Total Immunity Read Free Page B

her head in a concerned way.
    â€œNo es bueno, señores, es malo. Es muy malo.”
    She pointed ominously to her own eye, then turned and limped away.
    â€œCrazy old lady,” Ron Hughes said.
    â€œYeah,” Jack said. “A whack job.”
    But as they headed back to the warehouse to gather evidence, Jack felt something like an icy finger travel up his spine.

2
    THE SCENE AT Charlie Breen’s Deckhouse Restaurant was always rocking at happy hour. Bikers, surfers, beach bunnies, local businessmen, and cops all hung out there in rough harmony. And all of them were always greeted with the same laughter and pat on the back from Charlie himself. Now in his late fifties, Charlie was a living legend in Santa Monica. After a nomadic life of doing business and traveling in Europe, South America, and China, Charlie had come home and taken a ramshackle, falling- down druggie hangout, bought it twenty years ago for a comparative song and largely on the force of his personality — open, friendly, and caring — and made it into one of the most successful beach bars in Los Angeles. Jack had known him for close to ten years, and whenever he and Oscar finished working a case, Charlie’s was the first place they headed.
    This night was special, however. Jack and Oscar had been working the Karl Steinbach case for close to a year. There had been many times when the two partners despaired of ever catching him. So tonight was party time, drinking, laughing, and sitting around the big circular bar, looking out on the lights of Santa Monica Bay. The two backup cops, Zac Blakely and Ron Hughes, were with them, as was big, silver-haired Charlie Breen himself, who kept the laughs and liquor flowing.
    In front and above them was Charlie’s new fifty-inch plasma screen television set, with its endless games, CNN, and the local news feeds. Jack was feeling no pain as he downed his third Wild Turkey, with Hefeweizen and lemon back. Next to him, Oscar tossed back a shot of Herradura Gold Tequila. He couldn’t remember which shot it was, but he was pretty sure that number five had been some time ago.
    â€œHey, hey, hey, wait . . . there it is,” Ron Hughes said.
    He pointed at the TV, where newscaster Trisha Toyota began her nightly news report.
    â€œIn Hollywood,” she chirped, “we’re used to seeing shoot-outs and robberies on the city streets, most of them staged for the studio cameras. But today in the Echo Park neighborhood, local residents were horrified to see the real thing unfold. In a sting operation, four FBI undercover agents took down a vicious gang of diamond smugglers.”
    The whole bar had stopped talking now as Charlie signaled for them to check out the TV.
    â€œOh, yeah!” Blakely said.
    He was referring to Jack, who was now being interviewed by Toyota, his facial features digitally blacked out.
    There was a loud hoot from the denizens of the bar.
    â€œQuiet, people,” Charlie said. “Our star is going to speak!”
    Trisha Toyota smiled and turned to Jack:
    â€œI have with me here the leader of the FBI operation, a man we’ll call Bill Kelley. I understand you chased the suspect all the way to Echo Lake.”
    â€œThat’s right, Trish,” Jack said.
    â€œAnd all the while he was shooting at you,” she said in her breathless way.
    â€œYeah, but the only thing he hit was Mister Softee,” Jack said.
    That got a big laugh at the bar.
    â€œAnd he ended up in the lake,” Trish said.
    â€œYeah, but he was a little too late for the pedal boats, so he ended up getting all wet.”
    Another roar from the drunken eager bar mates.
    â€œBut I understand that the suspect threatened to kill all of you. Doesn’t that worry you?”
    There was a brief hesitation, and then Jack gave her the line:
    â€œYeah, Trish, my partners and I are flat-out terrified. I doubt any of us will sleep a wink tonight.”
    Toyota cracked up, as