Page 23 of Reno

Dressed in khaki military-style utility pants and a blue tee shirt, the guy sure didn’t look like a cop. He was built like an athlete and had an attitude that arrived long before he did.

“The problem with telling him his drug dealers are now working for you and that his ex-girlfriend is your new lover,” the cop said, “is that he’s going to come here at his leisure. You won’t be in control of when he crosses the border. He’ll just show up.”

“That’s a good point,” Baker said. “We need to know when he’s coming.”

“Here’s my suggestion.” The cop crossed his arms and glanced at each of us. “Take one of the kilos you got from El Pollo to the drug dealer over in Sunset Cliffs and toss it in his lap. Tell him you want 1,500 kilos of the same shit. No DEA agent is going to be able to make a 1,500 kilo buy, and they know it. If you wanted five kilos or ten? They’d question it. 1,500? He’ll not only jump at the chance, but that quantity will guarantee you that the dealer won’t fuck with any of you. It’ll put you in a buyer’s category that’ll assure your safety. Neither El Alacrán or the local dealer will want anything to happen to you. A 1,500 kilo buy will take multiple shipments, and considerable planning and organization. It’ll also draw the attention of El Alacrán enough to get him to come to the states to meet you. Especially if you play it right.”

“1,500 kilos?” I choked on the words. “Jesus. That’s what? 60 million?”

“He normally sells the shit for 15 to 18 grand a kilo,” the cop responded. “If you offer 10, he’ll know you mean business. At 10 a kilo, that’s 15 million. Not that you’d need to show all the money to anyone, but you’ve got fifteen million from that bank job.”

“Ten,” Baker said, lying through his teeth.

The cop’s eyebrows raised. “You got fifteen, and we both know it.”

“If we get him here, and you get the arrest, what do we get in exchange?” Baker asked, not willing to argue over the amount of money taken in the robbery.

“You can keep the proceeds from the bank robbery.”

“I want the proceeds from the bank robbery and the five million in reward money,” Baker argued.

“We’ll visit that when the arrest is over,” the cop replied. “No promises.”

“I’m thinking the reward ought to go to the men who are taking all the risk,” I interjected. “No promises sounds to me like you’re planning on keeping the fucking reward money.”

He shifted his attention to me. A look of slight disgust was etched on his face. “Who, exactly, are you?”

“Tyrone Tiddlewood,” I said, straight-faced. I scanned him from the tips of his cop loafers to his fancy cop haircut. “Who, exactly, are you?”

“Watson,” he said. “Detective Marc Watson.”

“Listen, Watson,” I said, my tone expressing irritation. “Nothing against you, but I don’t trust cops.”

“I don’t trust thieves,” he confessed. “Guess that puts you and I at odds right out of the gate.”

I crossed my arms in a mimicking gesture. “Guess so.”

“C’mon, fellas.” Crip slapped me on the shoulder. “Why don’t we all try to get along?” He looked at Watson. “Who’s this drug dealer in Sunset Cliffs?”

“Roberto ‘Manos’ Lopez,” Watson replied. “He’s one of El Alacrán’s men. My guess is that El Pollo was headed to Manos’ place when you bumped into him. Manos is San Diego County’s contact for the Tijuana Cartel.”

“Must be a heavy hitter if he’s in that part of San Diego,” Crip said.

Watson gave a nod. “He’s just south of Ocean Beach in a house overlooking the cliff. He’s not a run of the mill dealer. He’s the man in charge of Southern California.”

“You really think it’s a good idea to take a kilo of cocaine to him?” Baker asked.

“If you do it right, I think it’ll go well,” Watson replied. “If you don’t, it could end pretty poorly.”

I wasn’t interested in anything “ending poorly” with the Tijuana Cartel. “What do you mean, ‘do it right?’” I asked. “Enlighten me.”

“With Manos, you’ll have to go there like you’re looking at him to be your supplier, and nothing more. Like you’ve got an order to fill, and he’s your means of filling it. Don’t kiss his ass, and don’t let him intimidate you. Act like he owes you something. He’ll respect you for it.”

“And you think it’s a good idea to go to his house, toss a kilo of coke in his lap, and tell him we need 1,500 more?”

“He’ll recognize the coke as El Alacrán’s,” Watson replied. “That’ll get him to immediately trust that you’re telling the truth and force him to question El Pollo’s loyalty.”

“What if he asks us where we got the drugs?” Baker asked.