Free Head Games (The Hector Lassiter Series) by Craig McDonald

Emil Holmdahl, the mercenary and head thief." I squeezed Alicia close. "What about it, darling? Up for a road trip? I leaned around to get a better look at Fiske. I said, "How's about you, Bud ... you balk at a three-way split?"
    Fiske smiled. It was all hypothetical to him it seemed. "What the hell, Hector? Sure. But it's tough to divide an even number by an odd one."
    "We'll even it out from my end," I promised.
    Alicia shook her head. "These crazy men after you seem prepared to do anything. I think the only way I might be safe for now is staying with you two." She narrowed her eyes and said, "But what is this of heads ... of stolen heads?"
    I smiled. "We'll get back to that. Right now, we've got another, more pressing concern." I spotted a truck stop. There were perhaps four dozen tractor-trailers, idling in the night with their running lights on. "Pull in there," I told Bud.
    I rolled out, wincing as my ribs crack again. Bud sidled up beside me. "What's wrong?"
    "That slaughter back in Venice," I said, " it got me to thinking. How did those sons of bitches find us?"
    Bud nodded, going white. "Yeah ... how did they do that?"
    Moaning, I slipped off my sports jacket and handed it to Bud. I popped the hood ... checked the trunk ... nada and nada .
    I was feeling around the left rear wheel well when I felt this strange bump. I tugged hard at it and loosened this ... device . I pulled hard against the magnet wedding it to the chassis. Bud whistled low as I held it up to the parking lot light --- a black box with a chrome antenna sticking out. Bud said, "What in God's name is that thing?"
    "Some tracking gizmo I'm thinkin'," I said.
    "Yeah. Who put it there?"
    I smiled at Bud and said, "Some asshole from El Paso, maybe. Probably working for Prescott Bush --- the alleged spymaster." Yeah . Prescott ... who clearly didn't know he was maybe employing stooges who also worked for Fierro. Or maybe Bush had actually unwittingly employed the Butcher. Which shows you what that fella, as a spymaster, apparently knew.
    I looked around but saw no obvious spies. I slapped the tracking gizmo on the bottom of a tractor-trailer with Idaho plates. Let the cocksuckers chase that bad boy. Bud grinned, said, "I hope they like Boise."
    I slapped his back, smiled. "They do," I said, "and they'll be the first."
    16
    We made Los Angeles at dawn. My blood sugar was off again, and my vision was fading fast. Alicia had fallen asleep long ago, her head curled into the hollow of my neck. "Let's get some breakfast," I said to Bud. "We need to be sharper for this old bastard Emil. We really need to be on our game."
    I treated them to the Aero Squadron --- a kitschy restaurant tricked up to look like a bombed out European palace, packed with military memorabilia. It had been a few years, but it was frozen in time. It was a pricey breakfast, but God, was it ever worth it.
    As Alicia and Bud finished up, I scooted to a pay phone. I dialed up Jack Webb. Laconic cocksucker owed me at least one favor. And the LAPD owed Webb many more favors.
    Someone had left their L.A. Times in the booth. As I waited to leave a message, I flipped the paper over and scanned it. There was a banner headline about the Brooklyn Dodgers maybe moving to L.A. According to "staff writer" Cooter Wrye, in New York, there was talk of lynching Walter O'Malley. Plans were afoot to place the stadium in Chávez Ravine. Holy Jesus . So much for American's favorite pastime. When the ball clubs are for sale to the highest bidder and can be moved around like house trailers, what's left of the game to love? Bastards had even found a way to fuck up baseball for me.
    I left my message for Webb and headed back to the table.
    One hour and several Bloody Marys later, I was summoned back to the phone. Jack spilled. Well, he laconically spilled ... telegraphically giving up the goods.
    Seemed that Emil's wife, Elizabeth, had died a few months ago. Holmdahl was currently living with his stepdaughter. Mr.