“Yeah, I told you as much,” Floyd said, as his eyes wandered around the food court.
“She’s got a stack of reports she’s going through, looking at two-elevens with two suspects. Trying to find something we can sink our teeth into.”
“There’s got to be hundreds.”
“Not as many as you’d think, surprisingly. She narrowed the search to only a couple of cases where two suspects hit markets and liquor stores in a thirty-mile radius of Ho’s, our Compton murder. At least in the last couple months.”
He frowned. “And you’re telling me that’s all there is? I call bullshit.”
“I was surprised.”
“Well, good for her, but I bet she missed something. There’s got to be a shitload of robberies with two suspects.”
“Right?”
“So, are you thinking these assholes started out doing robberies without killing?”
I shrugged. “It was her thought, and not a bad one. What’s new with your deal, you and your boy, Cedric?”
“I was turned down for paper.”
“Wait, what? You had a warrant rejected?”
“First time in my life. Went to the wrong judge, apparently.”
“Who’d you go to?”
“Me and Mongo had court in Compton, so I just went with Moore. He’s usually so hungover or drunk he doesn’t even read them, or at least that’s what I thought. The sonofabitch read this one though, the entire affidavit. Then the bastard says, ‘You want a warrant when you’ve got no crime?’ I told him I wanted a warrant to prove that a crime occurred. He said to come back when I had a victim. You believe that shit?”
“You should have gone to Tracy.”
Floyd was finishing his soda, tipping the paper cup up to get the last of it. When he set it down he said, “Banuelos?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Shit, I forgot she was a judge now. She’s in Compton?”
“I saw her last week.”
“She still hot?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, there ya go, Dickie. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, I’m in a slump. Don’t even know about hot judges and I get a warrant kicked back by a drunk. And it started with this goddamn kung fu panda partner of mine. We need to get back together, Dickie Floyd, before I lose all my mojo.”
I laughed. “I’ve got to get back, check on my girl. Let me know when we can set up movie night with Cedric.”
“You’ve got film?”
“It’s not great, but he should be able to say if it looks like the same two blobs of black clothing, based on shapes and sizes.”
“Plan, Dickie. Catch ya later.”
14
We moved along slowly in the Monday afternoon traffic while heading back to our latest crime scene for follow-up investigation. I asked Josie if anything had come from her search of robberies in the area.
She frowned. “Not what I had hoped. Couple of crackheads did one or two jobs in Compton, but one is in custody and the other is named. Two kids pulled a job over in the Vermont District, but both are midgets—”
“Midgets?”
She grinned. “Well, both are shorter than me, so we’re not interested. And there were two robberies in Long Beach that looked good at first, but I don’t think they’re related.”
“Why is that?”
“One of the two suspects was a female, at least on one of the robberies for sure. The other job there were actually three suspects, not two. The report only listed two, so that’s how it landed in my pile, but when you read it, there was a getaway driver that wasn’t seen by anyone, so he wasn’t described on the face sheet of the report. But that makes it three suspects. The detectives have those two cases listed as being related.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, could there have been a driver on our murder? I don’t think we know.”
“Yeah, you’re right, we don’t know. I guess there could have been.”
It might have been a long shot, but I felt it was worth looking at anyway. “Who are the detectives? Do you know?”
“I don’t know. They’re both Long Beach PD cases. I’m not even sure how Loretta knew about them, or how she got the reports.”
“There’s some good dicks in Long Beach. We should probably look into those two cases a little closer, see if there’s anything at all we like about them maybe being related to ours. Were the suspects wearing masks?”
“Yep, just like our case. That’s what I liked about it from the start, but then the woman . . .”
“How do they know one of them was a woman?”
“Apparently she said something to the other suspect during the robbery. According to the witness, it was a woman’s voice.”
I thought about it for a moment. “Okay, then how do we know our suspects are both men?”
I had just rolled to a stop not far from our office, crossing through Bell Gardens on our way into Los Angeles. I glanced over and waited while Josie sat silent. She was looking at me and she seemed to be pondering the idea of it. Finally, she shook her head. “I guess we really don’t know.”
“Maybe the smaller of the two is a woman.”
“That’d be one crazy bitch,” Josie said, and returned her gaze toward the bustle on the streets.
“That is a fact.”
A few minutes of silence followed. I could smell the freshness of a woman bathed in floral shampoos or soaps and not drowned by perfumes. The fragrance reminded me of Katherine, though her scent was a bit more subdued. I pictured Katherine taking care of her mother, tending to her father, putting all of her life’s priorities on hold. Including me. But that was okay; I was at the point in my life where a short phone conversation, a quick note in the mail, or even a text or an email would suffice. It was enough to be thought of, to be considered. I wondered if she was thinking of me.
I looked over to see my partner still gazing through the passenger’s window as we continued south into Los Angeles, on our way to Compton. I couldn’t help but notice the sleek lines of her profile and her silky black hair that laid nicely on her shoulders. I inhaled through my nose to enjoy her fresh scent, and the next thing I knew, I had pictured her out of the shower. Fresh. Wet. The bouquet of wild flowers wafting through the car put me right in her most private of moments in my head. Maybe Floyd was right about this. Maybe men and women shouldn’t spend the amount of time together that the job requires, at least not if either are otherwise involved. There is an intimacy between partners that is often unspoken, but always realized. And without malice aforethought, the seeds of lust and temptation can grow. I forced my mind back to Katherine and her ailing parents. To hell with Floyd.
She glanced over and caught me looking at her. “Wouldn’t the freeway be faster?”
Probably, but who was in a hurry? Not me; there was nothing to hurry home to, and I had found myself enjoying every minute with my new partner. Was that inappropriate? I didn’t know. I didn’t think so, but Floyd was in my head now. I’d ask him—not Katherine—about it. My two counselors.
I had taken surface streets from the office, which was always my preference. The smog seemed hardly noticeable on this otherwise lovely afternoon in the County of Los Angeles. Somewhere, two ferocious killers sat in the comfort of their home, or maybe they still slept after a long night of terrorizing somebody’s community or family. I often thought about killers and wondered what they were doing when not committing their heinous crimes. I would think about them while I enjoyed a cocktail on my patio or in my favorite watering hole, and I would wonder if they too were sitting on a patio somewhere with a cocktail. Enjoying a nice evening, speaking to the neighbors, playing with the family dog. I generally concluded that these killers and thugs didn’t enjoy nice evenings, neither did they appreciate scenic views nor savor fine cocktails in a civilized manner. They had no appreciation for the finer parts of life, and they had no appreciation for life itself. These people were sociopaths, hel
l-bent on plowing through the world with no regret for the death and destruction they left behind. Once skunked on their cheap drink, they’d take their hostilities toward the world out on whatever life-hostage they had taken for a mate.
This train of thought would inevitably lead me to the next—one I had never shared with Katherine or with either of my wives—which was, killers like this duo who were gunning down innocent people, thugs like the Regalados and their mastermind, Donna Edwards, were soulless reptiles who should have their heads cut off and buried in separate holes, apart from the rest of their bodies. Public hangings should make a comeback; that’s how you deter crime.
Josie seemed to be waiting for an explanation. I said, “You miss out on all the action from the freeways. It’s like going through life looking at your cell phone. You don’t see what’s really going on in the world. You think you’re up on everything, but you missed the good stuff while looking at Facebook.”
“But it is faster.”
I pondered that a moment. “Are you in a hurry?”
“No.”
I glanced back and forth from the road to my partner and let that sit for a moment. “This isn’t the job for people in a hurry. Nothing is fast here other than the pace of new cases. But the process is slow, methodical, carefully considered, and never rushed. It’s why nobody really bothers to keep time records here; none of us wants to know how much of our lives we give to the county. But that’s also why the lieutenants don’t blink when you hand them overtime slips, and why they don’t ask you to submit a time off request when you stay home because you’re under the weather. They know we put in far more hours than we’ll ever be compensated for, and that we never truly have time off.”
She alternated between looking straight ahead and turning to look out the side window, taking in the street-view action, people moving about on congested sidewalks where street vendors populated every corner, making it feel more and more like the home most of them had left behind.
“When Floyd and I were together, we tried taking vacations at the same time. Inevitably, court cases would pop up or there would be a break in a case. There’d be someone new to talk to, or a suspect identified by DNA or prints or something, and we’d have to swing into action. We never seemed to get a true break from the job. Then we decided to take separate vacations so that one of us could handle such issues while the other enjoyed his family. Well, that didn’t work either, because whatever one of us got ourselves into, the other seemed obligated to join in. It would start with a simple phone call, ‘Hey, partner, just letting you know we had a break on the Smith case, a suspect in custody at Lennox,’ and then the one on vacation would ask the other if he needed a hand, and there would be the, ‘Ah, nah, I think I can handle it.’ Then, before you knew it, the two of us would be strategizing over a fresh cup of coffee at one sheriff’s station or another, or at some random police station where we would be summoned to investigate a murder, while a suspect sat sweating in the box, waiting for what he knew was coming.”
“You and Floyd were partners for a long time.”
She was looking at me now with some sort of expectation, or so it seemed. New partners will eventually talk about old partners in the way new couples eventually get around to talking about their exes. It seemed to me it was part of the bonding process, and no different from a budding romance, the fewer secrets the better. Though in some situations, it was those kept secrets that allowed the romance to continue; you had to find that balance. The light turned green and I turned onto Atlantic. The conversation would be delayed until another ride, another day or night, another time of intellectual intimacy between two cops testing the waters of partnership. There’s a difference between working together and being partners.
“Yeah, we were. Keep your eyes peeled around here for that van.”
Carlos came back with McDonald’s and Travis said, “What’d you do, get a Happy Meal?”
Tina was in the kitchen cleaning up after the two men in the house. There were empty beer containers and overflowing ashtrays and the remnants of midnight snacks strewn about the counters and table. She had finally given in once it was clear nobody else would lift a finger. She met Carlos at the table with a beer. He gladly accepted the beer and then tore open the McDonald’s bag to reveal two wrapped burgers and an order of fries. He motioned to one of the burgers and she shook her head.
Travis said, “I’d take one.”
“You’ve eaten. Let the poor kid have his lunch.”
Travis laughed at her. “Well, the least you can do is grab your ol’ man a beer too.”
Tina returned to the fridge and grabbed two more. Soon the three of them sat at the small table in the dimly-lit dining room—their blinds remained closed at all times—and Tina asked her brother what he found out today. Travis rolled his eyes as if he didn’t expect much from him.
Carlos didn’t finish chewing before he started. “Well, that gook is still alive, as you said. I seen him today. And as far as other stores around that we might could hit, there’s one or two.”
“Fucking brilliant, I’ll tell you.”
Tina glared at her man for the comment.
“But I came up with a better idea anyway.”
Travis plopped his beer down on the table. “Oh, I’m sure this is going to be good.”
“Armored cars.”
Tina watched for Travis’s reaction but couldn’t read him, which didn’t happen often. He was rather simple to figure out and even easier to manipulate.
Carlos continued. “The guards are sloppy. I seen ’em. In fact, I started following one of ’em around after I seen ’em pick up money bags at that market with the gook you didn’t kill. They left there, went to two other markets and then a check cashing place. Every place they stopped, they went in with empty bags and came out with bags full of money. Sometimes, they wheel it out on a little cart. Other times, the dude just carries a bag. It’s alway just the one guy with a pistol though that gets out. The driver waits in the truck. It seems to me it’d be easy enough to take him.”
Travis took a long pull on his can of beer and set it down resolutely. He nodded to Tina. “Get me another beer.”
She wanted to tell him to fuck himself, but instead she got up and took another beer out of the fridge. Her brother was off his rocker. Armored cars. But as she considered it, she saw Travis being gunned down during the attempt, and thought maybe this would be the way to make it happen. Then she remembered he needed to disappear. She handed Travis the beer and looked at her brother.
“I don’t like it, hermanito. Too much risk. They have guns and they will shoot it out. The guy in the truck shoots out the little windows. They won’t open it up.”
Travis was watching her, but he didn’t respond for a moment. He looked at Carlos and smiled through his scraggly beard. “I like it.”
15
Tina left the two men in her life sitting at the table discussing how to take down an armored car. She locked her bedroom door and started filling the tub in the master bathroom she shared with Travis. She watched herself undress in the mirror, slowly unbuttoning her blouse and letting it fall to the floor behind her, and then wiggling her hips as she pushed her jeans into a heap at her feet. Standing in her panties and a lace bra, she turned each direction and evaluated her body. She had gained twenty pounds since leaving the army, but she was by no means fat. She pictured herself standing naked in front of Morgan—Lt. James P. Morgan—and pictured him smiling at what he saw.
Jesus, had she messed up her life.
She wished now that she hadn’t made such a hasty decision. She was driven by adrenaline, she had discovered, and that drive had brought her to where she is today. A wanted outlaw. A fugitive, Absent Without Leave from the United States Army. She unfastened her bra and slipped out of her panties, still appraising her physique. As she lowered herself into her bath, she thought back to the day her life had changed forever, just two years earlier.
They had been out on
a training mission. PFC Christina Ortiz was driving an LMTV—Light Medium Tactical Vehicle—and Sgt. Travis Hollingsworth rode shotgun. He was the TC—truck commander—and there were five soldiers aboard, riding in the open-backed cargo area. In the preceding weeks, Texas had been pummeled by severe storms, resulting in saturated ground and swollen creeks, bayous, and rivers. All were susceptible to flash flooding. The governor had declared a state of emergency, with Central Texas receiving seven inches of rainfall in the first two days of June. The crew had been crossing the unusually swift waters of Owl Creek when their vehicle suddenly sank into the earth and became stuck.
The rain began pouring down, sending torrential waters through the already vulnerable creek. An unyielding current swept away the seven-and-a-half-ton military tactical vehicle as if it were a toy. Crew members were thrown from the back as the roaring waters flipped the truck onto its side. As water gushed through the cab, Travis took Tina by her arm and pulled her with him as he climbed out through the driver’s window.
Tina had been petrified, sure she would drown in the rapid waters. Her swimming skills were substandard; there was a reason she had joined the army, not the navy. Without a life preserver, she wouldn’t have stood a chance if not for Travis. When they finally found shore, what seemed like miles down river, they were alone. The two of them laid on the wet ground not far from the roaring waters and panted, and then laughed, and then they each stripped off their wet clothing and Tina made love to the man who had saved her life.
She had later read in the papers that one of the surviving crew reported seeing the sergeant and Private Ortiz being swept downstream ahead of him. He could see that both were alive and fighting to keep their heads above water. She remembered wondering, while she read that article and others, what the reports might have said if someone saw them on the shore making love.
The two soldiers huddled together, fighting against the cold. They were exhausted from nearly drowning and then making intense love, and they each fell asleep beneath an ominous sky. When they awakened, the water had risen and they were nearly back in the river. The wind blew dark clouds across the horizon, and both knew there would be no helicopters sent out to find them. They dressed and began walking out, and that was when Travis suggested they never return. “Presumed dead,” he had told her. “Free of the bullshit for the rest of our lives.”
Hard-Boiled- Box Set Page 76