by Steve Garcia
“Do you think FID had something to do with Pearl’s release?”
“Twenty-four hours ago I would have said it was unlikely. Now, I’m not so sure. Bag up that coke. Let’s tell Christie we’re locking this place down until we can get forensics in here, then saddle up.”
“Where we heading?”
“To jail, partner.”
12
“She’s going to absolutely ruin the wedding, you know? Did you know that? Let me tell you her latest idea…”
Kahn’s head drooped as he listened to Angie’s rant. He had enough to worry about on his own side.
“…have you contacted your father yet?”
She must have read his mind.
“Er…I’m on it, Angie, but y’know, I’m not sure it’s a great idea.”
“We’ve spoken about this, hon. If you don’t do it now, you never will.”
Don fought back the urge to say that was kind of his plan. He and his father hadn’t spoken in years. Good old dad used to slap his mom around. His mother took it for years but then her health started to fail. The doctor gave her a prescription to help keep her calm. Within a few weeks she was sucking the pills down like candy.
“…red sashes,” Angie was saying. “She wants the men to wear red sashes. Who does she think we are? Royalty?”
On Kahn’s eighteenth birthday, he and his father stood eyeball to eyeball in the kitchen while his mother wept at the table through blackened eyes. His father stormed out. Within six months, Kahn’s mother was dead from a drug overdose. Accidental, they said. A few months’ later, Kahn was in the marines. Conversations with his father stopped.
The in-house line rang. “Angie, I gotta go. I’ve got another call. Don’t worry about your mother. We’ll work it out somehow, okay? See you tonight.”
“I love you.”
Kahn glanced around. “I love you, too.”
He punched the flashing line on his desk phone. “Kahn.”
Ten seconds later, he stood up and looked over the cubicle wall. “Harlen, we’re wanted again.”
“Now what?”
“I don’t know. Siley said to report to his office.”
“Man, that doesn’t sound good.”
“If you didn’t keep roughing people up, we wouldn’t have to keep doing this.”
“It was you who broke the kid’s arm, not me.”
“He looked like Santana,” Kahn said, in a high-pitched mocking voice.
“Stick it. At least one of those fuckers had a gun. If we hadn’t been lucky, they’d be writing up our eulogies right about now. I hate this part of the job with a purple passion. How the hell…aw, forget it.”
Standing at the corner of the Pit and the hallway was a stout, tough-looking guy with a crew cut. “Man, are you people slow. I’m talking Grandma-with-a-walker slow.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Krajcek?” Wagner asked.
“If you planned on squandering your Christmas bonus on something silly, forget it. The grandmother of that kid you beat the hell out of says she’s going to sue.”
“There’s a stunner, huh?” Kahn said.
“No bonuses this year?” Wagner said. “Dang. I’ll have to live off the money I took from you in the Super Bowl.”
“Come on, Harlen, we’ve got to go.”
“My boss is in with your boss.” Krajcek turned and walked down the hall with them. “Let me warn you that they aren’t exchanging recipes for fruit cake.”
Kahn stepped up to the captain’s door and tilted his head to hear the shouted conversation inside.
“What’s he saying?” Wagner whispered.
“Captain Nader said narcotics isn’t taking the fall for, and I quote, ‘Kahn and Wagner’s overexuberance.’” He knocked on the door.
“Come in!” bellowed Siley.
Kahn went in, followed closely by his Wagner and Krajcek. Captain Siley sat behind his desk, looking like a man who had been given an enema and was feeling it start to work. Captain Nader sat in the farthest chair from the door. He was twisted slightly, looked over his left shoulder, and cast a disparaging look their way. Captain Mangan, the officer Kahn had met at Cresner’s party, sat in the other chair, a mischievous smile on his puss.
“Don. Harlen. You both know Captain Nader, Deputy Chief of Narcotics? And Captain Mangan from vice? Now that everybody knows everybody else, you want to close the door, Sergeant?”
Krajcek closed the door and leaned with his back against it.
Does he think we gonna run? thought Kahn.
He shuffled with Wagner off to the right side of Siley’s desk, as close to the wall as they could get. Siley stared on them. “You know we’ve been doing our damndest to avoid controversy in this department. We had a lot of bad publicity to overcome from some errors made months ago. Somehow, we managed to do that. Now, between the FID investigation and your kicking the crap out of a teenager, we’re getting unwanted attention. It’s up to me to try and deflect some of that heat.”
Kahn looked at Mangan, whose pose hadn’t changed. Nader was picking at his fingernails, as though the whole affair bored him. Kahn was dreading what might be said next. You’re back on foot patrol. No, they wouldn’t do that. The detective squad was already light.
Siley leaned back in his chair, folded his hands, and rested them on his chest. “Captain Mangan informs me that due to a staff shortage in vice, he is looking for a couple of volunteers for temporary assignment. I am sure that you two will be eager to help him out.”
“You want us to work with vice?” Kahn said. “That’s it?”
“Yes,” Siley said. “And a reduction of pay for two months.”
“Aw, bullshit,” Wagner said. “If this is because of that punk kid, his arm got broken resisting arrest. They fired shots at us, for fuck’s sake. Why should we be punished for that?”
“The doctor said there were numerous bruises on his body and head.”
“I mentioned those in my report, Captain,” said Kahn. “The kid resisted.”
“The kid’s five-nine, and you two are both old and big enough to know better,” said Siley.
Wagner gave Kahn a “what-can-you-do?” look.
“However,” Siley said, “if FID clears you of abuse of a suspect, I’ll drop the fines.”
“Thanks, Captain,” Kahn said.
“Unfortunately for you two, FID is a bit tied up right now. So…”
Kahn sighed. “What in particular does vice need us for?”
“We’re doing a prostitution sting,” Mangan said. “We’re more interested in the johns than the hookers this time.”
“Anybody in particular you’re looking for?” Wagner asked.
“We’ll sort ’em out when we get ’em,” Mangan said. “Sergeant Krajcek’s group is handling the operation.”
“Hell, I might even know a few of the ladies on a first-name basis.”
“Wagner,” Siley said, raising a warning finger.
“I’m not saying I’m a client, Captain, but I do know how to work the street. So maybe the ladies can help me find whoever it is you’re looking for.”
Mangan’s grin returned. “It’ll be nice to have your expertise. I think Captain Siley forgot to mention that this sting is focusing on male prostitution.”
Kahn went stiff, and Wagner looked like he had when he found out the precinct summer party was alcohol free.
“We need you to go undercover,” Mangan said.
“Undercover? Wait a minute,” Wagner said. “Are you saying you want us to dress like some faggot? You want us to be queer bait?”
“That’s not the way I’d put it, but yes,” Mangan said. “We need you to do a little booty shaking.” Siley was chuckling to himself and Krajcek was grinning from ear to ear.
“Not me, man.” He turned to Kahn. “You’re more feminine, partner.”
Kahn’s stare down slammed that door. “I think they already selected
you for the role.”
“Crap. Okay,” said Wagner. “I’m a professional. I’ll take one for the team.”
Krajcek stepped forward. “We should mention, any body part that’s exposed has to be clean. The johns are looking to experience that young-boy feel. They aren’t looking to fuck some hairy-assed mother.”
Wagner shook his head. “No way am I shaving my body hair.”
Siley stood up. “I think we’re done here. It’s two o’clock. What time do you need them over there, Captain Mangan?”
“Any time. We can get some practice in.”
“Practice?” Wagner squirmed. “What kind of practice?”
“You have to know how to act. How to use the equipment. What to say to the johns. That kind of thing.”
“You two get over to vice as soon as you can, then,” said Siley. “If you have anything that needs tending to here, any loose ends, let one of the others know before you go.”
Wagner left the room quickly and headed straight for the back door. Kahn followed. He knew his partner needed a cigarette. He probably wanted a drink, too, but since they had to report to vice, he might resist the temptation.
Kahn shoved the door to the outside open and headed for their favorite smoking spot—under the tree.
“Here,” Wagner offered him his pack of cigarettes.
“GPCs? What happened to the Marlboros?”
“I got a buy one, get one free coupon. I figured what the hell. They aren’t bad. Go ahead, try one.”
Kahn took one and handed the pack back. “This is not a good time for me to be hit in the wallet,” he said, as he lit the cigarette. “I’m trying to put aside some money for the wedding.”
“I thought the women paid for the wedding. You know, out of gratitude.” Wagner laughed. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”
“Angie is paying for a lot of it. I still have expenses. We’re renting a hall. I think we are anyway. Her mom may have changed that again since I left for work.”
“Why don’t you tell that nosy bitch to stay out of it?”
“Yeah, right. I’m going to tell Angie’s mom to butt out of her daughter’s wedding.”
“I would.”
“Not if you hoped to get married, you wouldn’t. Attacking the mom is the worst thing you can do.”
“What other expenses do you have?”
“The bar.”
“I told you before that I can help with that. I’ll get my buddy over at Roget’s to give me a deal.”
“Really?”
“I’m your best man, aren’t I? Now what else do you need help with?”
“The honeymoon.”
“I can help there, too.” He smiled. “I mean, after all, isn’t that why they call me the best man?”
“Stay classy, partner. I’m talking money, not romance. But speaking of screwing, did I ever tell you that I had a friend who was a male prostitute?”
“For real?”
“He was hung like a bull, but unfortunately he contracted leprosy and his business fell off.”
13
Dodger Stadium—1 mile.
The green information sign that hung over the 101 reminded Reyes of the missed opportunities to be with his son last season. As if reading his mind, Wallace said, “You’re a Dodger’s fan, aren’t you, Sal?”
“Yeah.”
“You ever get tickets from Captain Siley? He’s got box seats.”
“He gave me a pair last year. I called Pam to see if she would let me take Fernando, even though it wasn’t one of my official visit days. It was last minute and the tickets were for that night. I don’t have to tell you she said no.”
“Why is she like that?”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping that getting married again might change her attitude.”
“You don’t really care if she gets married again though, right?”
“No. Why would I give a shit?”
“You sure?”
Reyes looked at Wallace. “Are you serious?”
“You know the old saying, You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone?”
“Not in my case.” Reyes turned and looked at his partner. “We were talking about me, right?”
Wallace smiled. “Here’s our exit,” she said, pointing at the information sign: Men’s Central Jail. Exit ¼ mile.
“You’re pretty sure the FID hasn’t contacted anyone in the sheriff’s department, right?”
“I doubt it. FID is internal.” Wallace turned south on North Vignes Street. “I doubt David’s troops even give a shit about some penny-ante thug who happened to share a cell with Pearl. That’s why they do what they do and we do what we do.”
“Don’t go to the regular lot. Go down Bauchet. Less walking.”
“Anything that saves my poor dogs is fine with me.”
“What kind of story are you going to tell the guys inside? Or are you going with the truth?”
They found a parking place and Wallace killed the engine. “I’m going to tell them my version of the truth.”
“Sounds good. I’ll smile and nod and mumble something in Spanish like, ‘Yo no hablo inglés.’”
“Come on, smart-ass.”
Wallace and Reyes walked shoulder-to-shoulder across the parking lot. They checked their guns and signed in at the reception desk. A Sergeant Ehling came out of his office and looked at their IDs. The buttons of his shirt were straining against his impressive girth. “So, what can we do for you, detectives?”
“We’re looking into a homicide. The vic’s name was Bartholomew Pearl. He was housed here for some time.”
Ehling eyed them a little suspiciously. Reyes knew his type: only ever got off his ass for a Twinkie.
“Yeah, that the guy they found up on St Andrew’s?”
“It certainly is,” said Wallace. “Can you tell us when he was released?”
There was a slight pause. “Yesterday morning. First thing.”
“You don’t think it’s a little strange that he was dead by the afternoon?”
“Hey,” said Ehling, “my business ends when I turf these pricks out.”
Reyes stepped forward, trying not to lose his patience. “So you don’t know why a scumbag who shot a cop walked out of here?”
Ehling eyed the badge at Reyes’s waist. “Detective, I don’t like your tone.”
The officer sitting at the desk looked up, suddenly interested.
Wallace used a more conciliatory tone. “Sorry, sergeant. We’ve got two probable homicides, and the shit’s really hit the fan. The cop Pearl shot was a colleague of ours.”
Reyes managed a smile, held up his hand, and backed off.
“Who gave the order to release Pearl?” asked Wallace.
Ehling passed a dirty handkerchief over his brow. “The only people who could. The DA’s office.”
“Do you know why?”
“I guess he must have cut a deal of some sort. They met in private.”
“I see,” said Wallace. “Sergeant, did Pearl have a cell to himself?”
“You’re joking, right. This ain’t the Beverly Hilton.”
“Could we have a word with his former cellmate?”
“I don’t see why not. Fred,” Ehling spoke to the officer at the desk, “can you assist these detectives, please?”
The officer tapped at his keyboard, his eyes scrolling the screen.
“Pearl was in with Ducker, H.”
“Get him into one of the interview rooms. Show these two detectives where to go. Detectives, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Officer Robbins.”
“Thanks, sergeant,” Wallace said. “You’ve been a great help.”
After Ehling had waddled back into his office, Robbins showed Wallace and Reyes into an interview room. “We’ll get Ducker down in a few minutes.”
The room was small. White cement block walls. Four chairs. One table. Reyes took a seat.
Wallace began pacing. “Here’s something that is bothering me. The DA got Pearl out of jail. So then, why turn right around and issue an all-points bulletin?”
“I heard that he was supposed to report back and didn’t show.”
“And that makes sense to you? Have you ever heard of that kind of deal before, where they let a guy out and then try to get him back?”
“They do that kind of thing all the time. They call them compassionate leaves. Like, if the guy’s mom is dying or something. If they let him out and he promises to come back and doesn’t, they put out an APB.”
“Sal, come on.” Wallace shook her head. “Central houses the majority of Los Angeles County’s high-risk, high-security inmates. You don’t let that kind of inmate waltz out to go visit Grandma.”
“If Cresner had died, I agree. But since he was only wounded, I bet a smart lawyer could swing a release for Pearl—at least a temporary one.”
The door opened and a man in his midtwenties with muddy-colored hair and the face of an altar boy shuffled in. He was escorted by his jailer, who looked like his last job was in the movie Deliverance.
“You the folks looking for Ducker?” the jailer asked. He scratched his nose. “I never got a request in writing. I usually get some kind of memo, don’t ya know?”
Reyes smiled. “It was a last-minute thing. Say, you have a unique accent there, uh, Officer Bass, is it? Where are you from originally?”
“E-ya. Orville Bass. You never heard of where I’m from. It’s a small place called Frog Croak, Georgia.”
“Unusual name. Well, thanks for bringing Mr. Ducker down. We have only a few questions for him. If you would step out of the room, please.”
“Sure. Take your time.” He strolled from the room and closed the door behind him.
“My name is Detective Wallace,” Wallace said, turning to Ducker. “My partner is Detective Reyes. I didn’t catch your first name.”
“Harry.”
“Well, Harry, we’d like to ask you a few questions about one of your former cellmates, Bartholomew Pearl.”
“Okay.”