LITMIR.BIZ

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sparked a feeling of satisfaction in Mckenzie’s mind that marched just ahead of a quickly suppressed spasm of envy. “Wimp” his father’s voice snarled.

      Mckenzie glanced at the illuminated fact of his wristwatch. It was approaching 2:00 a.m. It was little wonder the traffic had become lighter as they drove back toward the bridge and the city beyond.

      “Before we take Alex home, can we swing by the Asian Market on Webster? They have got that Hoisin sauce that no body else in town carries.”

      “Already getting pregnant women food cravings? Peter teased.

      “Smart ass” Brenda answered. “No, I need it for a vegetable stir fry dish I am making when Alex comes to dinner next week.”

      “When I do what?”

      “You are coming to our place for dinner next Saturday. Didn’t you know that?”

      “Evidently I do now” Mckenzie replied with a note of resigned bemusement. The Stewart tag team had won another victory.

      “Good” Brenda said triumphantly. Peter almost choked trying to stifle a laugh.

      Passing over the bridge and entering the city, Peter turned toward the Marina district. Brenda’s repository of special sauces was slightly nondiscript grocery store with a small parking lot in front. It had once been something similar to a 7-11 but now the glass front had been bricked in. There were faint splotches on the bricks where graffiti had been half heartedly cleaned away. The glass double doors were adorned with posters and notices slapped up haphazardly. Some were already peeling away. The Asian Market did not stock elegant ambience.

      As the car came to a stop Brenda unsnapped her seat belt and opened the door. “If you two will sit here, I’ll just be a second.” Without waiting for a response Brenda was off in pursuit of her dinner ingredients. Glancing at the store, Mckenzie’s eyes followed her as she walked briskly past the door and toward the front of the store. He could see a bored night clerk look up as she approached and smile. It was hard not to smile at Brenda Stewart.

      You are a lucky man Peter, Mckenzie thought. He might have said it aloud but Peter suddenly laughed. Holding up Brenda’s purse he observed that unless she expected to get her sauce for free, he had better take her some money. The dome light of the Escalande came on as Peter opened the door and set off in pursuit of his wife.

      Alex leaned his head against the back seat and closed his eyes. Despite his jests with Brenda earlier about being old, he did feel quite tired. For a moment he thought he might actually doze off. The fatigue was instantly forgotten.however. when the pulsating sensation of a vibrating cell phone in his pocket restored his full mental alertness. Only the department called on this phone.

      Flipping open the phone cover he saw that a text message awaited him. He punched the key to bring it into view on the screen and immediately smiled a wolfish grin of satisfaction. They had caught Brian “Big Bo” Casto, the key link to a brutal murder for hire scheme he had been chasing for months. Well now Brian, Mckenzie thought, you and I are going to have a nice conversation as soon as I can get to the jail.

      It might have been his excitement over the welcome news; it might have been a bit of residual fatigue from a very long day; it might have been simply a rare bit of clumsiness, but as he let the cell phone slip toward his shirt pocket, he missed. The phone slid down his chest and onto the darkened floor of the Escalante.

      “Damn!” Mckenzie expelled an audible curse and leaned over to feel the floor in search of his errant cell phone. There are times in life when coincidence, the random convergence of events, can sweep life in unforeseen and often undesired directions. Fumbling in a darkened automobile, Alexander Mckenzie did not realize that such a moment was about to occur.

      CHAPTER 6

      Mckenzie was not alone in failing to recognize the catastrophic effect that could result from the collision of unguided fates. Lurking behind the Asian Market, Donny Scarborough, a gritty and ill-kempt street hustler, sometime petty thief, and full time druggie was preparing to up his game to armed robbery. The cheap nickle plated Saturday night special pistol in his jacket pocket reflected his novice stature in his newly chosen trade. A more experienced gunman would have carried a better weapon.

      Donnie had realized, however dimly, that he would need some assistance in carrying out his newest project. Back up, accomplice, stooge, whatever you called it, he wanted another gun, someone to watch his back in case his easy score proved not to be as easy as he expected. Piotor “Petey” Strelkski, a second generation Russian immigrant, was not his first pick. The hulking Russian was tough, violent, and dumb enough to take orders from someone like Donnie. Unfortunately, he was also a spaceman, susceptible to wild rages, and, when he lost his temper, crazier than a sack of cracked peanuts. Still Petey had a gun, a stolen Glock, of which he was obsessively proud, and he was willing to work with Scarborough. That was the deciding point.

      As the two men slipped along the darkened side of the market, Donnie mentally reviewed his master plan. It was cool. All crazy Petey had to do was keep his gun on the clerk who should be alone at this time of night. Make sure he didn’t get too antsy and did exactly what he was told, empty the register and the safe behind the counter. Three - four minutes at most. They would have the money and be gone. The only real problem involved figuring the best way to stiff Petey out of as much of his share as possible.

      Walking around the corner and spotting the grey Escalante in the parking lot, Donnie sourly realized that his plan would have to be changed. The clerk wasn’t alone; there was a customer. Shit Donnie thought. Who buys chink food at 2:00 in the morning?

      He took a quick breath. Ok, he thought as he reviewed his options. It would still work. He couldn’t let Petey think he was bothered. Looking at the SUV at almost the precise moment that Alex was fumbling on the floor for the dropped cell phone, Scarborough decided that the car was empty. He turned back toward Strelkski and tried to present an image of undisturbed confidence. “Ok man” he said, unable to suppress the squeak of excitement in his voice. “There is a customer and the clerk in there. We do just what I said. Keep everyone under control and grab the money.” He swallowed then asked “You ready?”

      Strelkski towered above Scarborough. Dark, greasy hair hanging loose over his forehead, once hard muscles now covered by a thick outer level of fat, and an expression of emotional indifference completed the portrait. Pulling back his faded blue jacket to reveal the Glock jammed into his waistband, Strelkski actually flashed a quick smile before the curtain of bland stupidity fell back into place. “Piotor is always ready.”

      Donny nodded silently and then pushed open the poster-encrusted door into the market. As he stepped inside, he pulled the cheap pistol from his pocket, trying with only partial success to keep his hand from shaking. Behind him he heard the comforting thump of the big Russian’s footsteps and from the front of the store the light tinkle of a woman’s voice. Scarborough took a deep breath as he edged toward the money.

      After a few seconds of futile fumbling in the darkened automobile, Mckenzie’s hand tightened around his cell phone. With a sigh of released frustration, he raised back up into his seat just as Strelkski followed Scarborough into the store. Some skills cannot be quantified. The interplay of observation, intuition , and finely developed instincts gave Mckenzie the solution before someone else would have even grasped the problem. In the instant that he saw the man in the worn jeans and cheap jacket go through the door, he knew something was terribly wrong. The man’s body language, his aura of menace, and the sense of danger were as visible to Mckenzie as the big man’s physical form. Then he saw the Glock as it was pulled from under the man’s jacket.

      For the briefest of instances, a millisecond or less, Alex Mckenzie felt a nauseating wave of despair surge through him. Then he drove it away, banished it to a distant world where it could no longer touch him. He required absolute clarity of thought; he would tolerate nothing else. Once again, he extracted his cell phone from his jacket pocket and punched in the speed dial code. The answering voice sounded tired and perhaps a little bored. “Detective Del Rio.” Mckenzie’s authority crackled into the air. “This is Mckenzie - Major Crimes

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