Free the Pallbearers (2010) by Stephen - Scully 09 Cannell Page A

for directions.
    The four teenaged vatos in the lowrider didn't seem to be paying much attention to what she was saying. They were busy taking inventory of her jewelry.
    They got out of their axle-dragging mother ship and surrounded her on the sidewalk like a pack of wild coyotes about to shred a defenseless poodle.
    I couldn't hear what was being said, but Ms. Lavicki didn't seem to appreciate the danger she was in. She had one hand in her purse fishing around for a pen or something, while four Latin Kings in black and gold head wraps were fanning out, going into attack mode.
    "Shit," I muttered and got out of my car, pulling my badge, while moving quickly up the block toward her.
    "Hey, Vicki!" I called out to distract them, holding up my creds as I ran. The four vato thugs spun to check me out, trying to decide whether to add me to the party or just roll on. I pulled back mv jacket as I ran, showing them my sidearm in its clip-on holster. Because they were just teenagers, I didn't want to draw down on them. I was pretty sure they were all packing but was trying not to initiate a gun - fight. I kept my right hand near my gun and my left holding the creds high as I ran to let them know they'd be firing on a cop.
    They hesitated for a minute, decided they didn't want that kind of trouble, got back into their lowered hood mobile, and pulled slowly off. They took the corner at the end of the block at an insolent five miles an hour.
    "My hero," Vicki said dryly as I approached. "Very John Wayne, but I had that handled."
    "You were seconds from getting unzipped," I told her, but she waved this off as she glanced clown at an address in her hand.
    "I must ve gotten the wrong street number from Diamond," she said. "Where the hell is Vargas's office?"
    "Listen, Ms. Lavicki, in the future it might not be such a good idea to wander around down here alone."
    Her hazel eyes cut holes in me. "I was okay. You were the one causing the problem."
    "You were not okay. Those guys were packing."
    "Me too." Then she pulled her right hand out of the purse. The whole time she'd been holding a snub-nosed .44 caliber Charter Arms Bulldog with a wood-checked grip, aiming it at them from inside her purse.
    "You're supposed to be a damn accountant. What kind of adding machine is that?"
    "It subtracts to six, but there were only four, so you do the math," she said. Then, because I frowned deeply, she added, "Get over it, Scully. I sometimes carry cashier's checks for my firm. I have a permit."
    "You were gonna shoot them?"
    She stuffed the Bulldog back into her purse and smirked at me. "That was just a little chest bump. Those guys were only sniffing."
    "And you re some kind of expert on street action," I shot back.
    "Before I got put in Huntington House, I was raised in South Central," she replied. "I was the only white face on my block. The shit jumped off in that hood almost every night. We didn't have bars in our windows, we had MAC-lOs." She seemed tired of discussing this and abruptly changed the subject, showing me the slip of paper in her hand. "You know where Vargas's office is? These all look like houses. I was expecting a building."
    "I'm glad you're not doing my taxes. This three should be an eight." I pointed to the bungalow half a block away.
    Alexa had called Vicki a brass cupcake, and she was right. I now had a tough-talking pistol-packing CPA and ex-South Central hood rat from Kinney and Glass to worry about. I got my briefcase out of the MDX, and we walked up the path to the front door of Vargas's bungalow and rang the bell.
    A minute later, a tough-looking male teenager opened up. He was dressed in Latin Kings colors, wearing a black and gold New Orleans Saints football jersey, a hairnet, and four-hundred-dollar Air Jordans. He also had a big LK emblazoned on the side of his neck and two teardrop tattoos under his right eye, indicating that, despite his tender age, he'd already lost two homies in the street.
    The man-boy stared at us