Jack's forehead broke into a sweat as he watched the crew packing the rest of the bags into the shed and close it up.

Where was Angela and the cavalry? Jack looked around and made his escape plan. He had only minutes to spare.

Angela exited the freeway on Storke Road and took a right on Hollister. She had no way of communicating with Jack, so she had no idea what was going on. As she sped down Hollister, she noticed two black and white units with lights blazing, fall into place behind her.

"Dispatch, this is Agent Wollard, I've got two black and whites in formation. 10-77 five minutes."

"10-4 Agent Wollard. SWAT is reporting ten minutes. Hold for SWAT."

"Roger that."

Another Hispanic man came walking out of the EZ Storage lot, this one with a shotgun. He looked to the right and left of the main entrance, and called out.

"Yo, Felipe, where you at Bro?" he said. Then, he noticed Jack and started running toward Jack's car. Jack jammed the car into reverse and backed out onto the street. The windshield exploded and rained pebbles of glass that bounced against the dashboard as Jack ducked and spun the car around. Jack hit the gas and the rear wheels spewed a rubbery cloud of smoke as Jack heard the shotgun go off again and the momentum of the car taking off bounced his passenger around in the back seat.

"You're dead, man!" said Jack's occupant, as the van took chase.

When Angela pulled up to EZ Storage with two Sheriff's Dept. patrol cars in tow, everything was quiet like nothing had ever happened there. Just piles of scattered rounded shards of safety glass was all she could find.

Jack rang Angela on her cell phone.

"Angie, you were a little late coming to the party. I've got a situation now."

"Talk to me, Jack."

"I'm being pursued by a beige VW van, California personalized license plates, "Sierra-Uniform-Romeo-Foxtrot-Zulu-Uniform-Papa." They are armed and have already taken one shot at me."

"I'll have the Sheriff's Dept. put out an APB. What's your 20?"

"Southbound Hollister approaching Coromar Drive. Wait Angie!"

Jack glanced in the rear view and saw the van turn off.

"They just turned off."

"Do you still have the suspect in custody?"

"Yes."

"We'll find the van. Come on back to the scene and let's get him turned over to the Sheriff."

The SWAT team pulled up in their armored vehicle and a dozen heavily armed men in military fatigues and helmets descended. After being briefed by Angela, they stormed the storage unit. It was as empty as Al Capone's vault.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

The big man sat like a caged animal in the interrogation room as Brent, Angela, Jack, and Agent Samuel Nesta from the DEA looked on through a two-way mirror. He was fidgeting and wiggling his lardy body in the chair, and rubbing his hands through his greasy long hair and playing with his thick handle bar moustache.

"He needs a fix," said Nesta. Nesta was a no-nonsense agent, who had seen it all and could size up a junkie quicker than it would take for most people to decide whether to have cheese on their hamburger.

"Still, I don't think you're going to get anything out of this one," said Jack. "I've yet to break him."

"We'll see," said Nesta. "Ready?" he asked Angela.

"A confession a day keeps the doctor away," she retorted.

Angela and Nesta walked into the interrogation room, shut the door, and took a seat in the two metal chairs across the table from the big man, who was cuffed to a chair fixed to the floor.

"Felipe Corral," said Nesta, staring down the man with his steel grey eyes. Nesta never lost a stare down, because he never blinked.

"That's my name Chupas," he chuckled and added, "Don't wear it out!"

"My name is Special Agent Nesta from the Drug Enforcement Agency, and this is Angela Wollard from the FBI."

"Oh yeah?" He looked up and smirked. "Which one of you is the bad cop? The chick?"

"The 'chick' is Agent Wollard," said Nesta, firmly.

"Oh, so the Guera is the good cop and you must be the bad cop, huh Chupas?"

"We didn't come here to play games with you, Mr. Corral," said Angela, leaning forward across the table to look him straight in the eye.

"Then what did you come here for?" Corral laughed louder than his attitude. "So, you're both bad cops, huh Guera?" he asked, looking at Angela.

"Mr. Corral, we have you on assault with a deadly weapon and attempted murder..."

"Murder? What? I didn't touch that Guero! He attacked me!" Felipe pounded the table with his handcuffed fists, clenching his teeth.

"We're not talking about him," said Angela.

"The only way you're staying out of prison is to cooperate with us," said Nesta.

"Yo, you want me to rat on my brothers to you? A narc? You don't understand they'll fuckin' kill me! You ain't got nothing anyways."

"We have video," said Angela.

"We were surfing. So you got a surfing video."

"What about the boats?"

"What about 'em?"

"We know what you were unloading."

"So what you need me for, Guera? You ain't got shit. That's why you're talking to me."

Angela left the room and came back with Jack, who took Angela's empty seat at the table.

"What's he doing here?" asked Felipe. "I thought you said he was dead."

"He needs to identify you," said Angela.

"Bullshit." Corral looked at the ceiling and crossed his arms.

"Mr. Corral, what do you know about Barbara Densmore?" asked Jack.

Corral looked at Jack with eyes and mouth wide open. "Who?"

"The president of the Orange Grove Homeowners Association."

Corral's hairy upper lip raised in disgust. "I don't got to talk to you, Chupas. I've had enough of this shit. I want to call my lawyer."

At that point, once Corral asked for a lawyer, the interview was over and Jack, Angela and Nesta left the room and joined Brent outside.

"He doesn't know anything about Densmore," Jack said.

"How do you know?" asked Nesta.

"Micro-expressions," said Brent. "Jack's an expert at them."

"Not only that," said Jack. "He really didn't know who Barbara Densmore was."

"That doesn't mean that one of the others doesn't know who killed her, or that they're not smuggling drugs," said Nesta. "I'll swear out a warrant and we'll turn their place upside down. We will, of course, share information with Agent Wollard."

"Thank you, Agent Nesta. I'm not sure how big of a help it will be. The trial already started. But I appreciate it," said Brent.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

Agents of the DEA and FBI surrounded the Orange Grove home of Keith Michel as Agent Nesta knocked on the door to serve the search warrant. Michel answered the door in his usual stupor, as if he had just gone to bed or just woken up from a long afternoon nap. Nesta served him the warrant and he looked at it, then back at Nesta with glassy eyes.

"Dude, this is harassment," protested Michel.

"Where are the other occupants of the residence?" asked Nesta.

"I'm the only one here," said Michel.

Nesta led the search team into the house and they immediately started trolling through everything.

"Are there any illegal drugs in the house?" Nesta asked Michel.

"Nope, only legal. I've got a prescription."

"I'm sure you do."

After two hours, the search team came up with nothing except Keith Michel's "medical marijuana." No guns everything was clean.

"I'm going to sue you dude," Michel said to Nesta as he was walking out the door.

"Have a nice day," said Nesta. "I'll be back with arrest warrants for you and the rest of the Pep Boys."

The trial was underway. Nancy sat with Brent at counsel table, and her daughter Jillian sat in the front row behind her. There was nothing really for Jillian to do; just be there to support her mother.

"Mr. Chernow, you may call your first witness," said Judge Curtis.

"Thank you, Your Honor. I would like to call Joyce Bensley."

"Your Honor, may we approach?" asked Brent.

"Yes."

Once at the bench, Chernow started to complain. Brent could not understand the amount of emotion he had heaved into this trial.

"Your Honor," said Chernow, the defense is trying to derail the People's case."

"Excuse me, Your Honor, but isn't that my job? I can't sit here and let Mr. Chernow do whatever he wants. This is my client's life on the line."

"Okay, now knock it off, both of you," said Curtis. "What was your reason for the bench conference, Mr. Marks?"

"I anticipate that he is calling this witness to establish identity of the victim. We will stipulate that it was Barbara Densmore."

"Very well."

"Your Honor! The jury won't see the victim as a human being!"

"Alright, I will allow one question and one question only, after you have established the identity of your witness. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Honor."