Murder in the Tenderloin (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 2)

by M. L. Hamilton

  El Viento nodded at Jorge. He ripped Venus away from Athena. They both fought not to be separated. Venus couldn’t help it, she was actively crying now. This is where they would die, this horrible warehouse. Athena stood by herself, shaking, curling her arms around her middle, looking small and lost and child-like. Venus fought to get back to her, kicked and clawed at Jorge, but he wouldn’t let go.

  El Viento nodded to Felix. “You want the last letter?” He indicated Felix’s arm. Venus knew he had the first two letters, ŁĦ, there. Felix’s eyes had been darting around, but he fixed them on El Viento and slowly he nodded.

  El Viento reached into his waistband and pulled out his gun. He held it out to Felix. “Kill her.”

  Felix took a few steps forward and accepted the gun. Venus saw his hand was shaking. He was just a boy, hardly older than Athena. “El Viento?” he asked.

  “I gave you an order.”

  Venus wanted to scream for Athena to run, but she knew she wouldn’t. Athena had curled up, her hair sliding forward to cover her face.

  Felix took the gun in both hands and stared at it, then he looked at Athena.

  “Do it,” demanded El Viento.

  Felix lifted the gun and pointed it at her. His hand shook so bad he had to steady it with his other one. Slowly, Athena lifted her head, her dark hair spilling back from her face and over her shoulders. She looked Felix directly in the eye. At her throat, the crucifix gleamed, and there, in the distance, Venus heard sirens.

  “Don’t do it, Felix,” she found the courage to say. “She trusted you. She ran off with you and what have you done for her? You abandoned her, abused her. She trusted you.”

  The gun waivered and lowered.

  “Kill her. She’s a whore, Felix, she killed your cousin.”

  The gun rose, but still he only stared.

  “We don’t have time, Felix. Do it, do it now!”

  Drawing a deep breath, Felix exhaled, then steadied the gun again.

  “No!” screamed Venus. “I did it. I burned the truck. I followed them here.”

  Athena turned and stared at her. “No,” she mouthed. The first word she’d spoken in weeks.

  Venus felt calm flow through her. Suddenly it no longer mattered. Survival didn’t matter. Athena was all that mattered.

  “It’s okay,” she told Athena.

  Felix looked over his shoulder at El Viento. El Viento nodded and Jorge moved away.

  Venus stared at the boy, but she noticed that this time, his aim was steady. In the last instant, she thought to run, but he pulled the trigger.

  Something hot and powerful slammed into her middle, knocking the breath out of her. She heard the sirens and Athena scream, and she was surprised to see the beams of the warehouse overhead. It was difficult to breath and hot liquid was spilled over her middle, covering her hands.

  “Kill the other one and come on.”

  Athena threw herself over Venus, sobbing and cradling her in her arms. Venus looked beyond her shoulder and saw El Viento and Jorge calmly walking to the back doors. Their bodies seemed distorted as if they were walking sideways. She tried to breathe, but something hot flowed over her cheek.

  Felix came into her line of sight, the gun held at his side. He stared at Venus and Venus stared back. Suddenly she was cold, her fingers and toes numb. Felix lifted the gun and pointed it at Athena’s back. Venus wanted to warn her, but she couldn’t find her voice.

  The sirens were louder, coming closer. She tried again to speak, but she couldn’t. Felix looked to the rolled doors, then back. Finally, he turned and ran for the stairs, the gun dangling from his hand.

  Venus let her eyes close and allowed the sound of the sirens to fill her head, but over them, whispered directly in her ear, she heard Athena’s voice saying, “The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”

  Then everything went dark.

  * * *

  The SWAT team’s Chevy Tahoe leaped over the curb and slammed into the chain link fence. Other vehicles swarmed onto the sidewalk behind it and cops spilled out in riot gear, helmets and flak jackets, and armed to the teeth.

  Marco pulled the Charger in behind the Tahoe and they jumped out, using the doors as cover while a number of SWAT ran to the rolling door and forced it up. Peyton and Marco held back as police of every variety swarmed into the warehouse.

  Peyton’s heart was racing and she strained to see around the Tahoe, but the Tahoe blocked most of everything. Clenching her teeth to keep from racing behind the SWAT, she tugged on the front of the flak jacket and then braced her gun on the open window of the car door.

  The radio crackled under the dashboard. “Warehouse clear.”

  A wash of disappointment went over her and she rose from her crouch. She had been sure the women were here.

  “One body,” came the voice on the radio.

  Peyton exchanged a look with Marco, then circled around the Charger’s door, taking off her helmet and shoving the gun into her waist holster. She felt sick inside as she eased around the Tahoe and stepped over the twisted metal of the chain link fence. One body? Whose?

  Cops meandered through the interior of the warehouse in the flashing red light of their vehicles. To the right was the burned out truck, but in the middle of the warehouse was a circle of police, both SWAT and homicide. They parted as she moved toward them and she saw Athena, her hair covering her face. She was on her knees, clasping her crucifix in her hands, rocking herself and muttering something. The chain on the crucifix dangled down and swung above the body of Venus. A bloom of red covered Venus’ chest and spread out around her in a puddle. Her eyes were open and staring at the beams of the warehouse above them.

  Peyton pulled the gloves off her hand and put them in the helmet, then she set the helmet on the ground. No one had moved to pull Athena away. Probably because the swaying and the muttering was unsettling, or probably because no cop really knew how to greet death.

  They fell back as Peyton approached. She didn’t even look at them, just kept her eyes focused on Athena. Kneeling on the other side of Venus, she reached out and gently closed Venus’ eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath. For some reason, she wanted to cry, she wanted to shout in frustration and fury, this job made her sick inside, the brutality of what humans were capable of doing to each other, but she couldn’t give in to it. She had to remain a cop.

  Take care of the living, sweetness, her father would say, the dead don’t need us no more.

  He always said cops solved a murder case not for the murdered, but to protect the living. She’d tried to protect Venus, but nothing had worked. From the moment she met her, Venus had been headed for this end, but Athena was still alive. Athena was still here. She had to protect the living.

  She started to reach out to her, hoping that by touching her she could get her to stop rocking, stop muttering. However her eyes caught on the crucifix, dangling over her clasped hands. She would rock, mutter, and press her lips to the cross, then repeat it. Peyton leaned closer, straining to hear what she said over the sounds of the cops searching the rest of the warehouse.

  She caught a few words. Goodness, mercy, dwell. Comprehension dawned and Peyton realized she was breathing faster. She recognized the words, she knew what they meant, and when Athena obsessively came to the start again, Peyton went with her.

  “The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

  He leadeth me beside the still waters.

  He restoreth my soul.

  He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.”

  Athena’s head lifted and her hair slid back from her face. Her eyes met and held Peyton’s. Peyton reached out and curled her hand over Athena’s clasped ones as they continued reciting together.

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

  I will fear no evil. For thou art with me.

  Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

 
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.

  Thou annointest my head with oil.

  My cup runneth over.”

  Tears filled Athena’s eyes and spilled over, racing down her cheeks and dropping off her chin. They fell on the back of Peyton’s hand, but she ignored it, never breaking eye contact with the girl.

  “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

  And I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.”

  Silence descended in the warehouse. Every cop had stopped moving and watched the two women in the center of the building.

  Peyton blinked back her own tears and swallowed hard. She lifted her free hand and clasped it around Athena’s, the crucifix pressing into her palm.

  “I’m Peyton,” she said.

  Athena gave a strange shudder, then she licked a tear off her upper lip. “I’m Magdalena,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER 18

  The command center had become a war-room. Plans were drawn on a white board, everyone was talking at once, and the techs were frantically trying to pull up every shred of information they had on the house on Nob Hill.

  Peyton leaned against the wall by the door. She couldn’t corral her emotions long enough to sit down. “How do you know he hasn’t tried to leave the country?”

  “We put him on the no-fly list the moment Garza gave us his name,” answered Alvarez.

  “What makes you think he hasn’t fled by car?”

  “We have surveillance around his house. He returned about an hour ago and he hasn’t tried to leave since. He doesn’t know we’re on to him yet.” She looked at Defino. “Are the warrants in order?”

  “They’re on the way over here now.”

  “Good.” Alvarez continued outlining their plan of attack. First they would empty the neighborhood, while SWAT set up a perimeter around the house. Then they would announce the search warrant over the loud speaker and hope Peña surrendered. If not, they would go in by force. The way Alvarez said force, Peyton knew that was the option she was hoping for.

  Before she’d finished her debriefing, Devan entered the room. Peyton hadn’t seen him since their public breakup a week ago. He looked around the room, his eyes slipping over her and coming back. He held the search warrants in his hand, but his eyes remained fixed on Peyton.

  “Your warrants,” he said to Alvarez.

  “Good,” she said as she took them. “Full riot gear, everyone, we leave in ten.”

  Cops spilled out of the command center to make final preparations. Peyton waited beside Marco until only Miller, Alvarez and Defino were left. Devan hadn’t left either and he waited by the door.

  Peyton knew she couldn’t avoid this forever. She walked over to him and offered him a tense smile. “Hey.”

  He tried to smile back and failed. “Hey. You going on this raid?”

  “Yep.”

  He looked down and fidgeted with the cuff on his suit. “Be careful okay.”

  “I will,” she said, then turned to the door.

  “Peyton,” he called when she reached the other side.

  Peyton stopped and turned around.

  “I miss you,” he offered.

  She smiled easier this time. “I miss you too.” Then she walked away.

  She searched the squad room for Jake and found him sitting at a table in the break room. He looked up when she entered.

  “Hiding out?”

  He shook his head. “I needed to get out of there. I can’t take the tension.”

  Peyton folded her hands on the back of a plastic chair. “Look, Jake, if something happens, will you watch out for Pickles?”

  “Peyton…”

  She held up a hand. “My mother’s phone number is programed into the phone in the kitchen. Just hold down the number one. Abe is number three.”

  “Who’s two?” he said, trying to be light.

  “Marco,” they both said together.

  She smiled at him. “Just in case.”

  Jake’s smile died. “No just in case, Peyton. Don’t make me do that. Ever.”

  “Why? Could it be that you’ve forgiven me? That maybe we’re friends?”

  He shook his head, but his lips were tilted up in a half-smile. “I take pictures of heads in boxes now, Peyton, what the hell do you think?”

  She laughed and circled around the desk, bending over to hug him where he sat. He grasped her arm and held her there.

  “Please don’t force me to make those calls.”

  “I won’t,” she said and released him. She headed to the door, but paused and looked over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to feed Pickles. And walk him.” Then she went to her desk after her riot gear.

  * * *

  The evacuation of the neighborhood was nearly complete by the time they pulled the Charger up to the house. The SWAT had Peña’s house and the two houses next to it isolated. Peyton climbed out of the Charger and walked toward Alvarez, Marco beside her.

  A gesticulating Reverend O’Shannahan was talking to Alvarez. He turned on Peyton and Marco as they arrived. “I told you there was something wrong. Didn’t I, Inspectors? I told you.”

  Peyton ignored him. “Where’s Miller?”

  Alvarez pointed to the ring of squad cars surrounding the front of the house. Miller stood in the center of them with Javier.

  O’Shannanhan wasn’t giving up. “What are you here for? Is it for the threats he made against me? Or is it something else?”

  “Look, Reverend,” said Alvarez, “I think we’ve got this. I wouldn’t want an important San Francisco icon such as yourself to be in harm’s way. Why don’t you step back there with the rest of the residents, far out of range of the house?”

  “Range of what?” said O’Shannahan, but Alvarez signaled to an officer and the officer walked O’Shannahan off down the street.

  Peyton smiled. It was the first time Alvarez had impressed her. “Nice,” she said.

  “He’s an idiot,” Alvarez muttered.

  The three of them made their way to Miller. Peyton studied the beautiful Victorian mansion with its gingerbread shingles and lofty bay windows. She couldn’t see any signs that anyone was inside, except she caught the minute sway of a curtain on the second floor.

  Alvarez reached in for the microphone and held it out to Javier. “Do the honors,” she said, grabbing the search warrant on the seat. She handed it to Javier as well.

  The Gang Taskforce cop glanced at Peyton and Marco, then he depressed the button on the side of the microphone. “Raphael Peña, this is the San Francisco Police Department. We have a warrant to search the premises and request your complete cooperation. All residents of this address are hereby asked to vacate the premises in an orderly fashion with their hands above their heads. You have two minutes to comply with this request or we will be forced to enter on our own.”

  Nothing happened right away. Peyton held her breath, praying Peña would have sense to give up without incident. She didn’t want to be in a shoot-out. She didn’t want to have to draw her gun. She just wanted this to end. Enough blood had been shed over this case. She didn’t want anymore.

  The two minutes passed with no answer from the house. All of the cops on the street were still as statues and silent. The people waiting far back on a cross street were silent. Javier glanced at Alvarez and she motioned to the microphone.

  He lifted it again. “Raphael Peña…” he began. Before he could say another word, a shot rang out, slamming into the lights on the top of a patrol car. Everyone dove for the ground. Peyton fell on her backside between Marco and Javier. Her heart was trying to claw its way out of her throat and her hands were gripped around the handle of her gun. She didn’t even remember drawing it.

  Then all hell broke loose. SWAT opened fire on the house. Gangsters opened fire on the cops. People were running and scrambling and diving for cover. A few minutes later, everything went silent again.

  Alvarez, positioned behind the door on the squ
ad car, motioned to a group of SWAT on the left, then did the same on the right. They broke for the house, running hunched over, but no more shooting came from inside.

  Peyton rose and looked over the hood of the squad car. Two cops used a hand-held battering ram to force in the door. The splintering of the frame echoed back over the block. Then a stream of cops raced inside. Peyton heard more gun fire, then Alvarez hit her shoulder.

  “Let’s go.”

  Peyton followed after her and Marco as they left the cover of the squad cars and tore across the street, running hunched over as the SWAT had done. They sprinted up the stairs and into the house. A huge foyer met their eye, tiled in marble with a crystal chandelier hanging overhead. A sloping staircase ran to the right of them and toward the back of the house she could see a polished wood floor leading to a living room.

  Another round of shots sounded upstairs and they turned toward them. Marco’s longer legs took him to the top quicker and he paused on the landing, staring down. Peyton arrived a second later. A teenage boy in a white tank-top lay sprawled on the white carpet, his eyes open and glassy, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. The letters Ł and Ħ were tattooed into his bicep.

  Peyton stepped around him and they headed for double doors at the end of the hall. Another two bodies lay sprawled against the walls. One had a gunshot to the forehead; he was a huge, hulking figure of a man. Another with bad acne had a wound to the leg and a second hole in his chest. Alvarez motioned to them and mouthed El Viento, but Peyton shook her head. Neither were Raphael Peña.

  They entered the huge master bedroom. A large canopy bed dominated the room, facing a wall with a massive flat screen television. A dresser and two nightstands were the only other furnishings. A body lay at the foot of the bed. A SWAT officer stood over it.

  “Peña?” asked Alvarez.

  The officer pushed the body over with his foot, keeping his gun trained on it. The gangster had taken a bullet through the left eye, but she could tell it wasn’t Peña by the flattened nose and the bushy eyebrows.