Gangster's Court

by Adam Van Susteren

  You hung up on me.

  She reached in her purse and fished out Detective Browning’s San Diego Police Department card. She dialed his number and got his voicemail. “Hi, Detective, this is Judge Channing. I think I have some help for you regarding what we talked about yesterday morning.”

  Jo’s watch told her she could sleep for an hour or go eat lunch. She kicked off her heels and chose to sleep on the couch.

  22

  “Fuck. Gotta be tonight?” Omar asked, treading water in the outdoor lap pool.

  “Yeah.” Santiago held onto the deck. “Ocampo gonna hit back. He heard about the Court. Willing to see you first.”

  Omar watched a woman in the lane next to theirs stop and catch her breath next to Santiago. “Let’s do a length.”

  Omar scissor-kicked the water to jump-start a fast front crawl stroke across the pool. He stopped short of the deck, treading water as he waited for Santiago to catch up. As soon as Santiago grabbed onto the deck, Omar asked, “How did he know to reach out to you?”

  “Dunno.”

  “He seem legit?” Omar removed his blue goggles and wiped away the condensation.

  “Yeah. His crew is connected to Thirteen.”

  Omar put his goggles back on. He glanced around the lanes and deck of the pool. “That’s not how Thirteen handles business. Why is he coming to us? Is this a setup?”

  “Violence with the Crips is bad for business. Maybe they getting smart?”

  “Doubt it.” Omar watched the same woman approach and stop for a breath. With her face covered by dark grey goggles and a white swim cap, he couldn’t get much of a look at her. She looked to be in really good shape, making her pauses at the deck suspicious.

  Omar ducked underwater and scanned the woman’s legs. No tattoos. Tight body. He surfaced with nothing gained, only to watch her smile at Santiago then push off on her next length.

  Omar just set this meeting with Santiago thirty minutes ago. His face tightened. Could the police get a cop in the pool ahead of them that quickly?

  “What?” Santiago asked.

  “Cop? Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.” Omar nodded, then looked around the pool again. “Everything go clean in Vegas?”

  Santiago leaned closer, with a hushed voice barely audible against the splashing of the busy outdoor pool, he said, “Yeah. Smooth. Javier checked in with my license at eleven. We met up at Spearmint Rhino at five am. Changed clothes in the bathroom. I wore his hoodie when I went back to the hotel.”

  Omar clenched his jaw. It might look suspicious to wear a hoodie in hundred-degree weather, but if Santiago became a suspect for Rose’s murder, he would have a strong alibi of appearing to be in Vegas where people dress strange all the time. “You’re not worried tonight would be a setup?”

  “I wasn’t. Now you got me all paranoid.”

  “This is serious shit. Cameras are everywhere. We need to use them to our advantage.” Omar glanced left and right. “You want to do this tonight? You serve the summons and make sure you and Milk get there without being followed. I’ll trust you on this.”

  Santiago nodded. “The story adds up. Ocampo’s guy is selling coke on Shervin’s turf and gets jumped. Ocampo needs to strike back but Shervin’s a Crip. That’s a big fight. Five grand can help them save face and avoid a war.”

  Omar closed his eyes under the goggles. I can’t get Jo to cover this one. It has to be me. He looked at Santiago. “If the Court is really going to happen, we have to be available. I need to train you up so you can hold court.”

  “Really?”

  Omar glanced around the pool again. The suspicious woman did a flip turn this time. “Let’s look into locations in Tijuana. Might give us more flexibility to hold Court down there instead of the law office.”

  “Okay.”

  Omar looked across the pool. “Let’s get our cardio on.”

  “Just a couple, I need to talk to Milk and find Shervin to summon him.”

  Omar took a stroke towards Santiago, flipped, and pushed off the wall into a smooth front crawl, pondering answers to a nagging question. Milk stashed the rifle in the ceiling at Hogan’s law office, how do I plant it on Jose Oliva…

  * * *

  “Jo Channing,” she answered after the ringing woke her from her nap in her chambers.

  “It’s Detective Browning.”

  “One second,” Jo said, sitting upright on the couch. She put on her shoes and walked over to the desk.

  “Okay,” she said, taking a seat.

  “So what do you have?”

  “I’m sorry. I thought I explained in my message that I’ll get the information tomorrow.” Jo glanced at her watch, wondering if Browning tapped Omar’s phone and had already raced to Omar’s building to get the footage.

  “If you tell me now, I can wait to act on it later.”

  “What makes you think I have it already?”

  “A hunch.”

  Jo sighed. “Detective, if you already know, can you please wait until tomorrow to let my anonymous source get out of town before you serve any warrants and do any surveillance that might tip off the suspect?”

  “I’ll apply for a search and arrest warrant today, hold off to execute them tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jo looked at her blank computer screen. “Should I still call you tomorrow?”

  “No need. Unless you got something new. Anyhow, I gotta run. Thank you.”

  “Okay, good luck.” Jo hung up. She sat rigid, thinking there was a chance it was her phone that was being listened to.

  After a brief moment of paralysis, Jo checked her watch. Ten minutes until her afternoon traffic calendar. A rapid knock on her chambers door startled her.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Judge. It’s Annette. Have a minute?”

  “Sure, come in.”

  Annette’s quick little strides, wide eyes, and smile let Jo know she had some exciting news. Jo stood and gestured towards the couch. “What’s up?”

  Before the two were seated, Annette said, “I wanted to be the first to thank you for your time here.”

  Jo stood rigid. Am I getting fired? Suspended?

  Annette smiled wider. “You’re getting called up for felony arraignments. Judge Brannigan is finally getting sworn in for the Court of Appeal, so the spot’s open.”

  Jo slunk down in the chair across from the couch, relieved, but suddenly exhausted. “Thank you,” Jo said with a hint of feigned excitement. Annette took a seat across from her on the couch, still brimming with excitement.

  Annette cocked her head slightly. “I thought you’d be more excited.”

  “I am. It’s just another change. My dad with his prostate cancer, figuring out if I’m going to marry Dzuy…” Jo trailed off, not ready to add trying to stay out of prison.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you had so much going on. But that should be a smooth transition and it’s something you can control. Won’t that be nice?”

  “Yes. That will be.”

  * * *

  Santiago scanned the beachwear-clad twentysomethings at the bar. No Shervin. He looked at his phone. Shervin’s public Facebook account said he checked in an hour ago, he might still be here.

  His eyes darted from his phone to a Middle Eastern-looking man with a short scruffy beard sitting at an indoor table. He glanced at the phone again, close, but not him. Shervin was a touch darker, his features a bit more African.

  After his moment of scanning the restaurant and bar, Santiago walked to the bar, fitting in nicely with his polo shirt, boardshorts, and flip flops. He got the bartender’s attention. “Pacifico.”

  A moment later, he forked over his seven dollars and scooted a bit to his side so he could see the outdoor patio, just a few feet from the busy pedestrian boardwalk on the sand. He couldn’t help but look out at the Pacific Ocean.

  Returning his eyes to the patio, the first tabl
e caught his eye. A hot twentysomething blonde, wearing only a black bikini, sat across from a man. From the back of this man’s head, there was a very good chance it was Shervin, based on the skin color, and short, tightly-cropped curly black hair.

  Santiago kept scanning the tables in case there was a more likely Shervin on the patio. He took a swig from his bottle. He’d have to go see suspect number one’s face.

  Santiago approached, thankful his sunglasses would hide his staring at Shervin’s companion’s chest. Focus. Be like Omar. He noticed the beach bag on the chair next to Shervin. Might have a gun. He looked to the other tables, trying to guess if any of them could be friends who were there with him. Probably no backup.

  With a deep breath, he closed the last few feet and stood at the table between Shervin and his hot blonde. He looked at the shirtless man, more muscular than he anticipated. “Shervin?”

  The man looked up at him. “Yeah.”

  “I need a minute.”

  The woman asked, “Who’s your friend?”

  “Sorry, Theresa. This is…” Shervin looked at Santiago. “What’s your name?”

  “Santiago.” He reached his hand out to shake hers. “I’m actually a friend of a friend and was hoping to steal him away for a minute.”

  She shook his hand, then pulled against it to help her stand. “Good timing, I need to use the restroom.”

  Santiago successfully fought the urge to watch her walk away, and sat down. Against the backdrop of loud chatter on the patio, he leaned in. “This is about last night.”

  Shervin leaned closer.

  “Do you know who Marcos Omar is?”

  “No.”

  “The guy you beat down last night is connected. Omar wants to offer you a chance to settle the score at the Gangster’s Court instead of his crew going after you.”

  Shervin leaned back and chuckled.

  That was a reaction Santiago did not anticipate. “Look, man. The shit is real.”

  “Real stalkerish.”

  Santiago leaned back, staring daggers through his sunglasses at Shervin. Without taking his eyes off him, he grabbed his beer and took a swig. He signaled with his fingers for Shervin to lean in again. “If you don’t hear me out, Ocampo’s gonna come for you. And if you don’t show tonight, an extra fifteen guys will be gunning for you too.”

  The smug look disappeared from Shervin’s face. With concern in his voice, he asked, “Why would I walk into a trap?”

  Santiago shook his head. “If we wanted to jump you, we wouldn’t tell you about it. This is like a court mediation, for gangsters.” He turned his head to look at the other patrons, no one was paying them any attention. “Is there somewhere more private where I can explain?”

  Shervin shrugged.

  “What about out there?” He nodded to sandy patches on the beach that were unoccupied.

  “I don’t know who you got down there.”

  “Pick a place.”

  “Stringer’s Pilates Studio.”

  “What’s that?” Santiago asked.

  “Her Pilates studio.” Shervin pointed at the chair Santiago was sitting in. “Couple blocks from here. We’re about to go so she can teach a class. Walk with us. When her class starts, I’ll hear you out.”

  “Okay.” Shervin leaned back and watched Theresa Stringer approach. Delivering a summons ain’t so bad.

  23

  Omar’s eyes went wide and he blinked. That’s the car. He shut down the video feed, pocketed the cell phone, and yelled in a whisper, “Milk!”

  Milk stopped walking away, turned around, and looked at Omar.

  Omar stepped close to him. “I need you to get the guy with the brown Civic to park in back. And I need you to get me his keys.”

  Milk nodded.

  “And don’t let them know I’m here.”

  Milk nodded again, looking back across Brian Hogan’s law office at the front door.

  “Okay,” Omar said before darting back into Brian Hogan’s personal office. He pulled off his black suit coat, climbed up on the desk, and stopped. He looked at his hands. They shook in frustration. No gloves.

  Omar jumped down off the desk, fished out a sheet of paper from the wastebasket, climbed back up, and moved the ceiling panel off to the side. He cupped the paper in his hand, found the handle on the duffle bag, and removed it from the ceiling.

  After setting the bag on the desk, he replaced the panel and hopped down.

  * * *

  Milk opened the front door of the law office to an average-sized Mexican man who could probably vote but not legally drink alcohol. He wore a plain white t-shirt, khaki shorts, and scuffed white tennis shoes. “You Ocampo’s guy, Jose?” Milk asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Milk nodded at his car. “I need you to park in back.”

  Jose Oliva looked up at Milk. “For real?”

  Milk nodded.

  “Fine.”

  Milk watched Jose get in his car, turn on the lights against the dark night, and drive out of the parking lot. He locked the door behind him. His long strides covered large swaths of blue carpet with each step. As he approached Brian Hogan’s personal office, Omar popped out of it with a banker’s box.

  “Have him put everything in his pockets in here,” he said, passing over the box.

  Milk nodded, taking it, and peering past Omar into the office. He saw the duffle bag with the rifle that killed Filthy Rose on the desk. He nodded, understanding Omar’s plan. “Can’t see from the couch. I’ll make him sit.”

  “Jumanji,” Omar whispered.

  Milk watched Omar partially close the office door so the visitor couldn’t see him. A few strides later, he was at the back door. He unlocked and opened it, feeling the night’s heat rush in against the air conditioned office.

  A moment later, Jose parked and approached Milk.

  “Empty yo pockets,” Milk commanded.

  A look of confusion came across Jose’s face. “What?”

  “No weapons. No guns. No keys. No nothing.”

  Jose balled his fist. Milk dropped the box at his feet, ready to respond.

  Jose’s eyes darted up to Milk’s face, down to the box, then to Milk’s broad shoulders. Milk’s impressive physique was obvious, even under his black suit. Jose’s fist loosened. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, placing it in the box on the ground. From his other front pocket, he pulled out a set of keys and a pill container. From his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet. “I get this back…” he warned Milk as he dropped them in the box.

  Milk nodded, pointing inside. Jose took the cue and strutted ahead. Milk picked up the box, put it just inside the door, and pulled the door without completely shutting it.

  Milk saw over Jose’s head as he approached the table where Omar would hold Court.

  “Couch on the left is yours.”

  Jose walked to his couch and sat. “How long I gotta wait?”

  Long as it takes, Motherfucker, Milk thought. But he needed to stall for Omar. “Not long. We wait for the Respondent. Then Omar. Like a Court.”

  “Is Omar even here?”

  Milk shook his head.

  “When he get here?”

  “Soon.”

  A noise from the back of the office was barely noticeable over the loud hum of the window air conditioner.

  * * *

  Omar closed the back of his white SUV. With the latex gloves taut, he reached into the box and removed Jose’s keys. He clicked the trunk release button, dropped the keys back into the box, picked up the duffle, and walked over to the brown Civic.

  As Omar lifted the trunk, a car’s lights trained on him as it approached. His breath went shallow, his pulse thundered. Jo told Five-O too early. He put the bag inside the Civic’s trunk and closed it. His mind raced for what to say.

  With his back turned to the approaching car, he pulled off his latex gloves and shoved them into his suit coat pocket. He picked up the box and was almost at the door when he turne
d to look at the car. He smirked so hard he snorted. It was Santiago.

  After taking a moment to steady his pulse, he looked down into the box and noticed a container for prescription pills. He reached into his pocket, put on a glove, and inspected the bottle. Estramustine for William Colford. Omar set the bottle back in the box, put the box just inside the office door, then closed it.

  Santiago killed his engine and darted out of the car in a polo and board shorts, not his black suit. “Thank God,” he exclaimed to Omar.

  “What?”

  “Tonight’s a trap. I was with Shervin all day. He just admitted he never beat up any of Ocampo’s guys. Jose was in Filthy Rose’s crew and wants to find out if you killed him.”

  Omar stood in silence. “We need to get you and Milk out of here right away in case Thirteen shows u-.”

  “What about you?”

  “I can’t outrun or outgun them, so I need to outthink Jose Oliva.”

  “Want me to call Primo?”

  Omar’s brain kicked into high gear. Their primo, Spanish for cousin, Tomas, was a captain of MS-13, stationed in Tijuana. He would have some real pull, but Filthy Rose was also a captain, so not enough pull to save them. Omar ran through permutations of how telling Tomas might help. Nothing came through as being positive; only more trouble could come from admitting to MS-13 what he had done. He shook his head in response.

  “What can I do?” Santiago asked.

  “Be ready to gather the guys if I call.” Omar stared Santiago in the eyes. “All of them.”

  Santiago nodded. “I’ll be by my phone.” Santiago looked down at Omar’s feet. “Sorry about setting up the Court tonight. Anything else I can do?”

  “Watch Milk’s back.”

  Omar walked inside, letting the door shut loudly behind him. He strode slowly as his mind raced. As Milk came into view, he called out, “Milk, you can go.”

  Omar noticed Milk’s hesitation. He didn’t want to cause alarm, so he confidently said, “There is no Court tonight. The other side isn’t going to show.”