Mulholland Dive: Three Stories Read Online Free PDF

out and want to get drunk and laid in that order,” Stilwell had told Harwick. “But something happens when they get off the freedom bus and see the golden arches waiting for them down the block. Quarter Pounder and fries, ketchup. Man, they miss that shit in prison.”
    Harwick smiled.
    “I always wondered what happened with real rich guys, you know? Guys who grew up poor, eatin’ fast food, but then made so much money that money doesn’t mean anything. Bill Gates, guys like that. You think they still go to McDonald’s for a grease fix every now and then?”
    “In disguise maybe,” Stilwell suggested. “I don’t think they drive up in their limos or anything.”
    “Yeah, probably.”
    It was new-partner banter. It was their first day together. For Harwick it was also his first day in GIU. Stilwell was the senior partner. The veterano. They were working one of his jackets.
    After forty-five minutes and no bus, Stilwell said, “So, what do you want to ask me? You want to ask me about my partner, go ahead.”
    “Well, why’d he bug?”
    “Couldn’t take the intensity.”
    “Since I heard he went into special weapons, I assume you’re talking about your intensity, not the gig’s.”
    “Have to ask him. I’ve had three partners in five years. You’re number four.”
    “Lucky number four. Next question: What are we doing right now?”
    “Waiting on the bus from Corcoran.”
    “I already got that part.”
    “A meth cook named Eugene Vachon is on it. We’re going to follow him, see who he sees.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    Harwick waited for more. He kept his eyes on the bus depot half a block up Vine. Eventually, Stilwell reached up to the visor and took a stack of photos out from a rubber band. He looked through them until he found the one he wanted and handed it to Harwick.
    “That’s him. Four years ago. They call him Milky.”
    The photo was of a man in his early thirties with bone-white hair that appeared to be pulled back in a ponytail. His skin was as white as a new lampshade and his eyes were the light blue of washed-out denim.
    “Edgar Winters,” Harwick said.
    “What?”
    “Remember that guy? He was like an albino rock star in the seventies. Looked just like this guy. He had a brother, Johnny. Maybe he was the albino.”
    “Missed it.”
    “So, what’s Milky’s deal? If you’re on him, he must be Road Saints, right?”
    “He’s on the bubble. He was cooking for them but never got his colors. Then he got popped and went to the Cork for a nickel. He’s got to crack an egg now if he wants in. And from what I hear, he wants in.”
    “Meaning whack somebody?”
    “Meaning whack somebody.”
    Stilwell explained how the Gang Intelligence Unit kept contacts with intelligence officers at prisons all over California. One such contact provided information on Vachon. Milky had been protected by incarcerated members of the Road Saints during his five-year stay at Corcoran State Penitentiary.
    As a form of repayment for that protection, as well as a tariff for his admittance to formal membership in the motorcycle gang turned prison and drug organization, Vachon would perform a contract hit upon his release.
    Harwick nodded.
    “You’re the resident expert on the Saints, so it goes to you. Got that. Who is the target?”
    “That’s the mystery we’re going to solve. We’re going to follow Milky and see if we can find that out. He might not even know himself right now. This could be an in-house thing or a subcontract job the Saints took on. A trade-off with the blacks or the eMe. You never know. Milky might not have his orders yet. All we know is that he’s been tapped.”
    “And we’re going to step in if we get the chance.”
    “ When we get the chance.”
    “ When we get the chance.”
    Stilwell handed the whole stack of photos to Harwick.
    “That’s the Saints’ active membership. By active I mean not incarcerated. Any one of them could be the target. They’re not above going after their