Part 23 (1/2)
”I gotta talk to him first.”
”Talk to who?”
”My man. The one you got.”
”I told you-”
”I don't care what you told me,” Cross said. ”We're in the end-game now. You want to talk to your man, I can do that. You want to play games, you're going to force us to do the same.”
”Call back in thirty minutes,” Munoz said. ”And have Lopez with you.”
”YOU WANT to speak to your man?” Cross spoke into the phone.
”Si. Put him on.”
”Yes, I am here, jefe,” Lopez said, calmly. ”Everything was as it should be.” He said ”Si, si,” rapidly and handed the phone to Cross.
”Your turn,” Cross said into the mouthpiece.
”Moment.i.to.”
Another minute pa.s.sed; then Cross heard the unmistakable voice of Princess. ”I'm good,” the armor-muscled man-child said. ”These little punks got me trussed up like a turkey, but they haven't done nothing to me.”
”They feeding you?”
”Just garbage. I'm probably down to three fifteen with all the c.r.a.p they serve here. They don't even have any of my special supplements. And-”
”Okay, Princess, just calm down, all right? They'll be cutting you loose soon.”
”Are you satisfied?” Munoz's voice cut in. ”Are you ready to release our bird?”
”Tomorrow,” Cross said. ”Tomorrow at first light.”
”Why not now, hombre? Our bird can fly at night.”
”I need a few hours. There's some things I have to do to make sure you guys are playing it straight. First light. When Princess shows up, we'll let your man go.”
”Adios,” Munoz said, and hung up.
”HE'S OKAY?” Rhino asked, anxiety making his voice even squeakier than usual.
”He said 'supplements,' ” Cross replied. ”You know what that means. He's all right, but he doesn't see a way out of there. If he'd said 'vitamins,' he'd have an exit spotted. If he didn't say either word, it would be a trap. So I don't think they messed with him.”
”You think they'll actually let him go?” Buddha asked.
”Would you?” Cross answered.
THE NEXT morning, dawn was slowly breaking through a blue-black night sky as Lopez stood on the roof of Red 71, the pigeon in his hands.
”Do it,” Buddha told him.
”Volar!” Lopez commanded, tossing the pigeon into the air. The bird climbed, then banked, wings working smoothly.
A few seconds later, a tiny bird blasted out of Cross's leather-gloved hand, its blue-gray wings a blur in the sky, a distinctive killy-killy-killy trilling from its beak. The bird soared like an F-16, a blur in the vision of the watchers on the roof who were tracking the bird through binoculars. Cross picked up his phone.
”Airborne.”
Cross closed his phone, said, ”Let's go,” to Buddha. As Buddha turned to follow Cross downstairs, Rhino's murderous hand curled around the back of Lopez's neck.
”I DON'T get it, boss,” Buddha said. ”I know we got a transmitter on that mini-hawk of yours, but I've seen that thing in action-no way their pigeon's gonna make it back home.”
”East,” Cross said into his cell phone, watching a small round blue screen set into an electronic box he held between his legs. ”Holding steady. You on it?”
”Total,” Rhino's voice.
”It's not a hawk,” Cross absently said to Buddha. ”It's a kestrel. A falcon, okay? I got a mated pair up there. The female's sitting on some eggs. The male brings food. I haven't fed them for days-wouldn't let them loose to get food for themselves, either. They usually hit small birds, like sparrows. But I've got the male trained to hit pigeons-he really loves them.”
”Yeah, but ...”
”But what?”
”You got your bird all stoked up, I get that. But that's only gonna make him knock that pigeon right out of the sky. Then how in h.e.l.l are we gonna-?”
”Kestrels only take prey near the ground,” Cross explained. ”Munoz will wait until his pigeon touches down. By the time he gets close enough to look in its pouch, it's Kaddish for his little 'sky dancer.' ”
Urban scenery flew past the windows of the Shark Car as Cross continued to give directions to Buddha in person and to Rhino over the phone.
”What's his name?” Buddha asked.
”Who?”
”The bird, Chief. The ... kestrel or whatever you call it.”
”Name?” Cross said, clearly puzzled. ”It's a bird.”
Buddha shrugged, and went back to work, handling the big car expertly, as always.
”HE'S HEADING for the flats,” Cross said into the phone. ”No place else he could be going. You got visual?”
”Locked on,” Rhino replied. ”He's sitting right above the pigeon. Just hovering. Ready to dive.”
”The second that pigeon starts his drop, we move,” Cross said. ”Stay tight.”
”GOT 'EM,” Rhino's voice squeaked. ”It's a three-story. Clubhouse on the first floor. Says Los Amigos on the door. Right on the waterfront, at the end of Pine Street.”
”You sure?”