Free The Replacements by David Putnam Page A

natural death as the serious business at hand sauntered in and smothered us both. The thought of those two kids in the hands of a freak. We drove into the night, down Waterman, to westbound on the I-10, the San Bernardino Freeway.
    Mack said, “I hope you don’t have something I’m going to regret in that grip of yours.”
    â€œDoes it matter? Your ass is already hung out a country mile for aiding and abetting a fugitive.”
    He shook his head. “Nope, I never ran you for warrants. I don’t know that you’re wanted. You’re just an informant that Chief Wicks asked me to work with.”
    â€œReally? That’s your defense? We get caught, you’re going to burn along with all the rest of us chickens.”
    â€œYeah, you’re probably right.”
    â€œYou have any line at all on Jonas Mabry? Has he been in contact other than that note?”
    â€œSorry, not yet. You have any ideas on where we can start to look while we wait for him to make contact?”
    Outside the car the dark freeway zipped by. We were passing through Colton. “I’ve got a couple of ideas. My mind’s mushy right now. I need a couple hours’ sleep.”
    â€œYou didn’t sleep on the plane?”
    I didn’t answer. Who could sleep? I didn’t know what I’d find when I walked off the plane. And even if I’d made it that far, how long could I possibly keep moving around SoCal, where there were thirty- to forty thousand cops?
    â€œI have us a room at The Fontana Valley Suites,” said Mack.
    â€œI hope it’s a nice place. I’m not up for some fleabag with a swayed mattress and bed bugs.”
    â€œIt’s on the county’s dime, so you know it’s not going to be a five-star joint.”
    â€œCounty’s dime? Are you crazy? You don’t want a record of me anywhere around you. If you have the county pay for it, it goes on the expense account report.”
    He took his eyes from the road for a second, long enough to pick off some larger chunks of Sno Ball from his shirt and stick them in his mouth. “‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ my Aunt Millie used to say.”
    â€œYou fall down and hit your head or something? You nuts?”
    He put on the turn signal and changed lanes right over to the off ramp exiting at Citrus. At the bottom of the ramp he turned right and then left at the first light to Valley Boulevard. He made a left turn into The Fontana Valley Suites’ parking lot. Dirty and dented cars predicted the décor I’d find in the room.
    â€œOkay,” he said, “I need you to follow my lead.”
    â€œFollow your lead? We’re just going for a quick nap, right? It’s four o’clock in the damn morning. What’s going on, Mack?”
    â€œTake it easy, big man. I got a handle on this. Here, put on this ball cap and these glasses.”
    I hated the Dodgers and he knew it. The glasses were stylish and clear. I checked the mirror behind the fold-down visor. The props did change my appearance. I looked a little like a stockbroker out for a weekend pretending to be a sports fan.
    Mack pulled in and parked next to a black Toyota Camry with an Asian male sitting in the driver’s seat. Mack shut off the T-Bird. “Come on, you can have a couple hours, then you’re goingto have to work some of this magic Wicks is talking about until Jonas contacts us.”
    Mack knew how I worked. I’d met him on the Ruben the Cuban murder investigation nine months ago. In fact, when he and I finally ran Ruben down, Ruben threw a can of gas on Mack and was about to light him off, turn Mack into chicken flambé, when I’d intervened. Mack would have been a piece of shriveled-up charcoal.
    We got out. Mack went up to the driver’s window of the Toyota. The window whirled down. Mack turned to me. “Leon, I’d like you to meet Special Agent Wu with the FBI.”

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