Officer Maggiore looked at Jo. “I have nothing further.”
Jo looked at the defendant. “Do you have any questions for the officer?”
“No,” he said, standing, “I just want to say—“
“Hold on,” Jo commanded, holding up her hand. “Officer Maggiore, you may be seated. Sir, please approach the lectern and remember our court clerk placed you under oath earlier. You are under oath with everything you say, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man said, as he walked four paces to the lectern in front of Jo. “I just want to say that I wasn’t speeding. The officer is mistaken. My friends always make fun of me because I don’t drive over the speed limit. My sister was killed by a guy speeding through our neighborhood when we were kids. So I don’t speed. Ever.”
Jo leaned back as her insides turned. She waited for the man to say anything else. A few seconds of silence lingered. “I’m sorry for your loss. Anything further in respect to this case?”
“No,” the man said, shaking his head.
“Please have a seat.” Jo gestured back to the front row bench. She looked at Officer Maggiore and said, “The Court finds the People’s evidence of speed inadmissible. The People failed to introduce evidence that the speed gun was properly calibrated prior to usage. The People failed to introduce evidence of a visual estimate of excess speed. And the Court finds the defendant’s testimony of a habit of not exceeding the speed limit credible. Therefore, the Court finds the defendant not guilty.”
Officer Maggiore gasped, shocked that she lost. The officers seated next to her on the bench shuffled around slightly, trying to make sure they would say all the right things to make sure they got the guilty verdicts on their pending traffic trials.
The good-looking man said, “Thank you, Your Honor.”
Jo closed a file and handed it to her clerk. She grabbed the next one on the stack, called it out, and watched Officer Maggiore’s pink face look clueless as she gathered her papers.
Officer Maggiore whispered to the officer next to her, “So glad it’s my fucking Friday. What a shit judge!”
The officer shrugged, whispering back, “Enjoy your days off.”
Jo called the rest of her morning calendar. Each officer’s testimony seemed to drag on longer than the last as they repeated credentials and procedures, and made sure they laid a foundation for their equipment.
A few minutes after noon, Jo was standing in her chambers rubbing her forehead. “Omar,” she whispered.
She shook her head, trying to shake off the guilt of Brad Gecina’s death. A deep breath in, a slow exhale, then she de-robed. With her robe hung, she retrieved her cell phone from her purse and crashed on the couch.
Jo looked at her phone. [Still at the police station] was the most recent text message on it. Jo scrolled through a half dozen texts from Dzuy explaining he brought pictures of the man who robbed Melvin, thanks to software he activated, and had a location on the phone. He’d been waiting to see a detective for almost two hours.
Jo dialed Dzuy’s number.
“Still here,” he whispered, in a defeated tone.
“That’s crazy,” Jo said.
“Oh shit, they just called me. Call you soon,” Dzuy said, a hint of excitement in his voice.
Jo looked at her phone and whispered, “No effing way.” As much as she wanted to talk with someone about Maggiore being in her department, about her guilt over Brad’s death, she wasn’t going to call Omar.
Jo looked at her contacts. Just above Dzuy was Dad. She dialed.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Dad. It’s Jo.”
“Everything okay?”
“Ha,” Jo laughed out loud. “I was calling to check up on you. Have a little free time before the afternoon session and wanted to see how you’re holding up.”
“Feeling pretty good. Recovery is going smooth. I’m walking around the house without much pain. Probably be back at work in a few days.”
“Is Mom driving you crazy?”
Her father laughed into the phone. “No. In fact, I’m almost thankful that half my prostate was cut out because it gave us a lot of time together. I didn’t realize how much I was at work before. And how nice it is to have downtime with her.”
Jo exhaled deeply. “That’s great to hear.” She whispered, “Something not to worry about.”
“What’s that? Worry about? Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just a little work stress. A friend was mugged last night. I needed this good news from you. Thank you.”
“Glad I could be of help by not dying.”
“Oh, Dad.”
“What would you have done if I said things were rough here?”
Jo looked down at her clenched fist. “I don’t know.”
* * *
“They close at midnight. I’m just going to go buy it,” Dzuy said, between bites of lasagna.
“I’ll go with you,” Jo said, turning her head towards the kitchen to see how long it would take them to clean up.
“I can’t believe the cops won’t go get it. I’m going to have to spend my own money to get it back for Melvin.”
“Won’t work pay for it?” Jo asked, looking down at the garlic bread in the basket.
Dzuy noticed her gaze. “Take it.”
“Split it?”
Dzuy nodded, ripped it in half, and handed it to her. “I’m not telling work. I think they’d fire him. He’s a good guy. And great at what he does. I don’t want him to get fired because some thug robbed him.”
Jo rubbed her piece of garlic bread against some red sauce on the plate and crunched into her last bite, satisfied with her small meal. “Then let’s go get it.”
Dzuy finished the water in his glass. “Soak a few of these dishes and head out?”
“Sure.” Jo stood and they cleared the table.
As Jo portioned out leftovers into Tupperware, Dzuy asked, “What was it like having Omar’s cop in your court?”
“Strange. I think the guy she pulled over probably was speeding. I could have gone either way. Maybe knowing she bashed in Omar’s light made me lean towards not guilty. While sitting on the bench listening to her, I was telling myself to not be biased, not be influenced. But I’ll admit, I was.”
Dzuy pinched her butt and grabbed the lasagna pan. “Sounds like a good lesson in judging.”
Jo nodded. “It was. If this was a bigger case, I’d know how important a recusal is. I want to make sure every case is judged on the merits. It’s hard to do that when I know something about the person.” She pinched Dzuy’s butt in return.
Dzuy shimmied his approval at the playful groping. “I think we’re ready,” he said, shutting the water off.
Jo surveyed the kitchen. “Let’s go.” She went to the front door and put on her blue Toms sneakers. “Eh,” she mumbled, knowing they weren’t a perfect match for her purple cotton dress.
Dzuy locked the door behind them. “You ever been to a pawn shop?”
“I guess not. Closest I’ve ever been is pawning my watch to Jami. Still need to get that back.” As they walked down the grey carpet of the softly lit hall, Jo took Dzuy’s hand. “You?”
“Oh, yeah. Growing up I used to buy CDs and video games from a pawn shop. I’d go check out the stock every week.”
“Was it scary as a kid?” Jo wondered what it would be like at a pawn shop near the border. How about as an adult?
Dzuy pushed the elevator button with his free hand. “Not at all. Went with my dad the first few times. It was fun. Probably took me five years before I understood that what was being sold was either stolen or from someone who came on hard times.”
Jo let go of his hand and got in the passenger seat of his Grand Cherokee. “I was a little more sheltered and spoiled.” Jo exhaled, thinking about her great childhood. “I had no idea, none, that my parents had money problems.”
“We both got lucky with our parents.”
“So true,” Jo said softly, as she thought about
her father trying to recover from surgery and radiation.
Dzuy navigated through the East Village onto 5 South. “Can you do the GPS?”
“Uh-huh.” Jo tapped on her phone and guided them to the last USA exit.
“Fuck,” Dzuy exclaimed, as they passed a run-down, two-story motel.
“What?”
“This is where we left Brad Gecina.”
Jo tensed. “Oh. You okay?”
“Yeah. Just a little freaky. Same time of day as now. Sun getting ready to set,” Dzuy said, prying his eyes away from the motel. “When’s our turn?”
“Two blocks. No turn, should be on the left.”
They drove slowly, in silence, until Jo pointed across Dzuy, “There it is.”
Dzuy pulled into a small gravel parking lot. A few seconds later they were standing outside of the chipped and stained stucco exterior of a pawn shop when they heard a buzz. Dzuy pulled on the door and they were let in.
A heavyset Hispanic man with tattoos running up his arms into his white t-shirt nodded at them. Aside from him, the store was empty. “Selling? Looking to buy?”
“Buy,” Dzuy said.
“What can I get you?”
Jo looked at the glass cases. The one to her left had jewelry in it. The one on the right held guns. The one straight ahead held electronics. A variety of odds and ends was on the walls behind the cases.
Jo pointed to the case. “Computers and phones are there?”
“Looking for something in particular?”
Dzuy looked at the top row of the glass case. “Have any S-9’s? Black?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “That’s specific.”
“I’m looking for a specific phone,” Dzuy said flatly, while scanning the case.
“Everything we got is in the case.”
Jo’s eyes scanned the bottom row. She looked up at the man. “Are those the only laptops you have? Do you have any that are silver?”
The man put his hands on the case. “You guys cops or something?”
“No,” Jo said. “Just looking for two specific things.”
“We don’t sell nothing stolen.”
“Never said you did,” Jo responded politely.
“What would you charge for a laptop and phone like that?” Dzuy asked, patting his pocket. “If you have something like that in the back, I’ve got my credit card and would be happy to pay a fair price.”
The man silently stared at Dzuy. Jo felt his eyes move onto her. He pushed back off the case. “Tell you what. Leave me your number. Anything like that comes in, I’ll give you a call. Price would be about five hundred each. Maybe more on the computer, depending.”
Dzuy retrieved a business card from his wallet and put it on the table. “Sounds fair. And if there’s password protection, that’s okay with me.” Dzuy shrugged. “Sometimes people forget their passwords and just want to sell their stuff. I reset stuff at work so it’s no problem if it’s locked up.”
The man looked down at Dzuy’s card. “I’ll call you if a black S-9 and a silver laptop come in.” He tapped the card against the glass then put it in his pocket. “Anything else? Maybe some earrings for Ms. Naked Ears?”
Jo’s eyes widened as she processed everything going on. This man had Melvin’s things and was deciding whether or not to sell them to Dzuy. He was deciding if they were cops and if this was some sort of sting. She held up her left hand above Dzuy’s back and wiggled her fingers. She winked at the man.
“Or maybe an engagement ring?” he asked.
Dzuy flushed a light shade of pink. “Someday.” He nodded. “For now, I think we’re just looking for the phone and laptop, right?” he asked, turning towards Jo, who got her hand down before Dzuy could notice.
Jo shrugged, giving a coy smile.
Dzuy turned back towards the man. “Please call me if they show up, and set them aside for me. I’m an interested buyer.”
“Okay. Will do.”
“Thanks,” Dzuy said, walking past Jo towards the heavy glass door with metal bars on it. He paused for the door to buzz.
Jo turned around and waved her hand, carefully making sure to wave all the fingers on her left hand while mouthing, “Thank you.”
The door buzzed and Dzuy pushed it open for Jo. With the door closed behind them he asked, “I know he has them, why didn’t he sell them?”
“Probably thinks we’re cops trying to set him up. I’m guessing he calls and you can buy them in a few days. Once they aren’t so new and risky,” Jo said, with a little bounce in her step.
“I hope so. I guess I’ll just keep hounding the police for help.” Dzuy opened the car door for Jo. “Wait. He brought up an engagement ring. Is that something we should be talking about?”
Feeling a bit more like her teenage self than a former-prosecutor-turned-judge, she kissed him on the lips. “Someday soon, I’d guess.”
6
Omar pounded the sand with his bare feet, his bald head glistening in the bright sun. Another shirtless man, covered with tribal tattoos, puffed out, “Hold up.”
Omar slowed, turning around. “You done?”
“Yeah. My calves. Are cramping. This sand. Man.”
Omar wiped the sweat from his forehead and head, flicking it on the sand before wiping his hands on his blue mesh shorts. “You saw her?”
“Yeah. Gray Prius. Heavy. Long. Curly. Black hair. White lady,” he gasped out between breaths.
“Officer Gordita.” Omar smirked. “I want to know when she goes into work. Where she goes and what she does.”
“Got it.” Santiago stood upright, catching his breath. “I’m gonna have to pay some people to help.”
Omar looked out at the Pacific Ocean, ignoring the comment.
“Hey, Omar. If I lose her—” he stopped when Omar turned to look at him.
“Just find out where she lives and what she does when she’s off duty.” Omar turned his head to look at the historic Hotel Del Coronado and the throngs of people milling around.
“She looks off duty now.”
“Then follow her today.” Omar turned and sprinted down the beach with nothing but keys in his hand. Round trip was only three miles so he did it on the loose sand, not the harder packed sand near the water, to make it a challenge. He closed his mind, focusing on powerful strides against the soft sand.
Omar finished his run at a public restroom. He rinsed off at the outdoor shower, using his hands to scrub his body. Refreshed from the cold water, Omar felt fantastic walking to the parking lot. The sand clinging to his feet helped defray a bit of the asphalt’s burning heat as he approached his car.
Across the street from Omar’s little black Audi, still parked in the white-curbed, three-minute passenger loading zone, was Officer Gordita. Omar ignored her, popped open his trunk, retrieved a towel, dried his upper body, and wrapped the towel around his waist. Partially hidden by his car, he reached under his towel and pulled off his mesh shorts and boxer briefs, tossing them in the trunk. He pressed against his lower body, drying a little before pulling on a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts under his towel.
Omar tossed his towel in the trunk and put on a yellow polo shirt and flip flops. He looked like a golfer who just took off his golf spikes. Tapping against his shorts, he felt his phone. He pulled it out, quickly pressing against the phone’s screen as he felt a presence approach.
“I could cite you for indecent exposure,” Maggiore said.
“You got jurisdiction in the city of Coronado, Officer Maggiore?” Omar asked, closing his trunk and staring at a roll in her stomach that wasn’t well concealed by her pink shirt and yoga pants.
Her expression told Omar she didn’t like him staring at her roll. “I’ve got jurisdiction wherever you go, smart-ass,” Maggiore said, as she leaned over to inspect the taillight. “Fixed your taillight, I see.”
“Thanks for bashing it in. I had my cousin fix it. Hadn’t seen him in way too long.”
“Anytime I can be of service,” she sai
d with a glare.
Omar stared back, eye to eye. “What’s your problem with me?”
“You’re a piece of shit thug that had something to do with Brad’s death.”
“So, you bash in my taillight and harass me. For some shit I didn’t do.”
“Just getting started,” she said, pulling out her keys and eyeing Omar’s car.
Omar took half a step towards her. “You think your badge gives you the right to fuck with me?”
She took a half-step towards him, now just inches from his face. “Fucking right it does. Unless you come clean about what really happened with Brad, you’re in for a world of pain.”
Omar backed up and stared at her midsection again. “Look, Officer Gordita, I don’t want any problems—”
She reared back and telegraphed a kick to his leg. Omar raised his knee for a Muy Tai-style block. “Shit, officer, why are you kicking at me?”
She kicked again. Omar blocked with his raised leg, flip flop dangling. “The fuck? Stop kicking me, Officer Gordita.” He hopped back on one leg to maintain his balance.
“It’s Maggiore, you fucking asshole!” she yelled, clawing at Omar. He blocked her swings with his cell phone-holding hand.
Omar smiled wide at her and asked the two teenage boys who had stopped on their skateboards a few feet from them, “You getting this? Officer Maggiore of the San Diego Police Department is attacking me.” He blocked another strike.
Maggiore looked at the teenagers with their cell phones out, recording the incident. She looked left and right and saw a dozen other beach-goers watching the altercation. “This isn’t over, asshole.” She turned and jogged to her car.
Omar held up his phone to record Officer Gordita driving away. He pressed ‘stop record’ on his phone and approached the boys. “Hey, you guys mind sending me your videos?”
“Sure, man,” they giggled.
A few minutes later Omar watched their videos while sitting in the driver’s seat. He smiled at how easy it was to goad her into going after him. Now he had proof, like Jo said to get. Juan Does’ videos that showed her attacking him, and his video, while more of an audio recording, would show she was the aggressor if she tried to lie about what happened.
Gangster's Court Page 4