Too Wylde (21 page)

Nina went around to the back, stepped quietly
and cautiously up the steps, staying to the sides where the joints
were, avoiding a creak. Stepped up to the back door, tested it.
Open.

Nico mouthed "What the fuck?"

She gave him a hard look, turned, and eased
the door open and slipped through, a ghost in the darkness.

Oh, fucking great,
Nico thought.
Just what I want to do. Make a stealth entry on two subjects who
might have just blown a fucking building up, all by my lonesome.
Time to man up or go home.
He took a deep breath, slipped
through the open door.

Nina was silhouetted against the dim light
from the front. The back door opened into a filthy kitchen, the
sink overflowing with dishes and a faint stink of rot. A long
straight hallway led to the front room. Nina moved so silently; it
struck Nico that she could be so quiet. He heard the murmur of
voices in the front room. She kept going, toe/heel, toe/heel, just
like a hunter. She moved past two doors on the left, probably
bedrooms, one on the right, bathroom, and then she button hooked
smoothly into the front room.

"Police," she said in a low, calm voice.
"Keep your hands where I can see them."

Nico came around behind her, quick scan to
the rear, nothing, then off at a forty-five degree angle to her
right and rear. A man, the suspect from the picture; a young Hmong
woman, dressed in skin tight pants and silk halter, stilletto
heels, curled up on the couch, listening to him.

The girl gasped, then squealed in fear.

The Hmong man looked at them, kept his hands
in sight...then grabbed the Hmong girl and pulled her in front of
him --

"STOP!" Nina shouted in full command voice
--

-- the girl screamed --

-- Nico stepped off, got a better picture,
saw the man's hand caught up in his shirt tail -- "GUN!"

-- "DON'T," Nina shouted. "WE --"

Nico dropped his sight picture down and
rolled the trigger for one shot; massive blast and concussion on
the unprotected ears inside, muzzle flash in the dim room, and
Hmong man's leg caved in backwards, dropping him, down, then Nina
stepped in and clubbed the Hmong girl down, sweeping her leg out
from beneath her, Nico stepped in and covered the Hmong man, still
scrabbling for his waistband so he kicked him, hard, in the gut and
stamped on the bloody wound and the downed Hmong man screamed, high
and shrill and thready, Nina threw flex cuffs on the girl, then
kicked the Hmong man in the head, knelt on him and grabbed a hand,
pulled it back, he started to struggle and Nico leaned on the open
wound again till he screamed, then Nina flex cuffed both hands
quickly, pulled his shirt up over his head, and pulled out the
Beretta 92FS tucked into his pants. Rolled him on his side, checked
for any other injuries.

"Throw me the Blow Out Kit," she said.

Nico dropped the muzzle, pulled out the
cordura cased Blow Out Kit and tossed it to her. She opened it up,
pulled out an Izzy and ripped it open, then pressed it onto the
open wound, tied it in, opened another and put it on what was left
of the back of his thigh and shoved it in there, then wrapped
Kerlix around the whole thing, cinched it down tight. She checked
his breathing and his pulse at his throat.

"He'll live till we get him to the hospital,"
she said. "Nice shot."

"Hard to miss at seven feet."

"I know a lot of cops that do."

"Shouldn't be cops, then."

"There's that."

"So, don't mind me asking, but what the fuck
are we doing?"

Nina grabbed up the Hmong man's head. "Who
sent you to the building today?"

He just stared at her, his teeth skinned back
in pain.

"Step on him," Nina said.

"Sure, why not?" Nico said. He put his foot
on the fresh bandage and leaned. The Hmong man screamed. The girl
shouted in Hmong, then switched to English: "You're hurting him!
Stop it!"

"Shut up," Nico said. "You could get hurt,
too."

"Let's try this again," Nina said. "Who sent
you?"

He spat. Missed her. Nina sighed. "Okay,
tough case. Guess I got you. Maybe the big bad OGA will make you
into an enemy combatant and take your ass to Gitmo, stick your head
in a sink full of water till you talk. Or you can give me what I
want, and we'll keep you as a witness. What do you say?"

He spat.

"Wrong answer." She picked holstered her
pistol, took out her cell phone, punched in a number. "Mr. Pham?"
she said. "I need your help. Right now. Can you send some of your
associates here? I'm at the address you gave me. Yes. Right away.
Thank you."

The Hmong girl's eyes got wide. "You
know...Mr. Pham?"

"You know him, little girl?" Nina said.

"Yes."

"You're gonna get to know him a lot better
pretty soon."

"No! Please?"

Now, this is interesting,
Nico
thought.
What the hell?

"He's on his way," Nina said. "But maybe you
could go. What's this guy's name?"

The Hmong girl was sweating. She cut her eyes
at the wounded man, back at Nina. "Cho. His name is Cho."

"Cho? Cho what?"

"Cho Trinh."

"Does he live here?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Lucy. Lucy Vang."

"Lucy?"

"Luc in Hmong. Lucy."

"Lucy, you've got about five minutes before
Mr. Pham and his friends get here. A pretty young girl like you, I
think you know what they're going to do when they take you out of
here, right?"

"Whoa," Nico said. "I'm not..."

"Shut up," Nina said casually. "Back to you,
missy. You his girlfriend?"

"Sometimes, yes, sometimes, " Lucy
stammered.

"What does he do?"

"I don't know, he work for some people, I
don't know what he does."

"Does he always have money?"

"Yes, most of the time, yes."

"Does he live anywhere else or just
here?"

"Just here, I think."

"Where do you fuck him? Here or someplace
else?"

"Here. Sometimes in hotel."

"What hotels?"

"Many...."

"Who does he hang around with? Who are his
friends? Who else do you know that knows him?"

"Not so many, just a few."

"Names. Now."

Lucy started to rattle off names.

"Nico? Record these on your iPhone," Nina
said.

He handed it to her, and she hit voice memo
and began recording a list of names.

"Spell them," Nina said. "Addresses, phone
numbers, places they hang out, where you met them. Anything at all
you can remember at them."

She was still on it when a cruiser pulled up,
hit the spotlight on the front porch.

"I'll deal with it," Nico said. He stepped
out on the porch, rifle dangling, creds up in his hand.

"Stay where you are, secure your weapon,"
came a voice over the squad loudspeaker.

"Federal Agent!" Nico shouted. "I'm securing
the rifle." He set it down, held his creds out. Two uniforms bailed
out, one held back to cover him, the other approached, pistol out
and down by his side, checked his creds.

"We got a report of shots fired," the uniform
said.

Nina shouted out the front door.
"Fredrickson, that you? It's Capushek!"

Fredrickson leaned back to peer through the
door. "Detective? You need us?"

"No, we're good, I got it."

"I need to..."

"Just g'wan, I said I got it. Thanks!" Nina
shouted back.

Fredrickson shrugged. "Cool with me. We're
clear here. Later."

He went off and got back into the cruiser
with his partner and they drove away, leaving Nico staring with
bemusement after them. This had to be the strangest damn police
department he'd ever run across. Or else he had the partner with
the biggest balls and most juice of any cop he'd ever met. Maybe
both.

As soon as the cruiser disappeared around the
corner, a Hummer down the street turned on its lights, pulled away
from the curb, pulled up next to Nico. Mr. Pham hung his head out
the passenger side.

"Hello. Where is Sergeant Capushek?"

"Inside," Nico said. "Join the party."

Mr. Pham got out with three of the biggest
Asians Nico had ever seen, and one small wiry one that looked to
his experienced eyes as probably the most dangerous one. Leather
car coats, the jacket of choice for the experienced street
gunfighter on the Asian side, and hands conspicuously in the open.
They brushed past Nico and entered the room. Nico scanned the
street and followed them in.

Inside, the men ringed the wounded Hmong man
and the terrified girl.

"This is what we're gonna do," Nina said.
"I'm calling someone in, and then we're *all* gonna go someplace,
and you, Mr. Pham, I need you to help with translation and
persuasion, you understand that word?"

"Yes, Sergeant," Mr. Pham said in a chilly
tone. "This word I know."

"Good. I appreciate your help...and your
silence about this." She looked at Nico. "You down?"

"In for a penny, in for a pound," Nico said.
"What the hell, I didn't much have career prospects anyway."

"Not like that. We get things done. I'm
calling OGA Chick and having her meet us someplace. Mr. Pham...you
have a place? A quiet place?"

"Yes, Sergeant," he said. "Very quiet."

"We don't hurt the girl," Nina said.

"As you wish," Mr. Pham said. "We must
go."

"I will tell you...." the wounded Hmong man
started.

"Too late, ingrate," Nina said. "Now we're on
someone else's clock..."

Nico stepped back and said, "Well, it's never
boring here in Lake City..."

Deon Oosthuizen

With his headset on and neck mike in place,
Deon almost looked like a DJ/VJ himself, if it weren't for his
skeletal build and his tactical clothing. He stood off to one side
from the spot-lit DJ stand, out of the light, his guitar case
leaning against a tall wooden stool. He grinned at Guz, seated at
the bar, his guitar case between the stool and the bar and his leg
pressed up against it, sipping a ginger ale and besieged by the
girls circulating the floor who knew he was a friend of the house
*and* seriously cute *and* not that interested, which caused them
to redouble their efforts.

The lights were down, the strobes going, and
it was going to be Lizzy's set soon.

Nate the Vj/DJ called it out: "And now, Miss
Lizzy, let's give her a big Trojan Horse welcome!"

And the house erupted in shouts, whistles and
claps.

Girl had a following, that's for sure...

Nate spun Prince's Cream, which was old
enough of a song that even Deon had heard it, and appreciated it:
...this is it...cream...get on top...

Lizzy strutted down the runway, a pale blue
wrap dropping to the floor as she went down, hitting the beat and
working the skimpy blue halter and panties she wore....

...cause you got that burning desire...

Girl knew how to work, that's for sure. Never
did privates, but then, she didn't need to. She was a main draw,
and Lance T. never forced her to do anything she didn't want to do.
Not least of all because it was a good idea from a business
perspective, but it also paid to stay on the side of her
boyfriend...

...get on top, cream, don't you stop...

Deon spotted the Asian shooters entering
before Guz did; Deon had the high ground and the overwatch. He
tapped the tone button on his set, then clucked out "Shave and a
haircut, two bits..." on his throat mike.

Guz set his glass down, pushed his stool
back, bent over as though he were lacing his shoe, effectively
disappearing beneath the line of the bar.

"Four shooters, Asian, to your left, diamond
formation, black leathers, tracking up the wall," Deon
whispered.

"Got it," came the cool reply.

Guz still looked like he was fiddling with
his shoe, though Deon saw his shoulder working as he popped the
velcro on his guitar case.

"Stand by," Deon said.

Lance T came rushing down the stairs, headed
right for the Asians who stopped when they saw him. Deon couldn't
make out what Lance was saying, but it was obvious he knew these
guys. What the....?

And now Nate cut into some Rob Zombie,
'Living Dead Girl'

Who is this irresistible creature with a love
for the dead?....

"Hold in place, Guz." Deon said.

Guz nodded, raised his head nodding in beat
to the music, slow casual scan, making the targets, nodding...

...on the devils wing...living dead
girl...sing it to me...

"Acquired," Gus said.

"Acquired," Deon said.

...living dead girl...sing it to me...

Lance T

"There's a lot of people in here, you need to
stay cool," Lance said.

"We're cool, man" the big Hmong man said, a
hint of a sneer in his voice as he looked Lance up and down. "Don't
sweat it, wrestler. We get what we came for and we're gone..."

Lance felt like elbowing the smug asshole
right in the face. Hell, maybe he would...another time. He just had
to get this shit out of the club right now. He had Kai and the
security crew like rabid pitbulls straining at the leash, Jimmy and
Deon and that scary-ass Mr. Normal they brought in here, armed to
the teeth and probably drawn down on us right now, and an ancient
Hmong player that for some reason people wanted to kill and other
people were willing to send heavily armed players at the drop of a
hat to protect.

Just another night in The Trojan Horse.

Jimmy John Wylde

Didn't like what he was seeing with Lance T.
Body language was all wrong. He didn't want to walk off and leave
his guitar case. He called over a waitress, Renee, and said, "Hon,
stand right here for a second and watch that case."

Renee looked at it, looked at him, looked at
Lance, and said, "For a minute, okay, Jimmy? Should I...."