Heaven, INC: Chapter 24: TAILING THE GREEKS

EASTBOUND ON KING AVENUE,
MARKET PARK
10:48 AM PDT

YOU WANT FREAKY COINCIDENCE? That was the part where Jimmy found the silver Mercedes one block ahead and crossing Norcestor a block north of Imperial.

Owen looking south down Norcestor and commenting, “Whoa, dude, must be donut day. Check out all the cops.”

More like a dozen patrol cars and three-dozen windbreaker-wearing Feds. It was a lotta cops.

Returning his attention to the French, who’d now turned south on 86th Avenue, Jimmy went back to searching the radio for any news about Christian Ducroix. They rolled east down Imperial and headed back west up St. Angela, but Jimmy got nothing, as all 7 ClearCast-owned stations broadcast the same identical feeds on Bobby Falcône.

“ . . . tell our viewers how this will affect Mr. Falcône’s career? What comes next for this entertainment legend? What can Americans expect?”

“Well it’s clear that if these photos are legitimate, Bobby Falcône’s career is over. And if the allegations of this being a minor are true, it could really get bad.”

“You mean the economy.”

“Exactly, The concern, Blake, is the number of jobs lost in the Bobby Falcône industry, the records, television appearances, Vegas shows, t-shirts and refrigerator magnets, we’re talking a billion dollars a year sucked out of the economy. The fear is that this could tip us into outright recession. I think the Federal Reserve needs to consider rate cuts.”

On every station, that kind of bullshit. Except on the Rock where it was all butt jokes. Frigging Media.

The Mercedes was now less than 30 yards ahead. Jimmy could make out one Greek talking on the cell-phone while the other, Porkpie Hat, drove. Porkpie Hat had paid no attention to the rear-view mirror on the way from Coronado, why bother now, when there were so many cops and Feds to worry about as they turned south onto Norcestor. The Mercedes took the second right onto La Raza, turned north onto Eton before another right back onto St. Angela.

Owen belched. “I don’t know if it’s the circling or that Greek food, but I feel awful’”

“Just chill,” Jimmy said, “I think we’re here,” and whipped it into a space around the corner and one block away from where Elmond said the Feds were claiming Ducroix had been kidnaped in a fake car jacking. Whatever, somehow the French were tied into this via Mij Poopikov.

Jimmy parked the van in front of the corner house, a shabby thing with bars on the windows behind hedges comprised of those bushes that grow the fat red berries. Now, fat red berries were spread across the sidewalk and street in numbers such that Jimmy was forced to step on them . . . I could use some shopping-bag booties right about now to save the scoots . . . just exiting the van. He tried dodging the berries, but it was hopeless and when he checked . . . Shit . . . Jimmy saw the bottoms of his brand-new Stan Smith’s stained crimson with berry juice. Now peaking around the hedge, he spotted the Mercedes parked just around the corner and across from the Norcestor Arms’s nearest unit, the one marked with a great faded 1. Jimmy heard the French arguing with one another before they started in the direction of Building 1. At the far end of the street, he could make out the thronging crowd and a lot of patrol cars. So far, it looked like neither cops nor FBI had reached the first building.

Jimmy went returned to the van, pulling the Czech .40 caliber from under the seat as Owen said, “Dude, tell me you aren’t gonna shoot Bivo’s boys.”

“What, are you crazy? With a gig tonight?” Jimmy racked the slide, set the safety and slid the pistol into a pocket of his shorts. “It’s for emergency back-up.”

Owen grinned. “Dude, who needs back up when you’ve got Owen McClain, kung fu master? I’m not afraid of porkpie-hat-wearing French. I’ll come with.”

“Okay. We’re going into those apartments. The Norcestor Arms East.”

Owen pointed at the Norcestor Arms. “You mean those big spooky apartment buildings with the guys hanging out front who look like extras from a Escape from New York set?”

Jimmy said, “No, those spooky, but slightly smaller apartment building with the guys looking like extras from Escape from Saigon set,” as the French crossed the street catty corner.

Owen blinked. “Know what? Sketchy neighborhood like this, someone really oughtta stay in the van. Make sure no one steals a vacuum or the carpet unit.”

“Or the carpet protectant?”

“Exactly.” Owen clapped Jimmy on the shoulder. “You get into trouble, you call me. I’ll go get the cops.”

“Cell-phones don’t work inside the Norcestor Arms.”

“Well then I guess you’ll have to scream like a girl.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, just here to help.”

As he walked up the sidewalk, Jimmy heard the driver’s-side door locking behind him.