Badge of Honor 05 - The Assassin by W. E. B. Griffin

Author:W. E. B. Griffin
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2010-10-24T10:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

Officer Jesus Martinez drove into the parking lot of the Airport Police Station in his five-year-old Oldsmobile 98 about two minutes before Corporal Vito Lanza pulled in at the wheel of his not-quite-a -year-old Cadillac Fleetwood.

Martinez would not have seen Lanza arrive had he not noticed that his power antenna hadn’t completely retracted. Jesus took great pride in his car, and things like that bothered him. He unlocked the car and got back in and turned the ignition on and ran the antenna up and down by turning the radio on and off.

It retracted completely the last couple of times, which made him think, to his relief, that there was nothing wrong with the antenna, that it was probably just a little dirty. As soon as he got home, he would get some alcohol and wet a rag with it, and wipe the antenna clean, and then lubricate it with some silicone lubricant.

He was in the process of relocking the Olds’s door when Corporal Lanza pulled in beside him.

That’s a new Cadillac. Where the fuck does he get the money for a new Cadillac?

“Whaddaya say, Corporal?”

“Hey! How they hanging, Gomez?”

“It’s Martinez, Corporal.”

“Sorry.”

“Nice wheels.”

“Yeah, it’s all right. Nothing like a Caddy.”

“What’s something like that worth?”

“What the fuck is the matter with you? It’s not polite to ask people what things cost.”

“Sorry, Corporal. Just curious.”

“A lot,” Lanza said. “Save your pennies, Martinez.”

“Yeah.”

“Or get lucky, which is how I got that fucker.”

“Excuse me?”

“Las Vegas. You want a Caddy like that, you go to Las Vegas and get lucky.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So how do you like the Airport?”

“I haven’t been out here long enough to really know. So far it’s great. I was in Highway.”

How the fuck did a little Spic like you get into Highway? You don’t look big enough to straddle a motorcycle.

“Yeah, I heard. So why did you leave Highway?”

“They made it plain to me that maybe I would be happier someplace else. Which was all right with me. I wasn’t too happy in Highway.”

They didn’t want you in Highway as little as you are. Those fuckers all think they’re John Wayne. And John Wayne, you’re not, Gom—Martinez.

“Well, walking around an air-conditioned building telling tourists where they can find the pisser sure beats riding a motorcycle in the rain.”

“You said it, Corporal.”

“The next time they announce a corporal’s exam, you ought to have a shot at it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not too good at taking examinations.”

“Some people are, and some people aren’t. Don’t worry about it.”

It wasn’t until a few minutes after midnight, when he put the key in the Caddy’s door, that Vito, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, realized that he had done something really fucking stupid.

He pulled the door open and slid across the seat, and then, cursing, lifted the fold-down armrest out of the way and put his finger on the glove compartment button.

Shit, it’s locked. I don’t remember locking the sonofabitch.

He found the key and unlocked the glove compartment, and exhaled audibly with relief. The Flamingo Hotel & Casino envelope was still there, right where he’d shoved it when he got in the car.

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