L.A. Mischief

by P. A. Brown

  “Fuck you!” the driver spat at him, lunging around on his back and kicking and punching David’s chest, gut and thighs. David pushed him onto his stomach, kneeling on him to hold him down while he pulled his cuffs out and slapped them on one wrist. Before he could get the metal bracelets around the second wrist, the driver went berserk, nearly throwing David off in his wild gyrations. David hung on, grimly aware of the feel of something hard in the other man’s waistband, a knife or a gun, he didn’t know.

  Didn’t want to find out.

  Adrenaline pumped and he used his greater weight to slam the driver back onto his stomach and snicked the last cuff in place, immobilizing him. He kept his knee on the small of the man’s back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Martinez propelling Torres back toward the Chevy.

  He called for a couple of black and white shops to pick up their prisoners. The second dealer had fled and neither David or Martinez made any effort to find the guy. They kept the two birds in hand prone on the ground, ignoring their curses.

  Martinez toed Torres who was already beginning to sweat, though the air was still cool.

  “Where’s your partner, Torres? He leave you hanging out to dry alone on this beef?”

  “What beef? I din’t do nothing,” Torres whined.

  “Tell that to Señora Robles.”

  “Who?”

  “Maria. Adora, Maria and Adora Real. The little girl and her mother you got popped.”

  Martinez jerked him upright as a shop pulled in behind the Chevy. He threw the tweaker toward the first uni who stepped out of his vehicle.

  “Let him sit in lock up for an hour or two, see if he wants to talk them.”

  The uni stuffed him into the back of his shop. David heard him tell the shaking junkie, “You toss your cookies in my car and I’ll plant my boot up your ass.” A second black and white pulled up and they loaded the driver, who turned out to be Winston Guardia from Highland Park crew with a long list of priors and his name on another gang injunction, into the back.

  Once the two shops had rolled away Martinez strolled over toward the park. David followed. He watched his partner move slowly past the screen of whitewashed palms and unkempt boxwood.

  “Looking for something?”

  “Think I saw Torres toss something when he got wind of us.”

  David studied the ground as they walked. Not likely to be drugs. Torres had been too hyped to have had drugs already. It had to be something else. Something he didn’t want to get caught with.

  David spotted it first. He pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and gently parted the manzanite cover and pulled the handgun out for closer inspection. Martinez stepped up to examine the weapon. It was a Raven .25. “Our killer’s?”

  “Right caliber.”

  Martinez looked puzzled. “I thought we figured our shooters were involved in a hit against Torres and Goyo. You saying you think those two shot their own?”

  “What if Maria was playing outside the fold? Greener pastures. You heard grandma, she was ruined by the drugs.”

  “She’s banging an Avenue and Goyo finds her out. He’s going to be pissed.”

  “Pissed enough to kill both her and the kid?”

  “That’s cold,” Martinez muttered.

  “They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. What about a banger getting cuckolded,” David said.

  “Kid just becomes collateral damage.”

  “So we’re not looking for an outside shooter?”

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  Back in the Chevy they drove toward Northeast. But instead of heading toward the station David turned toward Los Feliz Boulevard. “Lunch?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Baby back ribs at Mimi’s?”

  “Sounds better.”

  After lunch they set up an interview with Torres in county lockup. The little tweaker was even more strung out than when they’d picked him up trying to score. But he’d had enough self-preservation left in him to lawyer up.

  His attorney, Gerald Godwin, a wet behind the ears PD immediately launched into a bluster designed to overwhelm the world weary cops. David was not impressed. He introduced himself and Martinez, then he stated the date, time and location for the interview. Then he faced a belligerent Torres across the table.

  “What probable cause did you have to pursue my client? He was in the park for therapeutic reasons. He had no reason to think the overzealous police would chase him down and assault him.”

  “Just taking a walk in the park. That it, counselor?” David asked.

  “Yeah, just taking a walk. Getting my, what do you call it, my constitution. Ain’t that protected?” Torres was bobbing and twitching, in full withdrawal mode.

  “I think you mean constitutional, there Mr. Torres, and that’s not protected in this or any other country.

  Nice try, though.”

  “Are you mocking my client?” Godwin asked.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, counselor.” David glanced at Martinez. “But we would like your client to explain how he was in possession of a gun that was used to kill a young woman, Maria Real and her six year old daughter, Adora Real.”

  “But was the gun actually in his possession? As I understand it, you found the weapon in the park, on the ground. Not in my client’s possession.”

  “Except we saw Mr. Torres ditch the weapon in question moments before we apprehended him, during the commission of another felony.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Purchasing a Schedule I drug from known drug dealers in an area known to be inhabited by a gang under an injunction by the City of Los Angeles. Any one in particular he’d like to start with?”

  “I don’t know nothing about no ‘junction,” Torres said, his hands starting to shake. He kept licking his lips with a tongue that looked like sandpaper.

  “You like a Coke, Mr. Torres?” David asked, knowing he was probably having a sugar crash to go along with his methamphetamine fit. “I can get you a pop, or a chocolate bar—”

  Torres perked up at the mention of chocolate. He nodded eagerly. Martinez went to get the requested candy.

  Both Torres and Godwin were silent while they waited for Martinez to come back. Once he did, Torres wolfed down the Snickers bar and guzzled the Coke, giving himself hiccups, but he seemed mellowed out by his snack.

  Maybe he’d be more talkative.

  “You’re in some serious shit, Mr. Torres. I hope you realize that.”

  “I din’t do nothin’,” Torres said.

  “We’ve got your gun. We’ve got your DNA, which I’m sure we’ll find somewhere in the vicinity of the bodies. We’ve even got your drug dealer. I’m sure he’ll love to squeal when we start talking about the kind of deal we can offer him.’

  Torres surged forward, rattling his chains. “Why give that black skank a break. He’s bad news all the way around.”

  “Probably an accurate assessment,” David said. “But we don’t have him on a one-eighty-seven, unlike yours truly.”

  “I din’t do nothin’.”

  “Who did it then?”

  “You ever do the girl?” Martinez asked casually.

  Torres grinned, showing stained, broken teeth. He ran his tongue over them. “Yeah, why not. She hot.”

  “And Goyo didn’t mind you porking his squeeze?” Martinez could manifest crude in a way that always amazed David.

  “He don’t know.” Torres looked around in alarm as though he thought someone had slipped his partner in to the interview room. “You ain’t gonna tell him, are you?”

  “Your secret’s safe with us,” David said softly.

  “She was a fox,” Torres said wistfully.

  “Take us through that day,” David said. He checked his notes to be sure he had the right date. “Three weeks ago. Monday.”

  Torres scratched his acne ravaged chin. “I was s’posed to go into work. G was gonna meet with me so we could move some product. But he was late, and I had to start my
run without him.”

  “But he met up with you later? When did he do that?” David asked.

  “Yeah,” Torres said. “He din’t show up until afternoon, and boy was he pissed. He come into my truck screaming something awful. The boss was always on me about having him around the little kids. G never could watch his mouth.”

  Or his temper from the sounds of it. David made a note.

  “He carry the gun with him?”

  “He always had his piece.” Torres confirmed what David had suspected. “Never went nowhere without it.”

  “So he had it with him that day?”

  “Sure, said that, din’t I?”

  “You ever borrow the piece?” David asked casually.

  “Sure,” Torres answered just as casually. Too late his attorney put his hand on his arm. Torres shook him off. David loved stupid criminals. “I wanted to buy my own so G let me shoot his. I just gotta save up the money...”

  “He ever use it in licks?” Smash and grab artists liked the power a gun gave them. They always thought they could control a situation. And when it fell apart the fall-out was severe. “We can check you know,”

  he lied. “Lot of jacks and burglaries in that area.”

  Torres went white. “No, no. He never do that. G’s not violent.”

  “But you are, right? How did you get the gun?” David suddenly threw out. “G just hand it to you?”

  “What? I din’t—okay, he give it to me to hold. We was gonna sell it for some cash...”

  “Were you stoned the day you shot Maria?”

  “No!”

  “So you did shoot her?”

  Realizing what he had let slip Torres glared at him.

  “What about the little girl, man. Did you have to kill her too?” Martinez asked gently.

  David shook his head. He stood up. “We’ll be in touch, counselor.”

  “You gonna let me go?” Torres asked. “I wanna be home for Thanksgiving.”

  “You might want to explain things to your client, counselor. To start with, that he’s going to be away for a few Thanksgivings. We’ll see you in court.”

  Torres was still sputtering when David and Martinez let themselves out and went to collect their handguns before heading back to Northeast where they planned to write up their report and call it a night.

  Return to TOC

  Chapter 17

  Wednesday, 7:10 pm, Piedmont Avenue, Glendale

  DAVID FED SWEENEY then set about making his own supper. Soup and day old bread he’d picked up at a Silver Lake baker. He was just rinsing off his dishes and loading them in the dishwasher when his landline rang.

  He scooped up the receiver. It was Blair.

  “Hey, man, I missed you at the bar.”

  “Ah, well, I’ve been busy,” David fumbled for excuses.

  “Heard from the bartender you were in the other day.” There was no censure in Blair’s voice, only quiet resignation. “He said you were with a ‘gorgeous guy’—his words.”

  “Blair—”

  “It was Chris, wasn’t it?”

  David gave up lying. Blair deserved the truth. “Yes, it was.”

  “So it’s not really over, is it?”

  David clutched the phone, his knuckles white. “I don’t know. But I don’t think I’ll be coming down to the bar anymore. Not right now, at least.”

  “I understand,” Blair said softly. “Good luck, David.”

  He disconnected and David slowly put the phone back in the cradle. Sweeney leaped into his lap and he mindlessly smoothed his fingers over the cat’s back. He stared unseeing at the TV he had turned on at some point, though he didn’t remember what he’d been watching.

  An obnoxious Santa and a bunch of equally obnoxious elves came on hawking some ludicrous toy that would no doubt break the day after Christmas. David was glad the only toys he ever bought were for the LAPD toy drive held every year. It kicked off with a formal party that was held on the Sunday after Thanksgiving and wrapped up three weeks later with a community event where the gifts were distributed to needy kids.

  He usually went. It wasn’t required, but it looked good to participate. Martinez always went with his wife. David was always solo.

  In the bedroom he paused by his open closet, pulling out the uniform freshly back from the cleaners in preparation for the party on Sunday. He didn’t have to wear it, but he chose to every year. Sometimes he wondered if he didn’t do so to prove he could still get into the uniform he’d owned since his Academy days.

  He smoothed the stripes on the dark arm and brushed imaginary lint off the shoulders. He put the suit back and shut the closet door. Then he braced himself and left the bedroom.

  He didn’t stop long enough to think through what he now knew he was going to do.

  He was done over-thinking.

  Wednesday, 8:25 pm, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles Chris was online. Spiritless, he clicked through Man2Man, barely glancing at the images of hot guys parading across his 32” monitor. No one caught his eye long enough to engage his mouse finger.

  A message popped onto the bottom of his screen: Hi. U up 4 sum fun? It was from someone called Bg8Luv. Chris clicked through his profile. His picture might have aroused Chris at any other time.

  Bg8Luv was wearing a leather harness all too reminiscent of what he had found in David’s drawer. Over top of the leather he wore a dark blue vest and a pair of striped cop pants. His chest was muscular and covered with dark hair. He had two nipple rings.

  Chris reached between his legs and stroked himself into semi-hardness. But there wasn’t any fire there.

  He exited Man2Man and went back into his business email account. There were a couple of queries from referrals. He looked them over and forced himself to put together a response. He couldn’t afford to let business slide, no matter what was going in his personal life.

  It wasn’t exactly like anyone was standing in line to take care of him.

  He sent off the emails, including a sample contract to two of them. After that he tunneled into one of his newer clients and checked the status of a couple of servers he had recently updated with new security patches. They were running well, no odd glitches or reactions from the updates.

  Then he shut down his system entirely. In the kitchen he pulled out a bottle of white Zinfandel from the fridge and poured himself a glass. He pushed open the door leading into his neglected backyard to let in some fresh air. He wondered back through to the living room and stood at the large bay window overlooking the reservoir that gave the area its name. Lights from Silver Lake Boulevard and the hills beyond danced on the restless water. He could hear the rustle of wind through the white alder in his backyard. Back in the kitchen a cool breeze blew through the open French door. The smell of night blooming Jasmine filled his immaculate kitchen. He’d always loved that scent.

  He finished up his wine, considered having a second glass, then abruptly changed his mind and put the bottle back in the fridge. Shutting and locking the back door, he rinsed out his wine glass and left the kitchen.

  He headed toward his media room where he planned to channel surf until tiredness drove him to bed and hopefully sleep.

  There was a sharp rap on his front door.

  Puzzled he headed toward the front of the house.

  David stood in the tiny front courtyard. He was dressed casually in jeans, a golf shirt and the black leather jacket Chris loved on him, so he must have come from home. Chris threw the door open.

  “David.”

  “Was in the neighborhood,” David said. “Thought I’d stop by, see how you were.”

  Liar. There was nothing in this area that would bring David around. But all Chris could do was smile.

  David nodded at the Lexus. “You didn’t get your new car today?”

  “No, I postponed picking it up until Friday. I wanted to have the day free to help Des with whatever he needed.”

  David nodded. “He doing okay?”

  “Yes,�
�� answered Chris. “I just left him a few hours ago.” He paused, feeling awkward on the step.

  “Hey, you want to come in? Can I get you a drink?”

  “Beer?”

  “Sorry, no beer. Got a nice bottle of white wine.”

  “Ah, sure. That would be nice.”

  Chris led him through to the kitchen, where he popped the patio doors back open, letting in the night blooming jasmine smell. David took a deep appreciative breath. When he had been coming around more, David had started doing work in the garden, weeding and moving plants around to maximize their growth. As far as Chris was concerned David was a genius with a double green thumb. He could get things to bloom that Chris had long ago given up on. The garden had been his grandmother’s prize. He had always admired what she had left him, but had no idea how to keep it going. He’d been more than happy to leave it in David’s capable hands. Now it was back to being neglected.

  David nodded and followed him out to the patio. They both took seats in the Adirondack chairs with a red wood table between them. They sipped their wine silently, then, “What did you come here for, David?” Chris asked softly.

  “I, uh, wanted to ask you something...”

  “Sure. What?”

  David turned and met his gaze. “I’d like you to come with me to the LAPD Christmas party.”

  David had never invited him to anything like this before. Walk into the dragon’s den of other LAPD

  cops and their hetero partners? Chris felt a wave of coldness fill him. But... this was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? For David to invite him into his world, accepting the risks that came with being out there in everyone’s face.

  “Uh, I don’t know, David...” Bullshit. He knew and he wanted this so bad. Why kid himself. A huge smile blazed across his face. “Who’s going to be there? Martinez?” He suddenly didn’t mind if Martinez was there. He didn’t care if the Chief of Police was there. “When is it?”

  “Sunday. I know it’s not much time, but I was hoping you wouldn’t have other plans... Martinez will be there. With his wife. They get a sitter for the kids.”