Grave on Grand Avenue

by Naomi Hirahara

  Fernandes continues to hold my gun toward us. “It’s not fair. My mother died while I was in the joint. She deserved better. I deserved better.”

  I grip Lita’s club. “One thing that my parents always taught me was never to assume that I deserved anything. To think about other people instead. How I can help them.”

  Fernandes stares at me. In the dim light his eyes look like black holes. It’s obvious that he hasn’t slept.

  “See, Puddy, you’ve actually received more than you have ever deserved. Than I have deserved,” Lita adds. I know that she’s talking about Dad and Noah and me.

  First Fernandes’s shoulders begin to shake. Then his arms. And then his hands and, as a result, the Glock. He’s making a weird choking noise. Is he crying? I fear that he will inadvertently shoot off the gun.

  “Mr. Fernandes, I need you to give me the gun.” My voice sounds calm and collected, like it’s not coming out of my mouth.

  Fernandes steadies himself. He wipes tears from his face with a brush of his forearm. He turns the gun in his hands—for a second I fear that he’s going to shoot himself—and then presents it to me, grip out.

  Dropping the club, I claim my gun. I hold it in my right hand and aim it safely toward the floor.

  “What’s going to happen now?” Lita asks after picking up the club.

  “I’m going to have to call this in,” I tell her. “Assuming they’re the bank robbers, then these two here killed a man.”

  “I know, querida. You’re the one person in the family who does everything by the book.”

  * * *

  I don’t know how I’m going to explain everything.

  The reception in the room is awful, so I step outside onto the balcony to make my call.

  He finally answers.

  “Cortez—” I begin.

  “Listen, Ellie, I have to call you back later. We got a lead in the Old Lady Bandit case.”

  I hear sirens in the distance closing in on the Bavarian Inn.

  “What’s happening?” Lita is at my side as I quickly end my conversation with Cortez.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I tell her.

  I know I should stay, give a full report about what happened—Fernandes stealing my gun, following a hunch to the bar and then the Bavarian Inn, discovering the two men taped up, my own biological grandfather aiming a gun—my gun—at me. But it’s easier to do what we are doing, sitting in Lita’s Cadillac from across the street and watching the black-and-whites as well as Cortez’s car drive into the parking lot.

  “He must have called it in himself,” I say, referring to Puddy Fernandes. He and Bacall are long gone.

  “But when?”

  “Probably even before we arrived.”

  “You mean he really was trying to help the police catch the Old Lady Bandit?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. The car is silent for a few moments. I listen for the yapping of a dog somewhere outside, but there’s only the hum of cars driving past a dilapidated motel, a motel with literally cockeyed direction, the place where my family began.

  EIGHTEEN

  On Sunday night, I’m looking on my laptop at stories regarding the apprehension of suspects in the Old Lady Bandit robberies. Ronald Sullivan and his nephew, Andrew Sullivan. Due to a lead by an anonymous caller, the LAPD found both of them in a hotel room, their hands and feet taped together. Their vehicle was discovered in the parking lot, and contained residue from a bank dye pack, further linking them to at least one of the robberies.

  I’m getting a phone call. Midnight. It’s from an unknown caller. I hesitate before I answer. Between everything that has happened these past few weeks, I’ve had my fill from the unknown, that’s for sure.

  “Hel-lo,” I say with some trepidation.

  “Ellie, it’s Supachai. Don’t be so worried, girl.”

  I stare at my phone. Has Supachai somehow wired it with a camera? “Can you see me?”

  Supachai starts laughing. His laugh sounds like a chimpanzee on crack. “Can’t pull a fast one on you. I’m trying out my new software. It analyzes the mood of humans through audio. Kind of like a mood ring for the voice.”

  “That’s creepy. I thought that you weren’t going to do all that invasive stuff anymore.”

  “Well, this will be used for good, not evil.”

  “Right.” A polygraph without wires. Actually, I’m sure the LAPD would love to have access to Supachai’s software.

  “How have you been?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I turned it off, okay?”

  I’m afraid to say anything, so I don’t.

  “Anyway, the reason I’m calling—you remember back when I asked you and Nay to be on the beta test team for an app I was developing. Sinker?”

  “Oh, yeah. That was for hookups, right? I deactivated it, Supachai. Sorry. Wasn’t my thing.”

  “No, no, it was a silly school project. Never really did anything with it. But I noticed earlier today that Nay didn’t deactivate it. She’s still on it.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Nay has probably forty thousand apps on her phone.

  “Anyway, you seemed all concerned about Nay when you came by my offices the other day. I normally don’t do these things, but if you want to know where her phone is right now, I can help you out.”

  He gives me an address, and I get to Google Maps and start typing. It’s in Van Nuys. A hotel, two blocks away from the airport.

  “She’s been there all day,” Supachai reports. He agrees to keep me updated if I add a tres leches cake to the sangria I owe him.

  “I’ll hold you to it,” he says, and we say our good-byes.

  * * *

  I have work in eight hours and I’m not going to run over to Van Nuys in the middle of the night. I’m just relieved to see that Nay’s phone is charged and working. And that she’s still in the continental U.S.

  There is more report writing awaiting me at the station. I actually don’t mind; there’s been too much going on, both at work and outside of it. I wish I had my own desk, but there’s no room for that. Today I find the guys crowding around one of our larger computer monitors, yelping in laughter. It can’t be porn; Captain Randle has a no-tolerance policy on that. Most likely it’s some stupid Jack Ass–type site.

  Mac finally attempts to join the fun. “What’s going on?”

  It’s like the parting of the Red Sea, and I get a clear shot of the monitor—it’s a full-screen photo of Mac, Lemon Drop the dog, and the two women from the City Council meeting. It’s from one of the women’s blog (does everyone have a blog now, BTW?).

  “Lemon Drop, Lemon Drop, Lemon Drop.” They are hooting and hollering.

  Mac’s face is beet red. He’s used to bullying, not being bullied. I know that I should be enjoying this—I mean, a part of me is—but a larger part of me is not.

  I know that I could come to his rescue on a white horse (“stop it, guys”), but that would make it way worse. Instead, I pick up my files and plant myself at another station, somewhere I can’t see the TV monitor or can’t hear laughter at the expense of a fool.

  * * *

  “Rush, you want something from El Tepeyac?” Cherniss asks me. A clerk is going to make a run into Boyle Heights; El Tepeyac is famous for its Hollenbeck special, a humongous burrito filled with delicious stewed pork chunks that can literally—I mean literally—feed a small family.

  I’ve just touched base with Supachai and he’s confirmed that Nay is still at the hotel. Here’s my opportunity to come clean with my CO.

  I spend the next fifteen minutes explaining that I may know why the Xus have gone MIA for the past several days.

  The bicycle ring bust has bought me a lot of goodwill. Cherniss says that he will inform the district attorney, and later clears me to go find Nay and see what she migh
t know.

  Even though it’s midday, the traffic to Van Nuys, again, is terrible. It’s stop-and-go, and I pass one car on the freeway that has already overheated. I was offered use of a patrol car, but opted to use the Green Mile. I pat the dashboard. GM, you have what it takes to get me to where I need to go. You’re like a cat. Nine lives.

  The hotel in Van Nuys is dated, and reminds me of a large library building circa 1970s. Luckily, there’s plenty of free parking.

  I pick up one of the hotel courtesy phones and ask the operator for Nay Pram’s room.

  “I’m sorry; there’s no guest by that name.”

  “Xu, spelled X and U.”

  “No.”

  “Cece Lin.”

  “No.”

  I’m out of luck, so I go to the front desk. This time I do play the cop card and show my badge. “I’m looking for a guest. She’s twenty-three. Asian American. On the chubby side.”

  Nay would kill me for describing her this way, but it apparently works, because another person at the front desk nods. “Oh, the journalist? I think they’re sitting by the pool.”

  I walk through the hotel to a small pool with a number of round tables arranged around it. Each table has an umbrella as well as some plastic patio chairs.

  Around one of the tables are three people. Nay, doing her best Barbara Walters imitation, is holding court with Xu and Cece. They don’t seem the slightest bit surprised to see me.

  “Hey,” Nay says. “We were wondering how long it was going to take for you to find us.”

  Xu and Cece are seated as close as two people in separate patio chairs can be. Their hands are entwined and I notice that Cece has removed one of her sandals. Her bare foot slides against Xu’s bare ankle. That’s a real sign of love, I think. Not the gross public displays of affection, but the little tiny things that no one else really notices.

  I feel like shaking Nay. You’ve been MIA with these two? I think.

  “I told them they can trust you,” she says to me. And then to the power couple, “Go ahead.”

  “We’ll tell you everything,” Xu says. “But only if you give us something in return.”

  The celebrity cellist wants a deal from me? “I can’t promise you anything. You’ll have to speak to the district attorney for that.”

  “Then call the DA.”

  “He won’t do me any favors. Whatever you tell him has got to be good,” I say.

  A familiar figure approaches from the other side of the swimming pool. Fang Xu has obviously taken a shower and gotten some rest. He’s wearing a T-shirt that reads I HEART LA, most likely a purchase from the hotel gift shop. He says the first English words I’ve heard him express: “I confess.”

  * * *

  The district attorney, Mitch Tocher, doesn’t think much of me. He must not be in Aunt Cheryl’s camp, either, because even though he knows I’m her niece, that doesn’t soften the douche-bag way that he treats me. He shows up in about an hour, but he’s not alone. He’s accompanied by Cortez’s partner, Garibaldi.

  He opens the metal gate and both of them make their way over to us. Nay has already returned to her hotel room, claiming that she had some calls she had to make.

  “You can go now, Rush,” says Garibaldi.

  What an ass. I get up to leave, but then Xu says firmly, “She stays. Or we won’t cooperate.”

  The detective curses and shakes his head. Even though the DA is probably thinking the same thing, he has enough sophistication to just grit his teeth and move on.

  They begin to deal. The Xus and Cece should have legal representation, I think, but I’m in no position to advocate for that.

  Just in the knick of time, a familiar slim Asian woman walks in.

  “Hello, gentlemen,” she says and then acknowledges me. “Officer Rush.” I nod. “I’m Sally Choi, and I’ve been retained as legal counsel to the Xus and Cece Lin. I hope you don’t mind if I confer with my clients.”

  She takes them to the other side of the pool, leaving me stuck with the district attorney and Garibaldi. “Funny that you should be involved with this,” Garibaldi says to me. “Seems like you and your aunt have your fingers in practically everything.” The DA grins. I don’t like it. I wonder whether he’s interested in being mayor.

  With her clients trailing after her, Sally finally returns to the table. She pulls up a patio chair, and Xu, after getting a nod of approval from his legal counsel, begins to speak: “My uncle, a high-ranking officer in the Communist Party, has been arrested for misuse of funds in my country. They are now looking at my father and, yes, even me. My father, I have just learned, has been involved in the manufacture of violins and cellos in China and falsely labeling them as being produced in Europe.” Fang Xu hangs his head down. “So my father made a deal with Eduardo Fuentes’s nephew. My cello would be stolen, after my concert, and therefore there would be no evidence when we returned to Shanghai the next day.”

  Cece grabs hold of Xu’s hand in a show of support, and he continues. “But then Eduardo Fuentes stepped in—I don’t know exactly why—and the counterfeit instrument is now in the hands of the Chinese government. And now my father is a wanted man. We want political asylum here. There is no way my father will get a fair trial in China at this time.”

  Sally, who has been madly scribbling on yellow lined paper, peers in the faces of the DA and Garibaldi. “Satisfied?”

  The DA jots down notes on his notebook. “For now.”

  “The county clerk’s office, then?” Sally asks about our next destination.

  “The wedding chapel. As agreed,” the DA says.

  Nay, freshly coiffed and wearing a new outfit, has rejoined us. She’s carrying a plastic bag weighed down with something. She’s also wearing her press pass, and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. I guess I have to get used to my BFF’s role as PPW’s star reporter. Based on her report about the crackdown on graft in China, she definitely has the goods.

  Garibaldi takes a long look at her. The idiot is such a perv. “Rush, since you’re here anyway, you might as well be useful and come with us,” he says. I’m not that eager to play his wingman, but he does outrank me.

  “You don’t need to cuff them, do you?” Sally says. “You haven’t charged them with anything.”

  “Officer Rush will just keep them company.”

  I give the Green Mile’s car keys to Nay, and stand between Xu and Cece. As I gently grasp the crook of their arms, I feel that we are marching down the wedding aisle together, which, essentially, is what we all will be doing in a few minutes.

  The three of us get into the backseat of Garibaldi’s unmarked car. Mr. Xu rides with Sally. The DA rides alone.

  It’s a short drive to the county clerk branch in Van Nuys, but as I sit in between the two lovers, I feel the electricity of their passion for each other. It’s a little awkward, but it also makes me realize that I want to feel that kind of passion myself.

  The marriage ceremony itself is short and uneventful. The DA goes into the county clerk’s office first, and through his influence, we’re able to get preferential treatment. I can tell that this irritates those waiting in line, including a few men in yarmulkes, and since this is LA, one of them is speaking Spanish.

  Nay buys a bouquet of flowers from a vendor outside. It’s a colorful assortment, mostly dyed daisies in an arrangement of foxtail greens.

  The officiant is a short, bald man who seems happy with his job. We assemble in the wedding chapel, which turns out to be a small room with the round county seal on the wall. Fang Xu conspicuously stands in the back. A ruined man, now he must witness the union that he had fought so hard in the past. This may be more punishment than he will experience in the future—whether it be in the U.S. or China.

  While the officiant recites his wedding script, I stand next to Nay in the back on the other side of the room from the fath
er of the groom. There’s no time to get rings, so Sally has located one of her daughter Camila’s, a plastic ring with a butterfly, from her purse. For Xu, we use a plain aluminum ring off of my key chain.

  Cece, clutching the $5.99 bouquet, looks beautiful. Her porcelain skin glistens and her eyes shine as she looks up at Xu. “I do,” she says.

  “Spoke to Washington,” I whisper to Nay.

  “Royal asshole,” she hisses.

  “He thinks you used him.”

  Nay snorts. “He’s calling me a user? He was the one keeping tabs on me so that I didn’t write anything damaging about his ‘client.’ I’m sure the police will be going after him next.”

  Why do I think that another article will be published under the Nay Pram byline soon?

  “Sorry that I had to be so secret agent,” Nay murmurs. “You missed me, huh?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “I just didn’t want to get you into trouble. I just kept making excuses so that I couldn’t talk to you. You know I can’t keep my mouth shut when I’m with you. I’m not going to stand in the way of you becoming the youngest woman to make homicide detective.”

  “Nay, the way things are going, I’ll be lucky to be on the force for another year.”

  The officiant frowns at us and we both hush up. “And now, with the power vested in me by the State of California, you may kiss the bride,” he says.

  Xu places his elegant hands on Cece’s face and plants a big one on her lips. Although I don’t consider myself a romantic, I have to admit that it’s pretty darn hot.

  Nay takes a series of photos—a lot of them. If you flip through them fast enough, it looks like a movie.

  Before we are released from the county clerk’s wedding chapel, Cece presents me with her bouquet.

  “Why me?” I would think Nay would be the go-to recipient of the bouquet, especially since she bought it.

  “Because you made this possible,” she says.

  At this point, Garibaldi insists that he cuff Fang Xu for his ride to the station. Sally is upset, but Xu stops her. “He honored his side of the deal. We will honor ours. He can cuff all of us.” He places his wrists together at his back.