by David Putnam
“The tape of the phone conversation between Borkow. The guy who set up my daughter as a hostage in that rock house on Pearl, in Compton, to get me outta court. You got the tape so I can listen to it again?”
“That’s good. Yeah, that’s good. I should’ve thought of that. Now you’re talkin’. It’s in the car, let’s go.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “We’ll call this in from the pay phone and screw ’em if they can’t take a joke. Right, partner?”
I didn’t answer and walked faster, trying hard not to break into a run.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
WICKS STOPPED AT the pay phone attached to the wall of the carniceria and called Homicide. I continued on and stood by his car waiting. Every second ticked by in my head and merged into another minute spinning faster at an unbelievable speed toward an hour. Soon it would be two, then three. I couldn’t get out of my mind the images of Gloria and Lizzette, their caved-in foreheads. I closed my eyes tight and fought to keep those images from merging with Olivia. My beautiful Olivia.
Wicks hung up and came over. “I called a friend in Homicide who’s going to handle it with kid gloves. But it’s all going to come out when the CO reads the report and sees we didn’t stick around. So we’re good for now, but we’re going to take it in the shorts down the road.” He opened his trunk and went into his briefcase, bringing out a small tape recorder and a tape cassette. He closed the trunk and set the recorder on top.
Cars zipped by now and again, traffic light at that hour.
Three gangbangers walking on the other side of Atlantic Boulevard eyed us. I eyed them back so they knew we weren’t afraid. If you showed weakness, the rules of the jungle gave them the go-ahead to menace and harass and even kill.
Wicks put in the tape and hit play.
“I want you to do what we talked about.”
“Huh?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you?”
“Naw, I think I got it. You want me to get Olivia Johnson over ta this house on Pearl.”
“That’s right, nothing too difficult. I want you to put her in jeopardy so she calls her daddy for help. I need it done tomorrow at noon or just before, so I can get out of court and catch the early bus back. Can you do that?”
“I can do it, but it’s going to cost you. You gotta wipe out what I owe dem boys on Pearl.”
“That’s not a problem. And if you do this right, you can be sure I’ll take good care of you, ah … soon, if you know what I mean.”
Wicks shut off the tape. “Well?”
“Play it again.”
He did. I could, without reservation, recognize Borkow from my exposure to him in court. The other voice came off with small pings of recognition, but I still couldn’t put a face to that voice. Not at that moment. He must’ve had something covering the receiver of the phone, a piece of cloth.
I knew how my mind worked, though. Tomorrow night, or the next, when I lay down to sleep, and I relaxed, the answer would bubble to the surface because I did know that voice from somewhere, and I’d regret it took so long for me to pull it up.
A day or two later would make it too late for Olivia.
The harder I tried to pull up the face, the further back in my memory it fled. I couldn’t think about it directly. I needed to let it fester a little.
After the second time through, Wicks hit the stop button. “Talk to me, buddy boy.”
“Yeah.” I cringed at the lie about to flow past my lips. “It’s the guy from the Pearl address in Compton.”
“You sure?”
“Sixty percent.”
“That’s good enough for me. Let’s roll.” He opened the trunk and put the cassette player away, then pulled out an Ithaca 12 gauge. He handed it to me with a box of double-O shells.
I pointed. “Bring along that tape and recorder.”
“Good idea.” He put it in his suit coat pocket and closed the trunk.
Wicks started up the Dodge and headed south on Atlantic Boulevard. The big engine roared and I was shoved back in the seat from the acceleration. Wicks never did anything half-assed. He always put his head down and barreled through.
Ten minutes later, we parked perpendicular to Pearl on Compton Avenue. We got out and eased our doors closed. Wicks pulled his Colt and checked the round in the chamber, just like he always did on operations where a shooting might occur. I racked the shotgun and fed another round into the magazine. I put some extra shells in my left front pants pocket. “We’re gonna have to go hill and dale on this one. They have lookouts on the street side.”
“You sure? I’m getting kind of old for that kind of shit.”
“Okay then, just wait here until you hear the first round go off. Then come running.”
“You know, you’ve turned into a real asshole.” He smiled. “I’ll follow you.”
We took our time going over the fences and across the backyards to keep the noise to a minimum. We crossed the last yard and approached the final fence without having made a sound. The house lights were off. Living next door to a rock house, the owners had to be lying low. If they were smart, they’d be sleeping in their bathtubs to stay safe from stray rounds.
We both crouched by the fence. I did a quick peek and came back down. I whispered, “The wrought-iron door is open and there’s one OG and two poo-butts sitting on the back steps smoking weed and talking smack.”
Wicks moved in close to my ear. “They’re there for only one reason, to slam that door if they catch the slightest whiff of trouble. We can’t get over the fence in time and get to that back door before they slam it shut. So what do you want to do?”
I looked around in the light from the moon high in the night sky and spotted a flower garden sectioned off from the grass with a border of decorative river rock. I pulled up a couple, hefting them for weight, until I found the one I liked, a little smaller than a softball. Maybe a little too heavy, but it would have to do. I came back to the fence.
Wicks took out a cigarette and put it in his lips. He wouldn’t light it until we’d contained the scene, another routine christened with a lot of blood and bone.
He said, “What are you going to do with that, chunk one of them boys in the head? What’s that going to get us? There are still two others.”
I whispered back, “Just get ready and follow my lead.”
I did another quick peek to check alongside the target house through to the front yard and spotted my objective—a tricked-out ghetto ride. A silver Lexus with two grand worth of wheels and an after-market, metal-flaked paint job worth thousands sat at the curb. I stepped back away from the fence trying to gauge the distance. I pulled back my good arm and wolfed that river rock as hard as I could. It still hurt my other shoulder.
We both held our breath.
A crash of metal and glass, then a car alarm went off.
Out front someone yelled, “What the fuck!”
I popped up to look over the fence. The three on the porch ran to the side of the house and stopped. They knew they weren’t supposed to leave their post under the threat of the ass-kicking of a lifetime.
“Now,” I whispered. I did a half pull-up putting most of the stress on my good arm and vaulted the fence. Wicks tossed me the gauge and came over a little slower. I was up the steps before the three gangbangers even knew we’d penetrated their domain.
Behind me, Wicks braced all three. “On the ground, now. Get on the ground.”
I knew the layout of the house from before and went through the kitchen and into the living room with the shotgun in the lead. I caught two sitting on the couch and three others at the front door looking at the excitement in the front yard through the closed security gate.
“Hit the floor. Everyone on the floor, now. Do it right now.”
Their heads whipped around. Their eyes went wide when they saw the shotgun held by an angry black man in a trucker’s shirt. All five eased down to the floor, the 12-gauge a huge motivator.
“Keep your hands away from yo
ur body. Spread your legs. You know the routine.”
From behind, Wicks yelled, “Coming in.”
“Come ahead.”
He came in escorting the three from outside all in a line, with their hands on their heads. I stepped aside to let them pass. “On the floor with your buddies. Now.”
I covered them with the shotgun. Wicks searched. He came up with five handguns. He emptied them and tossed them on the couch. “Which one is he?” Wicks asked.
Someone from out front came to the wrought-iron security door and spoke through it. “What’s going on?”
Wicks growled. “Sheriff’s department. Get your skinny ass away from the door.”
“Whoa, shit. It’s Five-O. Dey in the house. How the hell dey get in the house?”
I stepped over the bangers on the floor and prodded them with the gauge. “Hey, look up at me.”
I found one I recognized from the day we came in after Olivia. “You. Get your ass up and come with me. Come on, get your ass up.”
He complied. I tossed Wicks the shotgun. I held out my hand. He flipped me the recorder.
I yanked the guy back into the kitchen. The place smelled of chemicals and rotting food. The only dishes in view sat on the stove: pots used to cook the cocaine hydrochloride down to base or rock. Next to the stove, baby-food jars with white residue littered the counter. Jars from which they’d knocked out the white “cookies” of rock. All that paraphernalia had not been there the first time I’d come through, days earlier.
Piled high on the opposite counters were fast-food wrappers and cardboard containers from Pizza Hut, the Waffle House, Popeye’s Chicken, replete with piles and piles of gnawed chicken bones. These boys liked their spicy chicken wings.
The kid I held by the jersey looked to be about twenty, with brand-new clothes. Rock dealers rarely wash their clothes. They take them off, throw them in the pile, and put on new ones. This guy, like most all of them, went in for the Raiders and wore the black-and-white jersey over red denim pants the color of the Bloods street gang. They didn’t follow football; they just thought the name Raiders was cool. He was handsome. If you put him in a nice suit, he could pass as an attorney or stockbroker anywhere in the U.S. Until he opened his mouth to speak.
I grabbed him by the throat, shoved him up against the counter, and squeezed. I got up in his face and whispered, “You remember me?”
His body trembled. He choked and sputtered. I let off a little. “Yeah, you that Bruno The Bad Boy Johnson. What do you want wit’ me?” He tried for courageous, but fear burned through in his eyes.
“I’m only going to ask you once. You don’t tell me, I’m going to do you dirty and leave you on the floor. Then I’ll go to the next homeboy, and the next, until they tell me what I want to know. I’ll pile all you assholes up right over there in the corner just like Popeye’s chicken bones. You understand?”
He nodded.
“You ready for the question?”
He nodded again.
“I want to know who this is.” I hit play on the recorder.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
IN THE PEARL Street kitchen, I stood with my face close to the gang member’s and played the tape. I watched his expression for the slightest reaction. My aches and pains took a back seat to the task at hand.
All through the short conversation on the tape, he remained expressionless. I hit stop.
“Okay, you get one shot, who is it?”
“Dat’s not one of our boys.”
I punched him in the stomach. He bent over and moaned. “I didn’t ask you that, did I? I didn’t ask you if it was one of your boys. Who is it?”
From the living room Wicks yelled, “You okay in there?”
“Yeah, I’m about to trade this one in for a fresh one. This one’s gone stale on me.”
“Okay, let me know. I’ll send another one your way.”
The gang member held up his hand. “Wait. Wait.” He coughed and sputtered. “Dat white boy from the jail, dat’s him on the tape. He sent his man, some Mex, over here and paid off the debt. Paid us in hunert dollar bills, no twenties or fitties, only hunerts.”
“What’s the Mex’s name?”
“Dey call him Pay So or some shit like dat.”
“What’s he look like? Where does he live?”
“I doon know any of dat kinda shit.”
“What kind of car does he drive?”
“A real clean Monte. A nice ride, kinda stock though, not fixed up any, no wheels or paint.”
“What color?”
“Blue or black or dark gray, I don’ know for sure. I wasn’t lookin’. All I saw was his green when he took it out of his pocket.”
“You know anyone who knows where to find this guy, Payaso?”
He shook his head and tried to stand upright. “Naw, I tolt ya true, he ain’t from around this hood.”
Damn. How was I gonna find him?
“You got his phone number?”
“Naw, he just come knock on the door, dat’s all, man. I swear.”
Cortez and Borkow had picked the Pearl house for its close proximity to the courthouse. So I could make it there quickly and wouldn’t be tempted to call the cops in first.
“All right,” I said loud enough for Wicks to hear. “I’m sending you this one. Pick out another victim for me to interrogate.”
The gang member in front of me held up his hand. “Wait. Wait.” He lowered his voice. “Why don’ you ax dat poo-butt—he knows him good.”
I grabbed onto his jersey. “Which poo-butt?”
“The one on the tape. Not the white boy, the other one.”
“You know the other one?”
“Dat’s what I was trying to tell ya. He ain’t one of our boys but he come here to cop his dope. He owed us on some rock we fronted him.”
“You what?” I took a step back, stunned. I should have put it together before. It’d been right there in front of me all along. I just didn’t want it to be true. The face suddenly matched the voice for me. I caught myself almost saying the name out loud but I needed him to say it first. “Who? What’s his name?”
“Man, that poo-butt, he got two first names. It’s Derek, Derek Sams.”
I grabbed him by the throat and shoved him up against the sink. “He was the other one on the phone? You’re sure. You’re sure it was him?”
“Ease up on it, man.” His words came out choked off. He nodded vigorously. I let go.
“Yeah,” he said. “Dat’s him. I don’t mind givin’ him up. We don’ need him around here no more. Not wit’ all the trouble that follows his ass around.”
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw ached. Derek Sams, Olivia’s boyfriend. I had thought him only a pawn in this when in reality he had not only taken her to the rock house, he’d been the one to set it up ahead of time. He took a payout for it at the expense of Olivia’s safety. Now he’d been the one to sell her out again to Borkow. No one else could’ve gotten into our apartment or Dad’s house without forced entry or leaving some other form of evidence behind.
I’d had him in hand and lost my nerve when I put him on a bus to Barstow. I needed to crush something.
I grabbed the banger by the shoulder and shoved him into the living room.
“Well?” Wicks said.
“I got what we need, let’s go.”
“Excellent. See all you chumps later.”
We exited the front door and out into the night. Five more gang members stood on the sidewalk by the street glaring at us. Angry that we’d gotten past all their security. Angry that we’d bashed in their cherried-out Lexus. Wicks made sure they saw the shotgun. He brought it down off his shoulder. He let it casually hang at waist level, the barrel pointed at them, finger poised on the trigger. We swung around to head north to Compton Avenue. As we passed, he turned and walked backward, the one large and hungry eye of the shotgun watching them, keeping them honest. We made it to the corner and walked fast to the car.
We got in.
I punched the dash again and again.
“Hey, take it easy, pal, this is county property.”
“It’s Olivia’s boyfriend. He’s the other one on the tape.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. That makes a lot of sense now. You know where he lives?”
“Yeah, I do. Head for the projects. Jordan Downs.”
“Oh, this is really getting interesting.” He started up, put it in gear, and smoked the back tires making a U-turn.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
THE BIG DODGE wove in and out of the light traffic, Wicks running red lights as soon as the intersection cleared. He knew the way and knew the fastest streets to get there. “So you know where this little shitass lives?”
“Yeah, I do. He lives with his auntie now. He used to live with his foster parents for years until he ran away a few months back. Or so the story goes. But if he’s anywhere, he’ll be at his auntie’s right on the edge of the Downs on 101st.”
Now I questioned all the things he’d told me while we sat in the bus station.
“So Sams has got a direct link to Borkow. That’s really something, huh?”
I turned to look at him in the kaleidoscope illumination from the passing streetlights. “Sams set Olivia up to be menaced so I’d leave the court. Now he’s gone and fed her to Borkow so I’d back off Borkow’s trail.”
“Whoa, buddy boy, I know you’re a little pissed right now, and I’ve never said this before, but maybe you better let me handle this. You’re gonna pinch his head off before we get the info we need on Borkow.”
“I’m good.”
“I don’t think you are. When we come up on him, you let me handle it, you understand? I’m not kiddin’ here, Bruno.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“You’re not going to do Olivia any good if you get your ass thrown in the can. Think about it.”
He was right, but I’d let Sams off the hook once too often already. It wouldn’t happen again. I was going to—
My head whipped around as we drove up Alameda and crossed Imperial Highway. “That’s him! That’s him at the light. Pull a U. Pull a U! He’s at the red light, third car back in that piece of shit Volkswagen Rabbit.”