13

13

BALLARD HAD A view of the entrance to the Eldorado from a spot at a red curb at Paloma and Speedway. There was a lot of pedestrian traffic in and out of the one-star hotel, mostly young people. Ballard guessed that there were other businesses besides the Lion's being run out of the Eldorado. If the Lion was paying cash for stolen goods, there was probably a place to spend that money nearby. The likely products for sale were drugs and sex.

She couldn't get a sense of the security arrangements from outside. She knew she would have to go in blind, and for the first time she started second-guessing her off-the-books maneuvering to get her badge and gun back. She thought maybe it might have been better to just report the thefts and take the heat.

Now it was too late.

She watched a skinny white teenage boy go into the hotel, carrying a laptop case. Ballard guessed it belonged to one of the kid's parents and he would trade it for pennies on the dollar to get a hit of fentanyl or crystal meth. The Eldorado was at the low end of nowhere.

She opened her phone's text app and composed a text to the Lion.

Lion, it's Bobby D. New phone. I'm sending my girlfriend to you. We hit it big 2day—iPhone 15 and GoPro Hero 12. Brand-new shit. Stupid german touristas. She's on her way. What room should she go to?

She waited to see if there would be a response. It came two minutes later.

If this is Bobby, what did you give me last time?

The Lion was no chump. Ballard just had to hope that the Delsey duo hadn't cashed in anything else after the theft at Staircases. She typed in what she knew.

Badge and Glock.

She waited again for the go-ahead and it came a minute later.

Room 11. Bring the iP, no on the gopro. Got too many.

Ballard took that to mean she had passed the test. She got out of the front seat of the car and into the back seat. She had a box there filled with clothing she used on surveillances and surreptitious DNA captures. Sometimes she had to change clothes while on a tail to avoid being made by the target.

The back windows of the Defender were darkly tinted and she changed without worrying about being seen by passersby. She put on ripped jeans and a peasant shirt with Mexican embroidery around the neckline. She pulled on a pair of Old Gringo boots that were wide in the calf and made her look slightly bowlegged, but the extra space left room for her Ruger. She knew she would probably be searched by the Lion's security, but she might get the boot gun through.

She finished her new look with a sun-bleached Dodgers hat. Before getting out of the car she called Tom Laffont. He picked up right away.

"What's happening?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

"Okay."

"Take down this address. If you don't get a call from me in thirty minutes, I want you to call Pacific Division and send backup."

"Okay. You want backup right now? I can be there in thirty minutes."

"No, it's just a precaution. I gotta do an interview on an RHD case from before. Kind of a dicey no-tell hotel but I should be fine. In and out in thirty."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

She gave him the address of the Eldorado along with the room number supplied by the Lion. After hanging up, she set the timer on her phone for twenty-nine minutes. She knew that Laffont would be precise and would call Pacific Division at the exact thirty-minute mark if Ballard did not get back to him first.

She got out of the car, locked it, and proceeded to the entrance of the hotel.

The lobby of the Eldorado was not meant for loitering. There were no chairs or benches or even counters to lean on. The front desk was enclosed behind glass with a push-through slot for credit cards and cash. The man at the desk was reading a book and seemed to take no notice of Ballard as she entered.

Ballard saw a single elevator to the left and a hallway to the right. A placard on the wall between them told her that rooms 1 through 12 were down the hall. She headed that way but had to step aside when the boy she had seen earlier with the laptop passed by, now empty-handed. He had made his deal.

The corridor was dimly lit; the room numbers rose as she walked. Ballard saw a man sitting on a chair at the end of the hall. She judged that he was sitting between rooms 11 and 12. He stood up before she got there. He was Black, six feet–plus, thick in the middle, and dressed completely in black. There was a handgun holstered on his hip and in plain view of all who approached.

"Here to see the Lion," Ballard said.

The security man flipped his hands up, signaling her to raise her arms. She complied and he patted her down with no deference to her gender. He ran his hands down both her legs but half-assed it over her boots because it was difficult for him to bend over his stomach and get his hands down there. When he was finished, he knocked on the door of room 11 and stepped aside.

The door opened and a smiling white man stood there. He was rail-thin with dyed blond hair braided into cornrows. He looked like he couldn't be more than twenty-five years old. He wore a Dodgers uniform top with Ohtani's number on it, board shorts, white socks, and black slides. Around his neck on a thick gold chain was an oversize medallion of a lion's head with emerald eyes.

"You're Bobby D.'s girl?" he said. "I'm the Lion."

"All right if I come in?" Ballard asked.

"Sure. Make yourself at home."

Ballard entered what looked like a basic fourteen-by-fourteen hotel room adapted for an unintended use. The bed was turned up and leaning against the back wall to make room for the folding tables on which the week's take was stacked. There were phones, laptops, cameras, electronic game consoles, and plastic tubs filled with various items. One held prescription bottles. Another had a closed top, but the shapes of handguns were visible through the white plastic. One table held designer handbags and jeans in piles, price tags still attached. The room was clearly the destination for goods stolen and shoplifted from across the city.

The Lion closed the door behind Ballard and she heard the lock click.

"See anything you like," he said, "it's yours. Gratis."

Ballard turned and looked at him. He held out his arm like a game-show host, presenting the treasure on the tables. His shirt came up on his right hip and Ballard saw the pearl handle of a gun protruding from the waistband of his shorts.

"I'm sure we could come to an understanding, you and me," he said. "I don't think Bobby would mind too much, do you? I mean, I love older women. They know just what a guy needs."

"Uh, he told me to just make a deal," Ballard said.

The Lion spread both arms wide and ran his eyes down Ballard's body.

"Well, now, I only see one thing you got with you to trade, darlin'. So how 'bout we go across the hall to my private crib for a little of that afternoon delight?"

"I think I just want to make a deal. I've got the phone Bobby gave me in my boot."

Ballard reached down and pulled up the leg of her jeans.

"Hey, wait," the Lion said, sensing danger.

But it was too late. Lion went for his gun, but Ballard came up with her gun in hand and pushed the barrel into his neck.

"Don't do it," Ballard said.

The Lion started raising his hands. Ballard saw fear creep into his eyes.

"Okay, okay, now," he said. "Be easy."

"Shut up," she said. "You make a sound, it'll get you killed." She reached her free hand to his waist and pulled his gun.

"Hey, come on," he said. "Let's just be friends."

Ballard stepped back and pointed the big and small guns at his chest.

"On the floor," she said. "Now."

Keeping his hands up, the Lion got down on one knee and then the other.

"Lionel, huh?" Ballard said. "What's your last name?"

"Why do you care?" the Lion said. "What do you want?"

"Good question. Bobby D. brought you a gun and a badge yesterday. Where are they?"

The Lion's eyes widened.

"Oh, shit! That was you! That was your badge! Bobby told me they took it off a surfer chick who was a cop."

He gave a short, high-pitched laugh. Anger flooded Ballard and she rushed forward into him, knocking him backward to the floor. She was on top of him then and this time she pushed the barrel of his own gun into his neck.

"I asked you a question, Lionel. You want to get out of this room alive, you better start telling me what I—"

"Okay, okay, okay. Take it easy. We can deal, we can deal."

"I'm not interested in a deal. Where is the badge? Where is the gun?"

She pulled back from him and dragged the barrel of his gun down his torso to his thigh, where she held it.

"Talk," she said. "Or you're going to lose a leg."

"Okay, okay, the gun is in the gun box," he said. "Right behind you. Just take it, it's yours."

"The badge."

"Uh, I, uh, already sold the badge. But we can get it back."

"Sold it to who?"

"Just a guy. A customer buys guns from me. He'd been telling me he was looking for a badge and so I hit him when one came in."

"What did he want the badge for?"

"I don't know. It's not my business. He probably wanted to rip off drug dealers, you know? Pull 'em over, take their shit."

Ballard stood up and signaled the Lion back up to his knees. "Stay right there," she said.

She backed up to the gun box and flipped off the top. She looked through the guns inside it until she saw a blue-steel Glock 17. She put her boot gun down on the table and lifted out the Glock. She checked the slide and found her initials there, etched at the academy gun shop the day she took possession of the weapon.

She used the gun to signal the Lion to turn around. "Face the wall, Lionel," she said.

The Lion didn't move. "Why?" he said. "You're not going to do me. You're a cop."

"I said face the fucking wall," Ballard said. "Now."

"Okay, okay, okay."

"Then do it."

He turned on his knees and faced the wall. But she had been too loud. There was a sharp knock on the door and then the muffled voice of the Lion's security man.

"Everything all right in there, boss?" he said.

"Tell him you're fine," Ballard whispered.

"Everything's fine," Lionel called. "We're good."

Ballard put his weapon in the box, then popped the cartridge on her Glock. It was a full clip, and she reloaded the weapon.

"You said you know how to get the badge back," she asked. "How?"

"Easy," the Lion said. "The guy who wanted the badge also told me he was looking for a SIG mini."

"Which is what?"

"SIG Sauer MPX. A mini machine gun. Uses thirty-round clips and can do some heavy damage."

"He needs that to rip off drug dealers?"

"That was just a guess. I don't know what he wants it for. It's not my business."

Ballard instinctively knew that whoever had her badge was planning something bigger than carjacking drug dealers. Chasing down her stolen property had led her into the middle of something—something she couldn't leave alone.

Ballard made a decision.

She walked over to the table with the designer handbags and chose an over-the-shoulder Prada bag. She checked Lionel's position before touching it.

"Put your forehead against that wall, Lionel," she said. "Right now."

He complied. She unzipped the Prada bag and pulled out all the tissue stuffing. She slipped the strap over her shoulder, put her gun into the bag, and kept her hand on it.

"Okay, we're going to go now," she said.

"What?" Lionel said.

"You and me, we're going to walk out of here and you're going to tell your guy out there that everything's cool and he needs to mind the store till you're back. You say anything else and somebody's going to get shot, Lionel, and it won't be me."

"Why don't you just go? I'll make sure he doesn't try to stop you."

"That would be nice but I'm going to need you once we get outside."

"For what?"

"We'll talk about that when we get there. You have your phone on you?"

"I got it."

"Good. Let's go. You lead the way. Tell your guy you're just walking me out."

"Whatever."

He opened the door and immediately his security man stood up from his chair in the hall.

"Be right back, big man," he said. "Just walking the lady out."

Lionel headed up the hall. Ballard smiled at the security man and followed. The walk to the end of the hall seemed to take forever, but she knew that turning around and checking on the security man might tip him off that something was wrong.

They made it through the lobby and out to the street.

"Now what?" Lionel said.

"I got something in my car I want to show you," Ballard said. "It's over here."

They walked up Speedway, to where the Defender was parked. Ballard opened the driver's door, pulled the gun from the handbag, and held it free. She leaned into the car, threw the bag in, and reached under the driver's seat for her handcuffs. She turned to Lionel, and his eyes went wide when he saw the cuffs.

"What the fuck?"

"Put your hands on the car."

"Wait, you're arresting me? I'm trying to help you here."

He turned to run, but Ballard was ready for the move. She grabbed the back of his collar and the thick gold chain around his neck. She yanked him backward and spun him to the ground. Putting a knee on his spine, she shoved her gun into the waistband of her jeans. She pulled his right arm behind his back, cuffed it, and then went for the left.

"What are the charges?" Lionel yelled.

Ballard couldn't help but laugh.

"You really need to ask?" Ballard said. "Let's start with possession of stolen property. That Prada bag still has a Nordstrom price tag on it. Two grand, Lionel. That puts you into a felony and a cell."

Ballard checked his pockets and pulled out a set of keys, a roll of cash, and his phone. She needed that phone for her plan to work.

"Now we're going to get up," she said. "If you help me, you'll be able to make all of this go away."

"Fuck you," Lionel said. "I ain't fucking helping you do shit."

"We'll see if you change your mind after a night in a cell."

"I got a lawyer. He'll get me out in an hour. You heard of the Lincoln Lawyer, bitch?"

"Yeah, I've heard of him. But the thing about lawyers is that they have to be able to find you to get you out."

The Lion didn't have a comeback for that.

"Let's go," Ballard said. "Get up."