The Disposables

by David Putnam

  “You kin kiss my black ass. I ain’t tellin’ you shit.”

  Mack looked back over his shoulder to Fong who took his cue, went to the door and stood close so no one could open it and come in. The other two beds were empty, one looked slept in, the patient out for tests.

  “I ain’t gonna buy yo hardass shit. Not in a hospital with all these witnesses.”

  I said, “All we want to know is where Ruben is.”

  He looked from Mack then back to me. “I tolt ya. You’re not gettin’ a motherfuckin’ thing. Get the fuck outta my room ’fore I call the nurse and have ’em toss you out on yo dumb cracker asses.” He reached for the hand buzzer for the nurse.

  Mack was quicker, grabbed it, yanked it from the wall.

  “Big man, yo cain’t scare me.”

  Mack stepped in close, his hands moving in.

  “Wait,” I said. “You can get in trouble for torturing his ass. I can’t. Take these off.”

  Fear flashed on Q’s face, then quickly changed back. “Sure, you’re right. I’m gonna fall for that bullshit.”

  Mack looked me in the eye. He was unconvinced, thought it was a bad idea. I waited him out. He finally looked back at Fong who said nothing. Q made Mack’s decision for him. He pulled back his good leg and kicked Mack in the hip. Mack took two steps forward, spun, and was going after him. I intervened, bumped him with my chest. “No, do it my way.”

  Q put his head back and laughed. “You’re gamin’ me, Johnson. He cain’t take dem cuffs off not when yo out on a pass. I know, I bin dere.”

  Mack reached into his tight jeans pocket, came out with the key. Fong, still over by the door, brought his gun out of his coat pocket held it down at his side. Q saw all of it.

  “Bullshit.”

  Mack took hold of the waist chains. “I’m gonna trust you. You try and rush the door, Fong’s gonna cap your ass. You hear that, Fong?”

  “I got your back, bro.”

  Q watched intently, fear creeping into his expression as Mack unhooked the waist chain. Mack went down in a vulnerable position to take off the shackles. I could’ve taken him then, no problem, gotten his gun. But I’d given him my word.

  Over at the door someone tried to come in. The door banged into Fong’s back. He didn’t turn to look and leaned into the door. The person on the other side said, “Hey.”

  Q opened his mouth to scream for help. I was on him, one hand on his mouth, the other clamped down tight on his throat. His eyes bulged white. I slowly moved my face down close to his ear, whispered, “You know what they got me on?” He had to understand I was desperate and would do anything that needed to be done.

  He shook his head, no.

  “Multiple counts of murder that I didn’t do, multiple counts of kidnap that I did do. They booked me for kidnap and train robbery. I’m already on parole if you didn’t already know. I got nothing to lose. And you know what? I’m tired of your ass slingin’ rock to all the kids on the street. I’m tired in general of you as a human being. You have no redeeming value and make no contribution to the human race. The key here, if you haven’t picked up on it, is that I have nothing to lose. I’ll give you one chance, just one. When I take my hand away, you tell me where we can lay our hands on Ruben the Cuban, and I’ll think about not snapping your neck like a pencil-necked yard-bird.” I kept my hand over his mouth a couple of seconds longer. I smelled urine. “You going to tell me what I want to know?”

  He nodded his head. I took my hand away. Q gulped and gasped. “He layin’ his head over ta Shawntay’s.”

  “Where does this Shawntay live?”

  “Two, three houses other side of Hawkin’s Market. You know the place, tween hunert-and-fifteen and Avalon.”

  “He better be there.”

  “Swear to God, he stay dere. But he in and out all the time, I cain’t gearuntee he gonna be dere.”

  “Listen to me,” I said. “I’m going to the same joint you’re going to eventually end up in. If you’re not straight up, I’ll take care of it later.” I backed up, turned, and walked to the door. Mack held up the chains. I stood between Fong and Mack. Fong brought his gun up and pointed it at my face. The threat wasn’t there. I knew he wasn’t going to shoot. I raised my arms so Mack could put on the waist chain. “Is this really necessary? I gave you my word.”

  Mack answered by swinging the chain around my waist and hooking it up. While he did, Q recovered some of his balls, said, “Why you want Ruben so bad?”

  No one answered him.

  “He do sumthin’ real bad?”

  Again, no one answered.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  No one spoke on the way over to Shawntay’s. In the dark, the place sat steeped in a cold mist that hung in the night air. Shawntay’s, like all the other homes on the street, was a mangy, broken-down, two-story craftsman that needed fresh paint and shingles and windows to replace the holes with cardboard shoved in them. The grass and shrubs and trees were in violent revolt. The only thing warm about anything in the neighborhood came from the yellow-orange glow that escaped out of slits from the window shades and meant someone was home.

  Mack knew the risks of losing Ruben, especially if we just ambled up like the Avon lady and rang the bell. Someone had to cover the back. The highest percentage of chance for action always came from the back. The suspect would smell cop and flee in the opposite direction. Mack parked five houses down, turned off the headlights and the engine. We sat and listened to the car tick as it cooled, no one saying what was obviously on our minds.

  “Fong, you take the back. I take the skillet with me.” Fong didn’t reply. They sat unmoving for a long beat. Fong and Mack had done this before. They knew how to take down an armed and dangerous without any more planning than deciding front or back. Right now what to do with their extra baggage gave them pause. They’d worked as a team for a while, so that without any cue, they opened their doors at the same time. Fong opened my door, said to Mack who came around the front of the car, “We put him in the trunk; we won’t have to worry about him.”

  Mack grunted. “Just take the back, okay.” Fong moved off into the dark a little miffed. I watched him go, waited for him to look back at us one last time. He didn’t. Outside the warm car, the insidious cold seeped into muscle first, then into bone until my teeth chattered in unison with my chains.

  “Come on.”

  I followed Mack who took several steps and then must’ve remembered I wasn’t a member of his team. He waited for me to catch up and move ahead so he could watch. I made a hell of a noise going down the sidewalk. “This isn’t a smart move. Come on, take these off. I told you I promise I won’t run.”

  “Pull those chains in tight so they don’t rattle so much.” We kept moving. I tried what he said. I needed him on my side. If we caught Ruben and made him for the killings a big part of my problem would melt away.

  A tall untrimmed hedge on both sides of the front walk had mostly grown together, six, eight-feet high ran right up to the front door. The unkempt center left little room to pass. The sleeves of my shirt turned wet from the dew as we passed through. Two concrete steps led up to a tired wooden stoop.

  The thick front door abruptly opened. Orange light spilled out. We both stood at the bottom of the steps still in the hedge tunnel. The man coming out moved in wisps of white smoke that filled the air with a harsh chemical scent, rock coke, his back to us, his jovial mood apparent as he waved good-bye to well-wishers.

  Two things happened all at once. I heard Mack’s gun clear leather as he shouldered me out of the way. With nowhere to go, I got shoved into the hedge. Mack put one foot up on the second concrete step, grabbed the thin black man by the back of his neck, and pulled him down to our level. The man yelped like a kicked dog. The well-wishers inside behind the closed door missed the action outside and moved deeper into the house. They hadn’t heard the snatch. Mack’s latest prey was shoved into the hedge next to me, the pencil-thin light from between the window covering work
ed like a laser scanning the man’s features. Our shoulders touched. He tried to squirm away from me, his eyes wide in terror, more afraid of me than the large handgun Mack shoved up under his chin. You would’ve thought I was a thirty-foot boa constrictor, maw wide about to swallow him whole.

  “This him?” Mack hissed.

  “No.”

  Mack looked back at Thin Man. “Who’s in the house?”

  He didn’t answer, didn’t look at Mack, and kept his gaze on me.

  I said, “I know you, son?”

  Thin Man nodded.

  Mack shoved the gun upward until Thin Man’s chin pointed almost straight up at the stars. “Answer me, asshole.”

  “Ease off him,” I said.

  A long couple of seconds passed. Mack backed off.

  “Where do I know you from?”

  “The ’hood,” Thin Man’s voice croaked with fear.

  “I know that, son. Where? What’s your name?”

  “Fo’ years ago August tenth, you caught me stealin’ in an alley and damn near beat me ta deaf.”

  “That’s not the whole story. What happened? I didn’t just—”

  “This ain’t old home week,” Mack said. “Tell me who’s in the house.”

  Thin Man continued, wanting to answer anything I asked. “Had me a slew a DVDs in a bag, in da alley. You caught me, beat the hell outta me fo being strapped.”

  I nodded. “Who’s in the house?”

  “Shawntay, Deewayne, that dumbass Franklin, and his bitch, Greta.”

  Mack knew better now and kept quiet.

  I asked, “What about Ruben the Cuban?”

  This time Thin Man stole a quick glance at Mack. Either he didn’t want a rat jacket or he was more afraid of Ruben and needed the half second extra to think. “He in dere. But he ain’t right in the head.”

  My chains rattled and startled Thin Man. He looked down, saw the restraints, and repelled away as if the chains were contagious. “You in custody, Detective Johnson?”

  I continued on as if I hadn’t heard. “Where’s Ruben in the house?”

  “He up the stairs first doe on the right.”

  “He armed?”

  “Ruben, he always strapped. He smoked a grip of crack tonight. Damn near outta his head.”

  Mack yanked Thin Man out of the hedge, patted him down, found a cell phone, and tossed it up and over. No sound came from where it landed. Mack said, “You get on and keep your mouth shut, you understand?”

  Thin Man took a step down the path before stopping to look back one last time. “You okay, Detective Johnson?”

  I didn’t remember the kid, but he’d remembered me and was asking if I wanted him to help me with Mack. The kid had a lot of nerve. Mack picked up on it and squared off with him ready to go to battle.

  “No,” I said, “everything’s cool. You go on.”

  He nodded, took a couple more steps on the path that immediately enveloped him in darkness and hedge. Gone.

  Mack watched, waiting for him to spring back out with a rock or war club. “By his own words, you beat the shit outta him, and he wants to help you out?”

  “He knew he had it coming. You ever work the ghetto? The people are not policed, they’re ruled. When I worked patrol, we fielded three two-man cars, not near enough to protect and serve. There are simple rules, you get caught with a gun, you get beat down. It’s an unwritten law of the street. In California, a gun violation, all by itself, no other crime involved, like robbery or assault attached is a misdemeanor. You get your ass beat, you remember it. You only beat someone’s ass when they got it coming, they respect you for it.” I held my hands open, still cuffed to my waist on each side of my hips. Mack looked me in the eye for a long moment.

  “There are four of them in there, and Ruben’s coked out of his mind and armed.”

  Mack took a key from his pocket, unlocked the cuffs, unwound the chains from my waist. In the hedge, in the dark he wouldn’t bend down to take off the shackles, he handed me the key. I unlocked the shackles, said, “Last I saw Ruben he was about five ten, a hundred and eighty. He’s a strawberry with a gap in his two front teeth. You can’t miss him.”

  “What’s a strawberry? “

  I stood, handed him the chains, “A light-skinned black with a splash of freckles under his eyes and across his nose. His hair is light brown with a red tint instead of black.”

  Mack nodded. “I want my hands clear.” He handed me back the chains. “You carry ’em.”

  Mack knew he’d just put a very effective weapon in my hands. The thought to run did dash fleet-footed across my mind. It wasn’t an option. “I’m not going anywhere. I want my girl out of jail.”

  “You help me get Ruben and he’s the dude, he’s good for these killings, I’ll go to the wall to help you.”

  “That’s good enough for me.” I held out my hand. Mack hesitated, his stark, blue eyes locked on mine. I believed him. This was the first time Mack yielded an inch in the direction of Ruben being the killer instead of me. He took my hand and shook. His hand was stronger than I had imagined. Maybe this corn-fed cowboy from Texas would’ve been harder to take than I’d thought.

  I wound the chains around my right hand to use like a medieval mace. Mack turned his back to me and went back up the two concrete steps. He tried the knob, when it didn’t turn, he put his shoulder to the wood, put one foot back, leaned, and slowly pushed. In the dim shadow, his shoulder muscles bulged. The wood creaked, then gave.

  The house had been converted into multiple rentals. Directly inside the door a flight of stairs ran along a too-narrow hall that accessed all the downstairs rooms. All the noise came from downstairs. Muffled cries from smoked-out coke freaks, creatures of the night.

  Mack hesitated just inside while keeping his gaze up into the blackness of the second level, pulled his unbuttoned long-sleeve shirt back, and keyed his handie-talkie on his belt. He had an ear jack. “Mike, we’re in. The primary is on the second floor. The way it’s set up it looks like he’s probably on the one-two side. We’re going up.”

  The front entry of the house was always the one side. The house is numbered clockwise from there.

  Mack nodded to himself as he alone heard Fong’s reply then started up the stairs. Stairs always gave me the heebie-jeebies, the most dangerous part of a building search. Someone above you had total advantage and could snipe you at will, reach a hand over the stairwell without looking, and gun whoever was dumb enough to expose themselves in that manner. Had Mack been the asshole I’d first perceived him to be, he would’ve made me go first, bait. He’d moved up a couple of notches in my book.

  The old wooden stairs with carpet worn away swayed in the middle from decades of use. The steps didn’t comply with city code, and too narrow for the footfall, our heels hung over. Mack ascended, his big .45 extended straight up at arm’s length, covering as best he could. I reached up and put my hand on his back for balance, to let him know where I was and to stay close. He didn’t flinch. He kept going to the second floor that smelled of mothballs and urine. We automatically deployed on the first door on the right, the way Thin Man described it. I took the left side, the hinge side, Mack the right, the knob side. Sweat ran down his forehead, his blue eyes a fraction wider than normal. Adrenaline did that to you.

  His hand went carefully to the knob, gripped, and gently turned. Unlocked, it turned freely in his hand. He pulled his intent gaze off the wood to look to me, as if saying, on three. He pushed. The door only moved half an inch, then caught. On the inside the occupant had installed a hasp. Mack was ready for the obstruction, took it head-on as it happened, stepped back, and booted the door. Mack rebounded from his kick. Instinct propelled me in first. I buttoned-hooked right. The floor was a sea of litter, trash, ratty blankets, cans. Over by the closed window, Ruben the Cuban stood, soaked in sweat, clad in a dirty wifebeater t-shirt, his every muscle wound tight, ready to spring. He did. He jumped right through the closed window. The abrupt maneuver left his sho
es on the floor in the same position. Glass shattered. Mack yelled. I ran to the window, kicking trash.

  Outside, down on the ground, Ruben rolled several times and disappeared into the gloom.

  Mack yelled on his handie-talkie. “He’s out. He’s out on the one-two side. You got him, Mike? You got him?”

  “Negative. Negative.”

  I didn’t wait.

  I leapt out the window.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Freezing wind blew in my eyes and caught in my lungs for a fraction of a second before my feet jarred into the ground. I let my knees give and shoulder-rolled, as the chains clattered.

  Mack yelled from above. “Stop. Johnson. Stop, you son of a bitch.”

  I got to my feet and went after the sound. Ruben plowed through the bushes. The window Ruben came out of had been covered. Now the light lit up a portion of the yard. Mack’s gun banged loud.

  Then again.

  And again.

  The third time cherry-hot iron slashed the top edge of my shoulder. I hit the sidewalk. Down half a block, Ruben ran full tilt, the devil chasing. “Picking ’em up and putting ’em down,” as Robby would’ve said. I went after him. At any moment, I expected Mike Fong to step out onto the sidewalk behind me, line up for an easy shot, and put one between my shoulder blades.

  Ruben cut between some houses. He knew the neighborhood. But so did I. I gained on him. No bullet caught up to me. I made the turn and was okay. I tossed the heavy chains that were slowing me down.

  I lost sight of Ruben and stopped to listen for him, tried to still my rapid breath. Ruben was no fool. He quit running and now walked, hood rat silent running. The odds of catching him just diminished greatly if he no longer panicked. I went on down between the houses and into the weed-infested dirt easement that ran parallel to the street, and fought the urge to run in any direction just to be doing something. Ruben, the little weasel, jeopardized any chance I had for a deal. I waited and listened. Nothing. Fifty-fifty chance, I went right, heading south. Prey will always run downhill. This wasn’t San Fran with the hills. It was South Central Los Angeles, flat as a floodplain all the way to the ocean. But maybe Ruben’s survival instinct dragged him south. I walked faster and faster until I broke into a jog. Ruben could’ve ducked back into any one of the yards on either side of the easement, just like I had when I’d crawled in with Manny and Moe.