Runner-up 1

Inside Falcoland, Evelyn, Tony and Genie were gathered at the dining room table listening to a DEA agent read their crafted statements, which sounded like lines from a play by Shakespeare.

Hauser had given his statement and was home tending to his superficial wounds.

Asking to use the head, Evelyn was excused.

In the bathroom, she reached underneath the cabinet and, shoving aside towels, she removed a handgun. Pulling out her cellphone, she dialed.

“You’re being set up. The DEA wired Bonner. Carmen has evidence in an envelope she’s going to give to Steve Lopez at the L.A. Times tonight. Change the meet or --”

Someone was standing behind her.

Turning around, Falco grabbed the phone and read the display.

“You double-crossing snake,” Falco snarled, trying to wrestle the gun away from her.

In the dining room, the DEA agent heard a single gunshot.

The rented El Dorado Cadillac jetted down the 110 Freeway. Palmeiri slowed to navigate the sharp curve at the Stadium Way Exit, which led to Dodger stadium. His cellphone rang.

As he listened to the warning about the DEA trap, suddenly the phone went dead.

His daughter, Evelyn, sounded scared. Wanting to run to her, instead he sped past the stadium onto Riverside Drive.

He dialed information as Hans in the passenger seat was shoving a clip of 15 rounds into his Beretta.

Checking his watch, Steve Lopez drove like a bat out of hell though Chinatown, heading to Dodger Stadium. His cellphone vibrated.

“Vincent Palmeiri. Change of plans. L.A. Zoo. Ten minutes.”

“Why?” Lopez asked

“I smell rat.”

“Fine. I’ll inform Carmen.”

“We meet inside,” Palmeiri said. “Near the flamingos.”

So who turned? Lopez wondered as he patted an envelope like the one Carmen was going to give him.

Lopez figured if Palmeiri knew of his involvement, then surely Falco told the feds. Why didn’t they call to warn him? Because the trap was set, and he and Carmen were the bait.

Alone in his car, Lopez thought about calling the feds but changed his mind. There wasn’t enough time, and Lopez had a few tricks up the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

Hauser was steering the white van that was trailing Lopez’s vehicle when he got the call from the reporter about the change in the meet location.

Earlier Hauser had called back Lopez, after returning home. Lopez had needed his help for a journalistic sting and possible Pulitzer Prize story on the racketeer. He had used Hauser as a source before; Hauser immediately wanted in and called for backup: his retired FBI buddies Botting and Boone and left messages.

Hauser prayed that the equipment he quickly rigged up, down and dirty electronic devices, held together.

At the zoo, Hauser parked behind Lopez near the zoo entrance. The lot was still full, and he knew closing time was in 30 minutes.

Standing near a flock of pink flamingos, Lopez nervously adjusted the button on his shirt. Behind him, rows of birds of paradise plants provided a beautiful backdrop as darkness began to fall.

Approaching alone, Palmeiri asked for Carmen.

Stepping closer, Lopez wanted to make sure the hidden mike taped to his chest was recording everything.

Inside the van, Hauser was checking the equipment.

The players were all coming in loud and clear.

“Everyone just stay cool,” Hauser said out loud, wiping his brow.

The van door opened.

Hans pointed the gun at Hauser.

“I win,” Hans said, like he’d just been crowed King of Oktoberfest.

Former LAPD Officer James Retana is having fun writing this story with his 13-year-old daughter, Isabel.