Chapter 50
“WE’VE GOT THEIR attention now, Mr. Cobb,” Watson said, looking away from several computer screens streaming early-morning coverage of the Huntington Beach Pier explosion, as well as clips from the killings at Malibu and at the CVS.
“We do indeed, Mr. Watson,” Cobb said. “Two more cycles and we’ll have a clear shot at the prize.”
They were inside the garage in the City of Commerce. Cobb was stuffing the Lakers hoodie, the blond wig, the sunglasses, and the cap into a trash bag. There would be no further need for the disguise. It had served its purpose and more. For the time being, law enforcement would be focused on a man answering No Prisoners’ description, which was how Cobb wanted it.
“Today?” Kelleher asked.
“Today we rest and regroup, Mr. Kelleher,” Cobb said. “In the meantime we let the media do its job, get the drumbeat of threat going, build the panic exponentially, get the government worms all squirming like they’ve been plugged into a socket. We let them assure the people that they are safe, and then we wait until we start hearing them speculate that we might be finished, that we’ve left Los Angeles alone. That could be twelve hours after the assurance of safety. Could be thirty-six, or forty-eight.”
“And then we go again?” Johnson said. The wiry black man was sitting on the foot of his cot, cleaning a pistol.
“Yes, Mr. Johnson,” Cobb said. “When that happens we go again. Meantime, anybody up for breakfast at Robby Eden’s? I could go for three eggs over easy, two sides of bacon, and an order of sourdough toast.”