The more he thought about it, the more option three sounded the wisest. After all, it had been over twenty-five years. What could the cops possibly find that they hadn’t found earlier? Why would he even think the police would suspect him or Danny of having been involved?
Jerry thought about this, his mind going back to that time so long ago, to those events that he lived over and over in his mind. The more he thought about it, the better he felt. He had done nothing wrong. There was no way they could pin either him or Danny to any of this. There was just no way, and even if somebody came out and said, Okay look, we know Danny wrote the piece of graffiti on the phone booth with Raul’s phone number on it that led Doug Archer to call him repeatedly, and we know you used to pal around with Danny and Bobby, that you were there the day Bobby had his accident and that Raul was there too, but that wasn’t your fault. You were just kids, for Chrisssakes, right?
Right officer. Just a bunch of stupid kids fucking around. Right-O, Daddy-O.
So what else do the cops have beside that? The autopsy records of a murdered kid who was tied up with duct tape, gagged, beaten about the head and face, raped repeatedly, then beaten some more and drowned in four inches of muddy water at the bottom of an empty swimming pool where he was left to die. No fingerprints were found; any that might have been on the scant strips of duct tape had been washed away in the water. There was a size seven and a half footprint and it came out in the trial that Doug Archer wore that size, being of small stature. He’d even had a pair of Vans tennis shoes that matched the tread found in the mud. Of course the tests they’d done on the pair that were found in Doug’s house had come up inconclusive, but that didn’t mean shit. Couldn’t they test them again? Didn’t they keep evidence of murder cases for quite awhile?
Whatever happened, Jerry would not run. He was going to face this. He had Danny’s phone number committed to memory now; it was one of the things he’d insisted before Danny left, and he’d made Danny repeat his own phone number back to him over and over for five minutes until he got it right. They needed to be able to contact each other pronto should something happen, but just in case the police wanted to do a little poking around in their respective homes, he didn’t want them to find anything that suggested he and Danny still kept in contact. Danny had agreed to this, but Jerry could tell that he was twitchy as shit. And that only made Jerry nervous.
If Danny was leaned on hard enough, would he crack?
Jerry didn’t want to contemplate that, but he had to.
Which meant if he had to consider that distinct possibility, he also had to consider getting the hell out of dodge.
Jerry had an uncle who he hadn’t seen in five years or more. This would be Uncle Nacho. His real name was Ignacio, but all the kids called him Nacho because he liked to drink beer and eat nacho chips all day. Uncle Nacho owned a little house on the southern tip of Baja California free and clear. He used it as his getaway retreat, and last Jerry heard he hardly used it now. There was some mention at the last family gathering that somebody should drive down to check on the place and kick out the squatters, if there were any. All of Nacho’s brothers and sisters, of whom Jerry’s dad was one, had a key to the place. Jerry had made a copy of this key three months ago on a whim when he was running errands for his parents. He wondered what it would be like to just pack up Chrissy and Olivia and get the hell out of Los Angeles, get out of the U.S. for that matter. Go down south to Mexico and live on the beach in Uncle Nacho’s house rent free. He and Chrissy could open a little business down there, maybe a little storefront or something, cater to the tourists. They could easily do something that wasn’t physically strenuous which would enable them to live down there. They would educate Olivia themselves through a U.S. based homeschooling program. And at some point Jerry would get them all new identities. Easily purchased for the right price on the Mexican mainland.
But as always, there would be Chrissy, demanding an explanation as to why he wanted to make this life-change and he was afraid to tell her. He honestly didn’t know how she would react. He was afraid if she learned the truth, she would leave him anyway.
Jerry got off the couch and began collecting the beer bottles. He put them all in a brown paper grocery sack and carted them outside. They clinked and shattered when they hit the bottom of the garbage can and the sound reminded Jerry of a story he’d once read. It was a mystery story about a guy who murdered somebody by slipping powdered diamonds in a drink he served to his guest. The diamonds had been so finely ground they were undetectable in the drink. The victim had died a slow, painful death three weeks later from internal bleeding along his GI tract. Jerry wondered if this was possible, and if the same thing could be done with powdered glass. He thought it was possible; why not? Grind it up fine enough, it might work. He could do it. Buy a pair of surgical gloves and a case of Corona, pour the contents of one of them down the drain, then pulverize the glass outside. Grind it down somehow, then collect a tiny amount of the powder and keep it handy for when Danny came back next time. Pour it in Danny’s first beer and let nature take its course.
Of course that might not help him if Danny actually spilled the beans before the powdered glass did its trick, but Jerry couldn’t think of any other way to kill him. He didn’t know if he would have the guts to do it the old fashioned way—with a knife, bludgeoning instrument, or handgun.
What the hell am I thinking? The suddenness of his murderous thoughts overwhelmed him and Jerry leaned against the rear door of the house. He felt his limbs weaken. He took in his surroundings: cluttered little backyard with Olivia’s toys scattered around, broken barbecue pit, a little bungalow that was in need of some paint trim but was cozy inside. He thought of his wife and daughter, whom he loved more than anything in this world, and how he would do anything to preserve that love, and then he thought of Raul Valesquez and what that sonofabitch had done that had led to this, that had caused everything to spiral so wildly out of control, and Jerry leaned his head against his arms and cried.
It just wasn’t fair! He was doing good. He was walking the walk now, doing right by his family and himself. And now all he had worked for was in danger of being destroyed. It just wasn’t fair!
The sound of Chrissy’s car pulling into the driveway out front made him stop. He looked up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. He cast one last look around the backyard, stepped inside the house, and inspected himself briefly in the mirror over the little bathroom sink in the half bath. Satisfied that he was presentable, he headed through the house to the front yard to greet his family, still not knowing what he was going to do if the shit did hit the fan, but knowing one thing: he was not going to cut and run, and he was going to do everything in his power to keep himself and his family together.
IT WAS THE same old litany from Mom: what she did that week, how her boss was fucking her on her pay, how Larry, her husband, was a lazy bastard. Danny had the conversation memorized; they had it every week. It didn’t matter what day you called, Mom always said the same shit.
“...and then Tina and Jim came over the other day with the twins,” Mom said, “and Larry and I wound up babysitting so they could catch a movie. That was kind of nice, and—”
Danny nodded and made noncommittal utterances that he was listening. It was the same old shit. Tina and Jim dumped their kids off with Mom every weekend.
Danny Hernandez was lounging on his futon, dreading the next day when he would have to go to work. He was still reeling from his encounter with Jerry Valdez and had called his mother on a whim. Whenever he thought about those dark days of ’77, talking to his mom sometimes put his spirits in a better mood, even when she had nothing positive to say. Hearing her voice would remind him of how comforting she used to be. Of course, Mom hadn’t been exactly supportive of him the evening Raul tried to break into their house, but after he was found murdered, her outlook improved dramatically. She’d been supportive, almost clingy to Danny, and when the trial was going on she had grown distan
t and cold. It wasn’t until nearly a decade later that he realized the family unit he’d worked so hard to maintain had fragmented, with the first cracks beginning to show their strain right around the time the police were investigating the murder.
“—they’re getting so big,” Mom was saying, “but Larry thinks they’ll be ready for—”
There was a knock on his front door.
Danny glanced toward the door; the reprieve he was waiting for. “Listen, Ma, I gotta go. Somebody just came over. Can I call you next weekend?”
Mom didn’t miss a beat. “That’ll be fine. How’re Chris and Tina?”
“They’re fine.”
“Good. Maybe if you get them next week, you guys can come down.”
“That would be great.”
“Bye, Danny.”
“Later, Ma.”
Danny hung up the phone and answered the front door.
Detective Tom Jensen stood there and he nodded politely, eyes lighting up when Danny opened the door. “Mr. Hernandez! I was wondering if we could talk again.”
Danny tried to ignore the rattling of his nerves as he said, “Yeah, sure. Come on in.” He held the door open and the detective sauntered inside.
Detective Jensen strode in, glancing nonchalantly around the cramped living room. Danny closed the door and the detective smiled. “Something I’d been meaning to ask you since we spoke the other day. You went to Gardena High School, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Graduated in ’82?”
Danny nodded; that feeling of déjà vu was coming back to him.
Detective Jensen’s smile grew broader. “I knew it! I figured it was you, but the passing of the years ... hell, at first I didn’t recognize you, either.” He stepped forward, holding out his hand. “We went to school together. Tom Jensen ... remember?”
And then it hit Danny suddenly; Tom Jensen, tall, wiry, blonde, very laid back. They’d hung out together in their senior year of high school quite frequently. Had become pretty good friends, in fact. Danny felt the déjà vu quickly blossom into a feeling of warmth and surprise as the recognition finally set in. “Oh my God! Tom?”
Tom’s grin was broad and beaming. They shook hands, their grips firm. “Damn, I can’t get over it! I knew there was something familiar about you when I was over the other day, and then it just hit me today and I had to be sure.”
“You looked familiar to me, too,” Danny said, his mind whirling. “But I just couldn’t place it. Christ, how long has it been?”
“Almost twenty years.”
“Shit! You serious?”
“Last time I remember seeing you was in the summer of ’83,” Tom said. “You were working for that locksmith and I was in college. We went to Hollywood that day, went browsing through record stores.”
“Oh yeah.” The memory of that day came back to Danny perfectly, as if it happened yesterday. After knowing each other casually through their sophomore and junior years, they’d struck up a quick and close friendship in their senior year of high school. Music was what drew them together: Tom had played a pretty mean guitar back then with a heavy metal band called Feedback. Danny had been a heavy metal music fan. They’d hung out with a group of misfits during lunch; some of them shared the same musical obsessions and they often went out on weekends to local Hollywood rock clubs like the Whiskey A Go Go and the Troubadour to see amateur metal bands play the club circuit, bands like Motley Crue and Ratt. They also saw the major league bands at the big arenas and auditoriums together, and when they weren’t seeing bands, they hung out at the malls or went cruising. Their social activity continued sporadically in the year following high school and then it quietly evaporated. Tom called him a few times in the year or two following that afternoon of browsing for used albums in Hollywood, and then they’d drifted apart. They hadn’t seen each other since. “We were just out of high school.”
“I think so,” Tom nodded.
“Damn, I still can’t believe it!” Danny shook his head in amazement. The more he looked at the overweight, blonde but slightly balding man standing before him, the more he was now beginning to picture a younger version of Tom: the angular features were hiding beneath some faint signs of age and wear, but the eyes still held a trace of mirth. It was still Tom Jensen, his old long-lost buddy from high school. “So you’re a cop now!”
“Detective,” Tom corrected, shaking his head. “Yeah, who would have thought, huh? After all the shit we pulled together.”
“All we did was smoke some pot and drink beer, man!” Danny laughed.
Tom chuckled. “True. And we snuck into that porno theater on Hollywood Boulevard!”
Danny laughed at that one. “I remember that!”
They laughed over old adolescent times, traded a couple of anecdotes: the night they saw Blackfoot and Def Leppard (back then, Def Leppard was a band nobody had heard of and they were opening for Blackfoot, a pretty cool hard rock boogie band out of Florida) at the Santa Monica Civic Center and Greg, the guy who’d driven them, had gotten so fucked up that Tom had to drive and he couldn’t drive stick; the night they’d gone to a party and a rival group of stoners chased them out by throwing rocks and bottles at them. “You know, every time I think about the things we did, it involved pot in some way. So how’d a former stoner become a cop?”
“Long story,” Tom said, settling into Danny’s futon sofa. He crossed his legs casually, relaxed and at ease. “We’ll have to talk more about it over a few beers. You game?”
“Hell yeah!” It was four p.m. and he didn’t have to be at work till tomorrow at eight a.m. He headed toward the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “I got some brews already. Is Corona okay?”
“Damn, sorry, Danny,” Tom said, a tinge of regret in his voice. “I really can’t now. I’m on duty.”
Danny turned toward him, his happiness and enthusiasm momentarily zapped and taken down a notch. Tom grinned and Danny’s world was brightened again. “I was actually thinking maybe later tonight when I get off. There’s this great little bar on Crenshaw in Torrance. Long John Silver’s, no relation to the fast food seafood place. I thought we could have a couple beers there.”
“Sounds great!” Danny knew exactly where Long John Silver’s was. It was right near the spot where he and Bobby used to slip beneath the fence to gain access to the drainage ditch that led to that large sewer pipe they used to skate.
“Fantastic!” Tom slapped a hand across his knees to emphasize his pleasure and stood up. He headed toward the door. “I’ve got a few things left to do before I go off duty, so I’ll see you then.”
“Okay.” Danny saw Tom to the door.
“How’s everything else going?” Tom asked casually.
“Fine.” The way Tom asked him made Danny a little nervous.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” Danny said. “Everything’s cool. I’m still getting over what a surprise this is. I mean ... when you came over a few nights ago I thought you looked familiar, but I had no idea ”
“I know,” Tom said. “You looked familiar to me too, but I didn’t have much of a chance to try to dredge the old memory banks at the time. I had work to do.”
“How’s that going?”
“The Valesquez case?”
“Yeah.”
“Plugging along.” Tom smiled and opened the door on his way out. “Talking to you helped. The reason I questioned you was to get a more general overview of the victim’s background. A lot of times that involves talking to people who barely knew the victim. Most of the time what they have to offer during questionings like that doesn't help us much, but sometimes it does.”
“Was I able to help?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.” Tom buttoned his suit coat. “What you told me was what other witnesses told me: Raul was a bully, his family was trash, that sort of thing. You guys were pretty terrified of him from what I could gather.”
Danny sighed. He was still a little nervous, but he was feelin
g better now that his story was fitting with other testimony from whoever else Tom was able to talk to. “Well, if you’d only known Raul back then, you would’ve been scared shitless of him too, Tom.”
“I suppose I would have.” Tom looked up at the rapidly darkening evening sky and turned back to Danny. “Well listen, I gotta go. I’m off duty in an hour; let’s meet at Long John’s at eight-thirty. We’ll have a few beers, bullshit about old times.”
Danny smiled. “Sounds great. See you then.”
When Danny closed the door he leaned against it, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. Seeing Tom Jensen again was great! The sudden revelation that the Tom Jensen who had come to his apartment a few days ago as a cop to question him about the murder of Raul Valesquez was the same Tom Jensen he’d been friends with in high school made him feel better. If Tom had the slightest suspicion Danny was involved in Raul’s death in any way, Danny didn’t think he would have been so forthright in coming out and reminding him they had common pasts. He also didn’t think Tom would have invited him out socially. The fact that Tom admitted that his questioning of Danny a few days ago was routine and his story matched up with others only clarified this for him. He wasn’t in law enforcement’s radar. There was no way he could be. Like Jerry said, they hadn’t done anything wrong.
But it would still be nice to know what was going on in the investigation. Striking up a friendship again with Tom might give him information he needed.
Just to make sure.
DANNY DIDN'T KNOW how many beers it took for the subject of Raul Valesquez to boil to the surface but it eventually did.
Bully Page 10