The Border Lords by T. Jefferson Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

together we are greater than two. We can do anything.

7
    That evening Bradley Jones had sat through his first roll call as a sworn deputy of the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department. He was dark-haired and handsome, and seemed to be paying his usual half attention to things. He had turned twenty and a half years old the day before and was now eligible to work patrol. He was profoundly hungover from celebrating that milestone with his wife and some friends. This was his first shift working anywhere but the jail and he had an idea about how to make it special. Maybe even unforgettable. He stifled a yawn.
    “Jones, you counting sheep?”
    “Blessings, sir.”
    “We can send you back to the jail day shift if you can’t stay up this late.”
    “I’m alert, sir.”
    “Look the part. Okay, here’s tonight’s headline: ten-year-old boy kidnapped right out of his own living room in Cudahy this afternoon; shots fired but nobody hit. His name is Stevie Carrasco and here’s what he looks like.”
    The sergeant tapped his keyboard and a picture of the boy appeared on the briefing room monitor.
    “This mug is already downloaded to the data terminals in the cars, so use the MDT if you think you see him. The kidnapping might be a gang thing because said ten-year-old is son of an Eme gangster with ties to some Mex cartel. And you know, these fuckin’ cartel animals kidnap and murder each other’s wives and kids like it’s a sport. So . . .”
    Bradley fixed the sergeant with a look of great interest, but he couldn’t keep his mind on the man’s words. He’d already gathered some of this story from one of his young deputy friends, Caroline Vega, who by luck happened to help take the kidnap report from Stevie’s hysterical sister, who had called nine-one-one. Bradley believed in luck and in Caroline.
    He also knew Stevie’s father, Rocky. Rocky was a Florencia OG with Eme ties, a tattooed knot of a man with a reasonable outlook and a quick smile. He was also tied to the North Baja Cartel. Everyone knew that the North Baja Cartel was having a hard time maintaining supply lines in and around L.A. They were losing traction. Which led Bradley to wonder if MS-13 sicarios of the newly arrived Gulf Cartel had grabbed the kid to cripple a North Baja rival, bleed some cash out of him, and jack up the terror level so guys like Rocky might think twice about staying in L.A. Everybody wanted California real estate, thought Bradley. Especially the Mexican drug cartels. After all, it was the front door to the biggest drug market in the world.
    In the motor yard they checked over the patrol unit, a late-model Crown Victoria Police Interceptor with almost two hundred thousand miles on it. Bradley, a motorhead, checked under the hood—fluids, belts, battery, radiator and brake lines—then used his own pressure gauge to check the tires. He washed the windshield twice, meticulously, nothing more annoying to him than poor view at night.
    Jerry Clovis checked the MDT and radio, then leaned on another radio car and watched Jones do his work. Clovis was a thickly built middle-aged deputy, a family guy, easygoing and unambitious, the kind of man who made Bradley Jones want to take a long nap.
    “Ready, Brad?”
    “Nope. One minute.”
    Bradley tossed the squeegee back into the bucket, then walked down the row of black-and-whites until he was out of earshot. He called Rocky to see if he knew yet where Stevie was being held, and told Rocky it would behoove them all to find out fast. Then he called Theresa Brewer of FOX News and told her the ground rules again . Then he called Caroline to make sure she knew what to do and when. He walked back to the unit with a bounce in his step.
    “Checking in with the wife?” asked Clovis as they boarded.
    “Every chance I get.”
    “What’s her name?”
    “Erin.”
    “ ’Atta boy. Take it easy. Keep it clean. That’s been enough to get me through twenty-two years of this. Three more to go.”
    “Easy and