Mexico in the morning. Take Cruz with you.”
“But the dogs …” she began.
A beep sounded. Call waiting. I looked, closed my eyes, and swore my head was being split in two. My dear brother, Tommy, was calling.
“You’re one of the most competent people I know,” I said to Justine. “Figure it out. Get to Guadalajara. Find the Harlows.”
I hit ANSWER , said, “Tommy?”
“Heh,” Tommy said, laughed.
He’d been drinking. My brother always laughs with a “heh” when he’s been drinking, another shitty trait Junior picked up from our late father. “Didn’t think you were gonna answer there, bro,” he said. “Long time no see.”
“What do you want?”
We hadn’t spoken in months, certainly not since Clay Harris died.
“My mouthpiece called a couple of hours ago,” Tommy said. “That son of a bitch Billy Blaze
is
indicting
Cobb set down a cup of hot coffee and hurried to see. There it was: “Tribute to the fallen at CVS.”
“You were right on the money, Mr. Cobb,” Johnson said admiringly.
Cobb glanced at his watch. It was eight thirty in the evening. “An hour before I’d predicted, but we’ll take it.”
He turned to Kelleher, said, “Your ball from here.”
The big man smoothed his red beard and began typing on his keyboard.
“Use the New Delhi and Panama crisscrosses,” Watson said.
Kelleher’s left eye screwed up. “Who taught you about the New Delhi and Panama crisscrosses?”
“Just saying,” Watson said.
“No chance they’re paying us two million tomorrow,” Nickerson said.
“Of course not,” Cobb agreed. “They’ll try some sort of scam. Why?”
Watson muttered, “Because the whole world’s a scam, Mr. Cobb.”
“Damn right it is,” Cobb said, feeling in the groove of a familiar rant. “Everybody’s in a scam or being worked by a scammer. Look at Wall Street. Scam. Medicine? Scam. Politics? Scam. Religion? Bigger scam. Military?”
“Biggest scam,” said Hernandez and Johnson in unison.
“Plunderers,” Nickerson said.
Cobb cracked his knuckles, gestured with his scarred chin to Kelleher. “Time to work them a little harder now. Turn up the voltage.”
Chapter 22
I GOT BACK to my house around ten. I’d been up for forty-two straight hours, running on fumes, desperately in need of rest. The following day was shaping up to be a brute and I wanted to have my wits about me, rather than stumbling around foggy, maybe making a mistake that might cost six innocent people their lives.
Justine called while I was brushing my teeth after a well-deserved shower.
“I just got home,” she said.
“Join the club,” I said, and yawned.
“What was the emergency meeting about?”
“Can’t talk about it. Anything new up at the Harlows’?”
“Not at the ranch, no. Or at least nothing until Sci and Mo-bot can run tests on the samples they brought back. I don’t like Sanders and the other two.”
“I could tell. They’re playing us somehow.”
In the background I could hear dogs barking. “How’s the bulldog?”
“Better,” Justine said. “Settling in.”
“You took her with you?”
“You think I was going to let the dog be taken hostage by Camilla Bronson and locked in some hideaway along with the Harlows’ help?”
“Locked? That’s a little strong.”
“Is it?”
I knew better than to argue any further. “Listen, I’ve got to sleep.”
“One more thing,” she said. “When I went online, I saw a story the AP picked up from a newspaper in Guadalajara.”
I rubbed my head, which was pounding. “Okay?”
“It says that Thom and Jennifer Harlow were spotted stumbling around one of the more notorious sections of that city last night,” she said. “Witnesses claimed they looked past the point of drunkenness.”
“Guadalajara?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed my temples. “Looks like you’re going to Mexico in the morning. Take Cruz with you.”
“But the dogs …” she began.
A beep sounded. Call waiting. I looked, closed my eyes, and swore my head was being split in two. My dear brother, Tommy, was calling.
“You’re one of the most competent people I know,” I said to Justine. “Figure it out. Get to Guadalajara. Find the Harlows.”
I hit ANSWER , said, “Tommy?”
“Heh,” Tommy said, laughed.
He’d been drinking. My brother always laughs with a “heh” when he’s been drinking, another shitty trait Junior picked up from our late father. “Didn’t think you were gonna answer there, bro,” he said. “Long time no see.”
“What do you want?”
We hadn’t spoken in months, certainly not since Clay Harris died.
“My mouthpiece called a couple of hours ago,” Tommy said. “That son of a bitch Billy Blaze
is
indicting
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