Do No Harm

"For starters, there's an LA sun overhead and no sweat stains on their shirts. The fanny pack couldn't be more obvious-what the fuck, are they European gardeners? Plus, their hair's a bit high and tight, but not much we can do about that."

"What else?"

Dalton tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Oh yeah," he said. "I went through the academy with Garcia."

Yale pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. "And here I thought it was your keen detective skills." His fingers found the microphone beneath his shirt and pushed the button. Since they were on TAC12, there was no need to speak in code. "Garcia, Garcia, Yale."

Outside, Garcia faked scratching an itch beneath his shirt and activated his mike. "Yale, Yale, Garcia. Go ahead." Since he barely moved his lips, his vowels were better enunciated than his consonants.

"You got a friend who wants to say hello."

Dalton smiled as he spoke. "Garcia, you lazy spic, if you're not gonna work out there, at least fake it well. Splash some water on your shirt in the front, and a bit beneath your arms. Tell your buddy too."

"Hugh Dalton, you motherfucker. I was sure you'd never get promoted."

"Every mutt has his day. Did you check the sprinkler timers? We can't have you getting doused out there and looking like a rookie."

"Already taken care of. Hey, I was sorry to hear about Kathy."

Dalton's face shifted, the folds and wrinkles rearranging themselves but staying the same. "Thank you," he said.

"She was a good cop."

Dalton nodded, as though Garcia could see him. His voice was a bit raspy when he spoke again. "Also, you gotta lose the fanny pack up front. Too obvious, especially with the drawstring."

"I already got my portable beneath my shirt. If I move the gun to my waistband, I'll bulk up even more."

"It'll still be less conspicuous than a big black brick strapped to your dick."

"All right. Over."

Dalton sat staring through the tinted windows of the ambulance, not looking over at Yale. "You gonna ask me what happened to my wife?"

"No."

"She was killed on a routine traffic stop last year. Pulled someone over and was approaching the car when a semi swerved and clipped her. Guy wasn't drinking or anything. He just leaned over, reached for the radio." His hand flared, then clapped to his knee. "She was a good cop. Great lady. Twice my IQ and four times my looks." He smiled faintly. "Not that that's saying much."

Yale pulled his Revos down over his eyes, despite the fact they were in an underground garage. "Kids?"

"Two girls. Nine and twelve." Dalton reached for the picture in his wallet but stopped himself. "Forget it."

Yale didn't insist.

Dalton cleared his throat, a little too loud. "Tell your homeless guy to wear shittier shoes tomorrow. The spanking-white Reeboks are a no-brainer. The overhang to this entrance is a parking area. Have him patrol up there from time to time in case our psycho decides to drop an alkali balloon down on a pedestrian. And have a UCLA PD car come by and roust him every now and then to make him look legit. That's all I got. I hope you didn't put anyone up a tree-they might be stealing our guy's hideout."

"No trees. We got a black female working reception inside, and a white male orderly standing by near the other entry control point."

"Just one other ECP?"

"Yeah, there's one hall into the ER from the hospital proper, but I'm pretty sure our guy's looking to hit here again. More open, closer to the streets, easier."

"So he thinks."

Yale nodded. "So he thinks."

"Getting bolder, isn't he, the fucker? He hit Nance up on the sidewalk. Took the second girl just about where we're sitting." Dalton looked down, as though he could see through the ambulance floor. "Came down here, right near the ER doors." His head snapped up. "What do we got east of the hospital? Anyone in the Botanical Gardens?"

Yale shook his head. "There are a lot of good hiding places down there, but we figured someone coming in from the east would've been picked up by the CCTV on the kiosk." The only closed circuit television camera near the ambulance bay entrance was mounted on the front parking kiosk, angled down and eastward, catching cars as they pulled through and paid. It recorded a wide scope and would have caught any pedestrian traffic looping around into the ambulance bay entrance from that direction. Yale had spent more time than he cared to recall watching the footage. Aside from the occasional woman in a low-cut dress, he'd found very little of interest. "We couldn't pull more than six undercovers," he continued. "I figured they were best used elsewhere."