Deadeye Read Free Page A

to his office. Jenkins, coffee mug in hand, brought up the rear.
    In contrast to many of his peers, the walls of McGinty’s office bore no pictures of him shaking hands with the mayor, accepting a commendation, or fly-fishing. And every item on his desk had a purpose. It was as if everything about the inner man was locked away. “Okay,” McGinty said as he pushed a pair of manila folders across the desk. “Here’s what we have on the Freak Killers. They are both an underground hate band
and
a gang. Their leader is a three-time loser named Cherko. His street name is Popeye.”
    Conti opened his folder. “Like the cartoon character?”
    McGinty shook his head. “Nope.
This
Popeye has protruding eyes. Thus the name.”
    Lee was looking at a mug shot by then. Cherko had no visible eyebrows, which served to make his bulging eyes even more noticeable. In that particular photo, he was sporting a nose stud, a “fuck-you” smile, and a goatee that was supposed to hide a weak chin. “So what have we got?”
    Jenkins had black hair, green eyes, and brown skin. “Popeye has a tendency to shoot witnesses,” he replied. “But one of them survived. She was married to victim three. We have a hold on her.”
    â€œHow ’bout family?” Conti wanted to know. “Does this piece of shit have one?”
    â€œHe had a mother as of six months ago. That’s when he was released from Corcoran,” McGinty answered. “But it looks like she has moved since then. Another family is living in the apartment now.”
    â€œOr Cherko moved her,” Jenkins offered. “It’s all in the report.”
    â€œOkay,” Lee replied. “That brings us to Conti here.”
    McGinty frowned. “How so?”
    â€œI don’t want a partner.”
    â€œNobody cares what you want.”
    â€œHe’ll get himself killed, or worse yet, get me killed.”
    â€œYou’re way out of line,” Jenkins said ominously. “Conti has an outstanding record. That’s why he’s being considered for the S.I.S.”
    There was a long moment of silence. Lee looked from face to face and knew it was time to back off. “Okay . . . We’ll find Cherko.”
    McGinty looked as if he might be about to say something, didn’t, and nodded. “Get out of my office.” They did.
    *   *   *
    Lee left the office, cut across the room, and was out in the hall by the time Conti caught up with her. He reached forward to grab an arm, and she turned on him. “Don’t touch me.”
    Conti allowed the hand to fall away. He was angry and let it show. “What was that all about? You don’t even know me!”
    As Lee looked at him, Conti saw something unexpected in her eyes. Sadness? Yes, he thought so. “No,” she said quietly. “I
don’t
know you. And I don’t want to. Because if I do, I might come to like you—and the people I like have a tendency to die. Look it up Conti . . . I’ve had five partners since I joined the force. Two of them are dead.”
    Conti shook his head. “I don’t need to look it up. I did my research . . . And three of them are alive.”
    Lee looked away, then back again. “Okay, Romeo . . . Have it your way. Let’s find Popeye.”
    After retrieving the car from the parking garage, Lee drove it up and out into bright sunshine. She put a pair of shades on at a traffic light, checked the rearview mirror, and drove the car onto 101. That took them east to the North Soto Street exit. From there it was a short ride to Morengo, State Street, and the hospital.
    It had been the Los Angeles County General Hospital once. But that was before a terrorist who called himself Al Mumit (the taker of life), turned
Bacillus nosilla
loose on the world in 2038. The bioengineered bacteria was delivered to
Kaffar
(unbelievers) all