When I returned to the hotel, I looked closer at what Park had set me up with. The gun was exactly what I expected; it had “Glock” written on the handle. I went online and figured out that it was a 5th-gen Glock 19. It was also a right-handed gun, which was an oversight on my part, as I am left-handed. Still, after watching some Youtube videos, I got pretty proficient with the basics, or at least as much as I could without actually firing it.

  The shoulder holster he had thrown in was a complete bust. It was designed for my left side, which meant I would have to use my right arm to draw the gun. I tried with my left, but it was too difficult. So, I decided to keep the Glock in the driver's side door instead.

  The bulletproof vest was bulkier than I had imagined. It was completely adjustable, but it was obvious I had it on. Fortunately, I had an oversized hoodie I used when I wanted to keep my face out of cameras, which helped cover the vest pretty well.

  I spent some time going over everything BlueWhisper sent over that evening. It matched what he had said previously. They kept her in interrogation until it was too late for a bail hearing and then took her to King County Correctional Facility for the night. She made her first phone call right after she arrived at KCCF to an unknown cell number. I told him not to waste time gathering information about her and instead to focus on Nick and his group.

  BlueWhisper was a genius at accessing police internal communications; this was his primary focus as a hacker. Despite his skills, however, he couldn’t access all the police departments. In the greater Seattle area, for instance, he had access to the Seattle Police Department (SPD) and King County, but not to the state police. He could access departments in Kirkland and Kent but not those in Medina or Tukwila. Which ones he could access likely depended on the specific systems each department used internally. He most likely had learned about specific vulnerabilities in the specialized software used by police departments and exploited these to access several police departments. Some hackers actually begin their careers by working as programmers and intentionally set up backdoors for just this reason.

  For what I needed this time, he was ideal. The Seattle Police Department (SPD) was the responding department for the shooting and covered the Queen Anne area. With access to those systems, he could monitor when Luanda was picked up and track any police presence at the locations they might take her. If I were lucky, BlueWhisper could track the police car used to pick her up. For now, I had him watching for any transfer orders.

  I struggled to fall asleep. The gun had stirred memories I preferred not to relive, and my anxiety about what might happen the next day left my mind racing. I was also concerned that I might experience another precognitive episode if I fell asleep. Nonetheless, I eventually drifted off, and my sleep was deep and dreamless.

  I got up early and went around to various ATMs to withdraw cash. I needed another $10,000, so it took me a few attempts. Fortunately, I had several accounts with small amounts of money, which made it possible to get what I needed. Eventually, I bundled the $30,000 into three stacks of $10,000 each, secured them with rubber bands, and placed them in the console between the seats.

  I opened one of my burner phones and set up a new Signal account. I discussed my plans with BlueWhisper and ensured he was ready to communicate with me via the cell phone. He had an update for me almost immediately: Luanda was scheduled for a bail hearing at 1:00 PM. The fact that she had a privately hired lawyer suggested that her parents had some money.

  My next task, which I was most worried about, was to pick up my protection. It was just after 10, and I was starting to feel nervous when Park contacted me with the location to meet my crew.

  David Park: Your three heavies will arrive at the SODO station in 15 minutes. A tire store on 6th is right near the station, and they’ll hang out for you there. The head man is Rook, but I don’t know the other two. Just work through him. Have the upfront ready. They’re nortenos from down south.

  Me: I thought you had guys from a local crew.

  David Park: If it's gonna go down, I wanted an outside crew. So locals can’t recognize them. The Mercer Crew didn’t have the weight anyway.

  Me: Isn’t most of Seattle Surenos territory?

  David Park: Plenty is, sure, but they aint got shit around Queene Anne, mostly Vietnamese crews and some islander crips in that area. I warned off a couple of locals to find other places to be. Better for it to be outside guys if it’s gonna go hot.

  I wasn’t sure about his logic, but I was out of my depth and didn’t have any other options. I headed to SODO to pick them up.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  As I entered the tire shop, it smelled strongly like weed. The man behind the counter was smoking a joint and talking to three people who were clearly the ones I was here to meet. None were especially tall; the tallest was about five feet ten, and the shortest was only five feet five. They all appeared Hispanic and were in their late twenties or early thirties. Each wore a hoodie, but none had the hoods up. Their clothes looked new and fit well, and they were sporting relatively new Nike sneakers, each with splashes of red.

  The tallest man had heavy tattoos visible on his neck and the left side of his face, including a prominent Roman numeral XIV tattooed on his neck. His hair was short, and he wore a 49ers beanie. The shortest one was Rook. He had a prominent tattoo of a rook on the back of his right hand and sported short hair. He eyed me closely as I walked in. The last guy had no visible tattoos and had a goatee with a buzz cut. He kept his hands in his pockets and gazed disinterestedly at me.

  Looking at the shorter man, I nodded and said, “You Rook?”

  He raised his chin, his expression blank, and replied, “Who’s asking?”

  “I’m Sabot. Park said to meet you here.”

  He nodded slowly, turning his head slightly with a faint curl of his lips and his eyes half-closed. “So what the hell is a 'say-bow'?” he asked, clearly enunciating each syllable oh my handle.

  The question took me aback. “Uhhm, well, it’s hard to describe.” I thought while he regarded me patiently. “If you have a bullet or an artillary round that is oddly shaped or too small, you can put it into a sabot. The sabot ensures it comes out of the barrel perfectly straight.”

  He nodded in understanding. "Yes, that makes sense. You’re the one who directs the bullet but not the one who does the killing." He gestured over his shoulder at the larger, tattooed guy. "This is Beto." Then, he pointed to the last of the three. "And that’s Filero." He paused and looked at me with a questioning expression. "Do you have something for us?"

  I pointed over my shoulder at the SUV. “It’s in there.” After a moment, I realized he expected me to get it, so I walked over and grabbed the money from the console inside the SUV. I handed it to him, and he pulled a hundred-dollar bill from one of the bundles. He examined it in the light, ran his fingers across it, and then returned it, apparently satisfied it wasn’t counterfeit. He then handed all the cash to Filero, who started counting it.

  He pointed at the SUV. “Is that our ride?” I nodded in response. “Pretty nice. Is it yours?”

  “No, it’s a rental. I used a fake ID, so we can dump it afterward.”

  Filero finished counting the money and handed it to the guy at the counter, who opened the cash register and slid it under the cash tray.

  Rook shook his head. “Rental’s no good. They hide trackers all over those bitches. If it goes to piss, cops will be on you.” He glanced at the guy behind the counter. “We gonna need something clean.” He looked back at me. “Give Mike your keys,” he said, gesturing at the man behind the counter, “he’ll strip it down in exchange for a clean ride.”

  I knew for a fact that people often used rental cars for drive-bys and other serious crimes, so it felt like a bit of bullshit, but I went along with it anyway. I returned to the SUV, grabbed my gun, and slipped it into the broad pocket of my hoodie. Then I returned and tossed my keys to Mike, who snatched them out of the air.

  Mike reached under the counter and handed a set of keys to Beto, who casually swung them around his finger. Mike said, “It’s the blue Accord. The owner won’t be back till the weekend.” His voice took on a mock regretful tone. “It’s a real shame how it got stolen right off the lot. I didn’t even notice it was gone.”

  My phone pinged twice while we were talking, so I was anxious to get the updates. It was still early, but I honestly didn’t know when Jacob and Nick would get her out of the lockup.

  Rook gave me a stern look, and his tone hardened a bit. “I’m also gonna need you to give me that vest you’re wearing. I’m gonna be the one up front catching bullets, so it’s best if I wear it.”

  The car was one thing, but now he was straight-up bullying me. My tone got hard too, “Fuck you. Bring your own fucking vest. It’s probably too big for you anyway.” Behind him, Beto’s eyes went wide, and his mouth opened. Filero smiled and put his hand to his mouth.

  Rook smiled and nodded, the hardness gone from his eyes. “Ok, homes. It’s like that. I needed to see if there was any juice in those cojones. We’re all good, jefe.”

  I started out the door and called back, “Can one of you drive? I need to stay in contact with the guy I have tracking them.” The Accord was right there. It was nearly new and one of the most generic cars on the street, so it was a good choice.

  I heard the locks click open and got into the passenger seat. Beto took the driver’s seat while Filero sat behind me with Rook to his left.

  I told Beto where to go and opened my Signal App. The first message I saw made my fists clench.

  BlueWhisper: Just got a notice on Luanda. KCCF got a request for transfer from the Staties. Detective Nicholas Welington will be arriving to pick her up and transfer her to State custody for interrogation in an unrelated murder investigation.

  BlueWhisper: Just looked up this Wellington bloke, no record I can find. Everything in the transfer request looks like a load of dung.

  I didn’t have a lot of time.