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the number?”
    I rattled off the ten digits
    “Got it.”
    I sat down on one of the over-stuffed chairs and watched the socialites walking around the lobby of the hotel. Several beautiful young women walked into the Jazz City restaurant with a group of older businessmen on their heels.
    When the phone rang, I picked up the receiver on the fourth ring. “Virgil.”
    “It’s me.” His voice was hard and proud with the first hints of the frailty of age creeping in on the corners.
    I put my hand on the wall and leaned into the phone. “Thanks for calling me back, Mr. Saccamano.”
    “Have you found what you’re looking for yet?”
    “No sir.”
    He grunted before asking, “How long will it take you?”
    I pushed away from the wall and watched the lobby. “Not sure, but it shouldn’t be too long.”
    “Did you see the ex?”
    “Not yet.”
    A beautiful woman in her late thirties jogged into the lobby. She wore a light blue sports bra over matching running pants. Her body was covered in sweat as she walked in small circles checking her watch. When she lifted her head, she caught me looking and immediately turned away. She walked to the elevators shaking her head.
    “You okay, kid? You don’t sound right.”
    “I guess this thing is heavier than I thought.”
    Mr. Saccamano let out a short cough. “She was family, for Chrissakes. It better be like a ton of fuckin’ bricks on your shoulders.”
    I nodded with my eyes closed.
    “You still there?”
    “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, I was thinking about what you said.”
    Mr. Saccamano’s voice softened. “I don’t want to add any more pressure to you, kid.”
    I opened my eyes and stared at the phone. “But?”
    “As soon as you’re done, I need you to get back here.”
    I leaned back into the phone. “What’s going on?”
    “The Charlies are on the move again.” The Vietnamese crew had pushed into Mr. Saccamano’s turf a year ago and we’d battled to push them back out.
    “What’d they do?”
    “They torched our repair shop in Van Nuys. We had several cars getting worked on when it went up.”
    “Any of our guys hurt?”
    “Nah.”
    “Anything traceable to you?”
    “No. Not really. You know the drill.”
    I knew it well. Off shore corporations set up to funnel money through. The paperwork was padded with deceased personnel and false names. No one that worked there was ever on the books. I’m sure when the guys showed up for work and saw the building burning they turned and walked back into the crowd. That was the game. If they wanted to continue to play, they had to learn the rules.
    “You know which crew did it?”
    “No. They tagged it before they burned it, but I can’t read that Gookaniese shit. I need to hire a goddamn translator is what I need to do.”
    “That’s not a bad idea. Check around for an old Viet Nam vet with an axe to grind. I don’t think those will be too hard to find.”
    “Good thinkin’.”
    “They do anything else?”
    “Yeah, but don’t worry about it. Just hurry home, kid. I need you.”
    “I will, Mr. Saccamano.”
     

Tuesday, April 13 th
1542 hrs
En route to the Taylor Residence
TOWER
     
    I drove slowly through the Rockwood neighborhood. The houses I passed all had huge, perfectly manicured lawns. Most had gates. The homes sat a hundred yards off the street, nestled amongst tall trees and sculpted shrubs. Most of the homes cost more than I’d make in my career.
    The phone rang. I pushed the send button and spoke into the microphone Velcroed to the visor. “Tower.”
    “John? It’s Cameron.”
    “Good. Whaddya you got for me?”
    “There isn’t much,” he said. “I am running the victim’s prints through AFIS now. I should have a name for you later today.”
    “Cause of death?”
    “Strangulation. And the stab wounds were post-mortem.”
    “So this guy is angry,” I muttered to myself.
    “What’s that?” Cameron asked.
    “I said, any good trace?”
    “Not yet,” he told me. “I haven’t