Mulholland Dive: Three Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

own. The Saints are run by a guy named Sonny Mitchell who’s a lifer up at Ironwood. Anytime anybody on the outside acts up, talks about changing the leadership, maybe bringing it outside the walls, then Sonny has him cut down. Helps keep people in line.”
    “How’s he get the word from Ironwood to Milky over at Corcoran?”
    “The women. Sonny gets conjugals. He tells his wife, probably right in the middle of giving her a pop. She leaves, tells one of the wives visiting her man in the Cork. It goes like that.”
    “You got it down, man. How long’ve you been working these guys?”
    “Coming up on five years. Long time.”
    “Why didn’t you ever rotate out?”
    Stilwell straightened up behind the wheel and ignored the question.
    “There’s the bus.”
    Stilwell had been right. Milky Vachon’s first stop after getting off the bus was the McDonald’s. He ate two Quarter Pounders and went back to the counter twice for ketchup for his french fries.
    Stilwell and Harwick went in a side door and slipped into a booth positioned behind Vachon’s back. Stilwell said he had never met Vachon but that he needed to take precautions because it was likely Vachon had seen his photo. The Saints had their own intelligence net and, after all, Stilwell had been assigned full-time to the gang for half a decade.
    When Vachon went to the counter for ketchup the third time, Stilwell noticed that there was an envelope sticking out of the back pocket of his blue jeans. He told Harwick that he was curious about it.
    “Most of the time these guys get out, they want no reminders of where they’ve been,” he whispered across the table. “They leave letters, photos, books, everything behind. That letter, that must mean something. I’m not talking sentimental. I mean it means something.”
    He thought a moment and nodded to himself.
    “I’m gonna go out, see if I can set up a shake. You stay here. When he starts wrapping up his trash, come on out. If I’m not back in time, I’ll find you. If I don’t, use the rover.”
    Stilwell called sheriff’s dispatch and had them contact LAPD to send a car. He arranged to meet the car around the corner from the McDonald’s so their conference wouldn’t be seen by Vachon.
    It took almost ten minutes for a black-and-white to show. The uniformed officer pulled the car up next to Stilwell’s Volvo, driver’s window to driver’s window.
    “Stilwell?”
    “That’s me.”
    Stilwell pulled a badge out of his shirt. It was on a chain around his neck. Also hung on the chain was a gold 7 about the size of a thumbnail.
    “Ortiz. What can I do for you?”
    “Around the corner my partner’s keeping an eye on a guy just off the bus from Corcoran. I need to shake him. He’s got an envelope in his back pocket. I’d like to know everything there is to know about it.”
    Ortiz nodded. He was about twenty-five, with the kind of haircut that left the sides of his head nearly shaved and a healthy inch of hair up top. He had one wrist on the wheel, and he drummed his fingertips on the dashboard.
    “What was he up there for?”
    “Cooking crystal meth for the Road Saints.”
    Ortiz picked up the rhythm with his fingers.
    “He going to go easy? I’m by myself, in case you didn’t notice.”
    “At the moment, he should be easy. Like I said, he just got back on the ground. Just give him a kick in the pants, tell him you don’t want him on your beat. That ought to do it. My partner and I will have your back. You’ll be safe.”
    “Okay. You going to point him out?”
    “He’s an albino with a ponytail. Like that Edgar Winters guy.”
    “Who?”
    “Never mind. You can’t miss him.”
    “All right. Meet back here after?”
    “Yeah. And thanks.”
    Ortiz pulled away first and Stilwell watched him go. He then followed and turned the corner. He saw Harwick standing on the curb outside the McDonald’s. Moving north on foot half a block away was Vachon.
    Stilwell pulled to a stop next to Harwick,