Pike phoned Jon Stone next. Stone’s phone rang five times before his voice mail answered, and Pike waited for the beep.

“It’s Pike. You there?”

Stone answered, talking loud over Nine Inch Nails.

“Fuck, man, I didn’t recognize the number.”

“Someone’s been able to find me without following me, Jon. That’s why I’m using a different phone. I think the Jeep might be bad.”

Nine Inch Nails vanished.

“You driving it now?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t come here. I’ll meet you.”

Twenty minutes later, Pike arrived at a car wash on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood, and pulled around back to the detailing bays as Stone had instructed. In the rear of the car wash, they couldn’t be seen from the street.

Stone’s black Rover was in one of the bays, and two young Latin men were detailing a black Porsche in another. Stone was with them, laughing about something when he saw Pike arrive. He pointed at the empty bay on the far side of his Rover, and that’s where Pike parked. One of the young men was sleeved out with gang tats. Neither looked over as Pike climbed from his Jeep.

Stone opened the back of his Rover and took out a long aluminum tube with a movable mirror jointed to a pod containing sensors and antennas. Jon’s security work often required him to scan for explosives and multiplatform surveillance devices. Jon was a pro, and had the equipment to accomplish his mission.

He swept the pod under the Jeep, talking to Pike as he watched a dial in the handle.

“You find these fucks?”

“Found the crew. They were dead.”

“No shit. Who bagged them?”

“Their boss.”

“No honor among scumbags. What was the butcher’s bill?”

“Three. Their boss is still up, but these three are down. One more to go.”

Stone paused between the Jeep’s headlights, and studied the dial. After a moment, he continued on around the Jeep, making a full sweep of the vehicle until he returned to the front end. Then he put the pole aside, and wiggled under the engine.

“Here you go.”

He rolled to his feet, and showed Pike a small gray box the size of a pack of cigarettes.

“GPS locator. High-end piece made by Raytheon under an NSA contract. This is top-dollar equipment. Federal?”

“ATF.”

Stone grinned.

“Right now, there’s an agent with a laptop staring at a real-time map overlay. X marks the spot, bro-right here at the car wash on Santa Monica Boulevard.”

He tossed it to Pike.

“Three choices-kill it, toss it, or-my personal favorite-tack it to a FedEx truck and let’m watch it roll all over town.”

Pike didn’t want Walsh to know he found it or had even thought to look for it, but he didn’t want her watching his path. If he put it on another vehicle, she would realize what he had done within a matter of hours. Pike tossed it back.

“Kill it, and I need you to do something else.”

“For Frank?”

“Yes.”

“I’m there.”

Pike told him about the guns-three thousand Chinese AKs stolen from the North Koreans.

Pike said, “Jakovich didn’t steal them. He bought them from someone. See what you can find out.”

Stone hesitated.

“About Frank?”

“About the guns. Frank didn’t have anything to do with this.”

Stone hesitated again, but made a slow nod.

“I know a guy who knows a guy, but I want a piece of the hunt. I’ll help, but I want some trigger time. For Frank.”

“You got it.”

24

PIKE DROVE TO COLE’S HOUSE when he left the car wash, climbing the narrow canyon roads to the top of the hills, then along Woodrow Wil son Drive through a heavily wooded canyon. He decided Walsh had planted the locator on his Jeep the day they stopped him at Runyon Canyon. Maybe that was why they stopped him the way they did, to keep him clear of the Jeep until they finished installing the locator.

Pike wondered now if she bugged him to follow his own investigation, or because she believed Frank was involved with the guns. There would have been no reason for her to believe Pike was involved in an arms deal, but maybe she knew something Pike didn’t yet know.

The sky was deep purple when Pike pulled up in front of Cole’s A-frame and let himself into the kitchen. Pike liked Cole’s home, and had helped Cole maintain it over the years whenever Cole needed a hand painting, roofing, or staining the deck. Perched high in the canyons where it was surrounded by trees, Cole’s rustic A-frame felt removed from the city. Pike took a bottle of water from Cole’s fridge. A dish of cat food sat on the floor beside a small bowl of water. The house smelled of eucalyptus, wild fennel, and the flora that grew on the canyon’s steep slopes.

Cole, Rina, and Yanni were in the living room, watching the news. Rina’s bag was on the floor at her feet, along with a bag that probably belonged to Yanni. They glanced over when Pike entered, and Cole muted the sound. Yanni’s face was purple where Pike hit him.

Rina squinted at Pike as if she were sizing him up for target practice, then waved toward Cole.

“We are not going to stay here. It smells like cats.”

Cole arched his eyebrows, the arch saying, You see what it’s like?

Pike motioned Cole over.

“See you a minute?”

When Cole joined him, Pike lowered his voice.

“You were going to check out her story. What do you think?”

Cole glanced at Rina and Yanni to make sure they couldn’t hear, then shrugged.

“I located one of Ana’s friends, and have a call into another. Everything checked. Rina spent the 90210 years protecting her sister. Kept Ana completely away from this stuff, just like she said.”

Rina stood, then raised her voice.

“I don’t like this whispering. I told you already once. Yanni and I, we are going to go.”

Pike said, “Yanni’s building is being watched by the police. You shouldn’t go back.”

Yanni mumbled something in Serbian, and Rina chattered something back.

She said, “The police don’t care about Yanni. Why would they watch?”

“They followed me earlier today. They know I’m trying to find Darko, so now they believe someone in Yanni’s complex has information about him. They will look for that person.”

Rina and Yanni launched into more Serbian, and Yanni didn’t look happy. Cole turned away as if he had heard enough foreign-language conversations to last a lifetime.

“You want something to eat?”

“Not yet. Did you find anything running the check on Darko’s condominiums?”

“Yeah. They’re not his condos-not in his name or any name I’ve been able to connect to him. This guy is hidden, man-he does not exist, so he’s almost certainly here illegally.”

Cole ticked off the points.

“No one named Michael Darko appears in the DMV, the Social Security rolls, or the California state tax rolls. No one by that name has an account with any of the major credit card companies, the public utilities here in Los Angeles County, the telephone company, or any of the major cell service providers. Michael Darko has no criminal record that I’ve been able to find.”

Rina said, “In Serbia. In Serbia, he was arrested. This I know.”

Pike thought over what George told him about how the old-school Serb gangsters tried to instill fear by creating a myth for themselves. The Shark. Here, then gone, like an imagined man. A monster his men talked about, but never saw.

Pike shrugged.

“He’s just another turd.”

Cole said, “A smart turd. His hookers rent their condos in their own names. Darko supplies them with a credit and rental history so they look good on the application, and kicks back cash to cover their rent, but they have to write the checks. Same with their phones, and other expenses. Everything is in their names, and they pay the bills. That way he avoids a paper trail to the girls.”

Rina said, “Yes. That is why we follow the money. The money will give us the man.”