by Unknown
So this was to be another variation of the old let's-share-everything game. You go first. According to the rules she'd been raised with, players never shared everything they had on the first round. True players never gave away everything.
"He was trying to save me." That's not how she had wanted to start. She didn't consider herself a person who needed constant rescue. She began again with the words that launched so many stories; "There's this guy."
Bayless clicked his pen open. "This guy have a name?"
"Peter Donner. Goes by Petey. He's a biker, a one-percenter."
Bayless looked up from his notebook, his expression nonplussed.
"You know," she explained, "ninety-nine percent of the population are citizens, one percent are outlaws. Anyhow, this Petey guy is the president of the Satan's Pride." She waited for Bayless to write the cop code for asshole, but he only wrote: "Donner, Peter."
"Go on."
"Years ago"—she swept her hand to the side to indicate just how far in the past this all was—"I used to hang with the Satan's Pride. The Venice chapter. Anyway, you know how bad they treat women, right?"
Bayless held his pen over his pad, waiting to write something novel. Apparently the misogynistic tendencies of outlaw bikers wasn't breaking news.
Munch nodded. She needed just to come right out with it, stop worrying about how it was all going to sound to someone who didn't know her better. "Okay. I found out that Petey is looking to revitalize the local chapter. He offered a patch to the first guy who brought me in."
"Why you?"
"About nine years ago, I brought the club down. Not single-handedly, but if I'd kept my mouth shut and died like I was supposed to, they'd still be active in these parts. I feel just terrible about it."
Bayless smirked. "Nine years ago did you work with the police?"
"I told them what I knew about some women getting killed; they put the rest together."
"Was Rico Chacón part of all that?"
"No. I hadn't met him yet." She considered telling Bayless about Mace St. John and how they'd saved each other, figuratively and literally, then decided that that would be something that might help her more later. Sometimes it was better to let people think you had no friends or pull and see how they treated you. "Rico found out about Petey's threat." Munch didn't say how, well aware that she was treading some muddy waters. She was pretty certain that Rico had crossed a few lines to help her more than once. Bringing that up now might be all the proof Bayless needed to rule against Rico. "Rico told me he'd handle it. Now he's dead."
"So you think this Peter Donner killed Rico?"
"I have no idea. All Rico's dad said was that Rico was shot to death. Do you have suspects or witnesses or anything?"
"I can't discuss an ongoing investigation?
"What the hell have we been doing, then?"
"Let me check with my sergeant and I'll see how much I can tell you. Do you still communicate with any of your biker friends?"
"Never on purpose. I'm sure you've read my jacket. That should tell my story. I travel in different circles now. There's not a lot of chopper traffic in Brentwood."
"Sounds like it's been a while since you hit the bar scene."
"I don't even live in the same universe anymore."
* * *
Munch left Bayless and drove over to Fernando's house. Cars and pickup trucks lined both sides of the street. Mourners spilled into the front lawn and sidewalk, mostly men. The women, Munch knew, would be inside cooking. Rico's ex, Sylvia, wouldn't miss this opportunity to insert herself into the middle of the action.
Munch found Madame Ex at the stove adding spices to a large cauldron of red sauce. A red bandanna tamed her kinky hair. Her black skin shone with sweat.
Munch forced a smile on to her face. "You want some help?"
Sylvia, grimacing, looked Munch up and down. "No. You'll just be in the way."
Granted, cooking wasn't Munch's thing, but that wasn't the issue.
"I'm going to be a part of this. You might as well get used to that."
"Fine. The funeral is Saturday. We'll be coming back here after."
"Is this house going to be big enough?"
"It will just be family." Sylvia again gave Munch a look usually reserved for nasty jobs that couldn't be put off indefinitely, such as cleaning toilet bowls. "We'll manage."
"I've seen cop funerals before. They're huge. They close down intersections for the procession."
"This funeral is going to be small," Sylvia said. "Fernando will barely be able to afford a nice casket. The costs to bury someone in the States are unbelievable?
"That should be the least of his worries. I'm pretty sure the city has some kind of fund for this. I'll make some calls and find out."
"Oh, yes," Sylvia's tone was acidic. It went nicely with her facial expression. "There are many funds. The federal government is supposed to pay the family five hundred thousand dollars when a police office is killed in the line of duty. A man told us this morning that Rico's family is not eligible to collect. Now the city's risk management department is holding back his benefits, his pension, everything?
"And not even footing the bill for the funeral?"
"We don't want their empty gestures."
Munch realized her mouth was hanging open. She didn't understand. "No pension?"
"That's right, nothing for his own daughter." Sylvia looked past the Formica kitchen table to where Angelica sat in the backyard listlessly petting the family's chow. "We will continue to suffer." Her tone seemed to imply this would be happening long after Munch had gotten over it all.
Munch wanted to shake the woman. Did Sylvia think Munch's grief wasn't measuring up? "Fernando told me Rico was killed in a shoot-out. How much more in the line of duty could he have been?"
"According to his commander, he was not where he was supposed to be. Puto." Sylvia attacked a pile of cilantro with vengeance. "They said he was dirty. A dirty cop."
"Bullshit. Who says?"
"The narcos who shot him."
Munch felt a shift in her equilibrium. The humming in her ears was so intense, she wasn't sure she would be able to hear anything else. "Wait a minute. You're saying he was shot by other cops? It must have been a case of mistaken identity, an accident. One of those friendly-fire scenarios. He's been working undercover."
"Was he?" Sylvia turned on Munch, punctuating her words with unmasked contempt.
"You can't possibly believe he was crooked. Did you know him at all?" Munch took a step back and pulled her hands out of her pockets. It was with some effort that she didn't ball her fists. "I want to talk to these cops."
"Go ahead," Sylvia said. "Maybe they'll shoot you, too."
Munch might beat herself up all day long, but there was a limit to how much shit she'd take from anyone else. Hell, it wasn't as if she broke up the family or anything. Rico and Sylvia had been split up for years when Munch and he got together. Before she said or did anything she might regret, Munch left Madame Head-Up-Her-Ass Ex and went out into the backyard. Angelica looked skinnier than ever. Her Levi's-clad legs were little more than bones and her shoulders slumped as if she were exhausted.
One cooked while the other starved. Welcome to America. Munch would have liked to hug the girl, but she knew from past experience that Angelica didn't like being touched. Angelica didn't I seem to like much of anything.
"Your mom is making enough to feed an army in there."
Angelica's eyes were brown like Rico's, but held no shine.
"Yeah?"
"Smells good."
Angelica twisted her back as if trying to loosen a kink, as if her muscles were fifty years old instead of fifteen. Munch wanted to hold the kid down and pump nourishment into her.
"If you need anything, call me. Okay?"
"I'm fine," Angelica said.
"I didn't ask how you were. You don't have to lie to me."
"I don't have to talk to you either."
"Only if you w
ant to. I can be a good friend. Remember that."
Munch drove home. First she stopped at the market and called St. John from the pay phone there. She filled him in on the latest twists.
"I know you didn't love Rico, but there is no way he was bad. This is some horrible mistake."
"I've seen the report," St. John said. "Rico was trading fire with the task force. If he wasn't playing for the other team, I don't know what the explanation is."
"So when you said IA investigates all officer-involved shootings—"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to withhold from you, but I thought it would be better if your surprise at the circumstances of his death was genuine."
"It was that." Munch rubbed her throat, trying to loosen the ache there. "Can you set up a meeting with them for me?"
"With who?"
"The task force cops."
"I don't want you involved with these guys. Narcs are ego-driven cowboys. All they care about is putting powder on the table and bodies in jail."
"But Rico was a brother cop."
"Don't count on that to help you. The word is that he was assisting in a prison break of some Mexican nationals, some narco-traffickers."
"That doesn't make any sense. You can't believe that."
"We'll both have to wait until all the evidence comes in," he said.
"And how long will that take?" she asked.
"I need you to be patient. Don't even think about doing anything half-cocked."
"I won't."
He snorted into the phone as if he didn't believe her. "The best you can do is stay off their radar. They're gonna look at you and just try to figure how to use you. You make too much noise, and they'll find a hammer to hold over your head."
"Like what?"
"Either they'll think you're involved or they'll approach you to assist with their investigation and make sure you do whether you want to or not. It's not nice, but it's the way it is. They love it when a person of interest has a kid, gives them great leverage.
They like threatening to put the kid in child services if the parents don't cooperated,
"You wouldn't let that happen."
"I'd fight like hell, but I might only be able to do so much."
"I hear what you're saying about these guys." This way there he dragons. "Can you give me their names at least?"
"Absolutely not."
"You want a couple more seconds to think about that? You sound a little on the fence."
"The best thing for you to do is get on with your life, let some time pass."
Munch looked up at her ceiling and rubbed her eyes. Her sinuses were filled with tear-diluted mucus and they burned. It was the same feeling she used to get as a kid when the waves would somersault her on to the ocean floor. Let time pass? Every hour was a weeklong. He didn't know what he was asking.
"Fine." She hung up without saying good-bye and picked up her TO DO list. She added; "narc's names."
CHAPTER NINE
MUNCH PULLES BAYLESS'S CARD FROM HER WALLETT AND stared at it.
"Fuck 'em," she muttered to herself as she dialed.
"Bayless, Internal Investigations."
She had to clear her throat before she began. "This is Munch Mancini."
"What can I do for you?"
"Do you investigate all cop shootings?"
"Not every case crosses my desk."
"In Rico's case, which end are you looking at?"
"What do you mean?"
"According to his ex-wife, Rico Chacón was shot by other cops. Narcs. So are you looking at Rico as a shooter or as the guy who got shot?"
"This is not something we should discuss on the phone."
Munch's heartbeat quickened. He hadn't shut the door on her. "What are you saying?"
"Why don't you come to see me tomorrow? We'll kick this around a little,"
"I'll be there at ten with my boots on."
* * *
Ellen offered to treat Munch and Asia to dinner. They went to a new restaurant in Santa Monica that offered organic Italian. Munch perused the menu, looking for something Asia would enjoy. She was feeling a few gnawing tugs of hunger for the first time that day. They seemed like a betrayal.
"Tofu pepperoni pizza," Ellen said, sounding outraged. She put her menu down. "Now that's just wrong."
Munch laughed out loud, feeling a touch of hysteria. She sensed that if she didn't keep it under control, she would be carried away on a cloud of mindless hilarity. Still, it felt good to laugh, even as it hurt a little, too. As if some shell were breaking apart inside her. She leaned over to Asia. "Let's get the Popeye pizza. Spinach and mozzarella."
"Okay, Mom. You're the boss."
Munch put a hand to Asia's forehead. "Are you feeling all right?"
Asia rolled her eyes until only the white showed. It was an expression she'd been making since before she could talk.
Munch let her hand linger and Asia didn't mind. How many more years did they have before Asia would get too hip, slick, and cool for her mom?
The waitress set water in front of them. "Are you guys ready?"
After they had placed their orders and the waitress had left, Munch put Asia's napkin in her lap. "I saw Angelica today."
"Was she sad?" Asia asked, a tiny crease appearing between her brown eyes.
"Yeah, although with her it's hard to tell."
"I know what you mean," Asia said. "She's a piece of work."
Munch choked on her water. "Where did you hear that expression?" Ellen raised both hands as if to plead her innocence.
"I get around," Asia said, affecting nonchalance.
Munch pushed her shoulder. "Cut that out. You're nine. Now act like it."
Asia stuck her tongue out.
"That's better."
"Who's Angelica?" Ellen asked.
"Rico's kid."
Asia raised her hand. "She was going to be my sister."
Munch pulled her daughter close to her. "She still can be. That doesn't have to change. In fact, she needs us now more than she knows. Rico would want us to be nice to her, don't you think?"
"Okay, but she better be nice back."
Munch tweaked Asia's nose. "Don't hold your breath. It might be up to us to make the first move."
Ellen sat up straighter and pulled her shoulders back. Some good-looking guy must have come into view. "Where did you see Rico's kid?"
"At the father's house. Rico 's father. They're going to have everyone gather there after the services. Apparently it's just going to be family."
Ellen toyed with one of her dangling earrings. "Didn't Rico have a gang of brothers? And what about all his cop friends?"
"He had six brothers and a sister. Most of them will be there, but . . ."
Ellen turned too-green eyes on her and tilted her head in a silent question.
Munch lifted the napkin from Asia's lap and stood to let her out of the booth. "Asia, honey, go wash your hands."
"But—"
"Don't worry about mine."
Asia slumped her shoulders as she climbed out of the booth. "Ohh, all right, Mother."
Ellen smiled after her. "She's a trip and a half."
"Tell me about it." Munch rubbed her face with both hands. When she lowered them back to the table, Ellen was focused on her.
"What's going on?"
Munch glanced toward the bathroom door, knowing her time was limited. "I don't want a bunch of his co-workers at the service. I don't want to have to look at them. The cops are the ones who shot Rico. Some narc assholes."
Ellen's eyes swiveled to Munch's mouth as if she couldn't believe the words that had just spilled from it. "What? Was it some kind of accident? Did he know the guy?"
Everyone else in the restaurant was momentarily forgotten.
Ellen's eyes filled with tears, matching Munch's own.
"I don't know. I'm trying to find out more." Munch spoke quickly, needing to get it all out before Asia returned. "Now a question has been raised about how ho
nest a cop he was. His pension, death benefits, all that is being held back. Mace St. John said that none of his cop buddies are gonna want to get caught on the wrong side of whatever was going on."
"No way," Ellen said. "There's absolutely no fucking way that boy was on the take." She took a sip of water and dabbed her lips with her napkin. "No. He was into it—the whole law-and-order thing. I never got any other vibe from him."
Munch wiped at the tears leaking down her cheeks. She never knew she could cry so much. "You ask me, I think the narcs are just trying to cover their own asses. I'm not going to let them get away with it."
"Honey." Ellen reached over and patted Munch's hand. "This is me. Be real. If the cops want it to read a certain way, ain't a damned if thing you can do about it."
"I'm not looking to change the world. I just want some answers."
"That's probably doable." She paused to dab at her lower lash line. The smudge of mascara there disappeared. "I'll help any way I can."
"I might need you to look after Asia for a few days."
"God, you must be desperate."
"I'm going to go see this guy tomorrow."
Asia returned to the table and the subject was changed.
* * *
On Wednesday morning, Munch drove downtown again to Parker Center, also referred to by those familiar with the building's multiple stories of green windows as The Glass House. The cop behind the counter smiled in recognition. Munch wondered at his open friendliness, then she had to remind herself that she no longer dressed like biker trash and had shed the pallor of addiction many years ago. It was still hard to get used to cops treating her like she wasn't prey or another scumbag to be wary of.
And sometimes vice versa.
Bayless was expecting her, but she was early. While she waited, she observed. The cop at the front desk had the patience of a saint, fielding all sorts of stupid questions. He was probably used to it. She'd gone on a ride-along once—Rico had set it up when she expressed an interest. Mainly it had been for the novelty of riding in the front seat.
She'd felt a bit like a spy as she rode with a sheriff's deputy in East Los Angeles on his 6-A.M.-to-2-PM. shift that Saturday. His name was Mike Savage. A lot of cops were named Mike, Officer Savage said. Saint Michael was the patron saint of cops.