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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 spaceleft 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 12were 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 tableheld 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.
