Death's Valley

by Roy A. Teel, Jr.

  John nodded and looked at the clock over the morgue entrance. It was half past ten a.m. “I would guess he ate these between seven and eight, then give an hour for the body to start breaking down the ‘candy coating,’ and you get the release of the acid.” Jade nodded and said, “It’s a hell of a way to die, John. Someone hated this guy a whole lot.” He just nodded as he handed the towel back to her. “Yea…a hell of a lot, Jade, a hell of a lot.”

  Howard Washington pulled up in front of the small tract home on Vanowen Street in Reseda at just before ten a.m. These were post world war two homes built in the late forties and mid-fifties. Modest lower income homes, all the same, three bedrooms, one bath, fourteen to sixteen hundred square feet. They jammed a lot of living into a really small space because of the post war housing boom.

  This was also one very small part of the valley that the fires spared. Howard pulled the bike around the back and walked to the back door and knocked. There were some scurrying noises in the house, and then he heard the sound of one of the three deadbolt locks being released. The door opened, and he walked in.

  There were two men sitting at a table in the small kitchen of the home. He said, “So, where is my breakfast?” The two Latino men called out in Spanish, and two young Latino girls walked in, nude. He looked at them. Their breasts were perky. He guessed them at between fifteen and sixteen and said, “Nice. Very nice. How many do I have here now?” One of the men said, “Seven” in a thick Mexican accent. “Where is my cut?” One of the men got up and walked over to the freezer, opened it, and took out an ice cream container. He opened it and pulled out a huge roll of bills, twenties and hundreds. “How much?” Howard asked. “Two hundred thousand.” “Are all the girls working right now?” “All but these two. They have been left for you. They new to us. We got from Mexico last night. We know you like to pop cherry.” “You’re goddamn right. I’m a cherry popper.”

  He got up and ordered the two girls to bend over the table. He made the command in Spanish, and they were weeping as they complied. He told them what he was going to do to each of them in detail, and they began to wail. One of the men got up and strapped them across their backs several times. He put the belt in front of them on the table, and they cried quietly. Howard walked over to the end of the table in front of the two girls and said while taking off his pants and underwear, “Jesus, you would have thought I had already jammed this into them.”

  He dropped his underwear, and his penis was erect and very, very large. He walked back to the end of the table and told the girls to be quiet, or he would hurt them even more. He called out to the men and asked, “I need some lube. They are too tight for me without it.” One of the men handed him a jar of petroleum jelly, and he slathered it on his cock and began to rape the girls.

  Each man got up and placed their body weight on the two girls, so they couldn’t move, and as they held the two down, Washington worked on each girl, leaving no hole untouched. When he had orgasmed for the fourth time, he walked back over in front of the silent and traumatized girls and ordered them to lick him clean. He laughed as he choked each girl, forcing all of his fourteen inches of manhood down their throats. He listened to them choke and gag and laughed while talking to the two men in Spanish. He said, “What do you know? I came two more times. How cool is that? I filled every hole and their stomachs, too.”

  He threw the last girl to the floor and ordered them to be put in the prostitute rotation. “You only do in-house calls to men and women you know. The rest of the time it’s out-calls only. I don’t want anyone finding out about our business.” He was zipping up his pants as the girls were taken into one of the small bedrooms where other girls were being raped. He looked out into the living room where ten men sat on sofas and chairs, waiting for their turn. He walked into the room in his uniform, and the faces of the all white older men dropped. “You never saw me. Just like I never saw you. Got it?” There were slow head nods around the room. Two were told their girls were ready, and they left the living room for the back bedrooms down a long hall.

  Howard walked back into the kitchen and asked, “When does the next batch of girls come in?” “Two days.” “How many?” “Ten.” “All virgins?” “Si.” “Okay. These seven are about used up for the house. Do you have arrangements for them as domestic sex slaves?” “Si.” Howard was fixing his gun belt as he spoke, “Get me the list of the buyers, so I have it for my file. Are any of the girls going to Mr. El Compo?” “Si. Four.” “Good, good, good. He is a great customer. He takes all of the girls, no matter what they look like or how hard we have used them, right?” “Si,” said the second man who had been doing all of the conversing. Howard said, “Okay, well, I’m off. Make sure you call me when the new girls are in.” The two men nodded their heads as Howard walked out the back door.

  The crosshairs of the sniper rifle were trained on the back door of the house. Howard appeared in the doorway and the crosshairs after his tryst. He had a smile on his face and his helmet under his arm. He closed the door behind him. No one heard the shot, just the sound of Howard Washington’s body hitting the ground on the back porch. The two men ran out the door to see what had happened. They didn’t know it, but their heads were in the crosshairs of the sniper as well.

  Chapter Seven

  “Yea, like I’m the only fuckin’

  guy here thinking that!”

  Jim was rounding his way down the 101 Freeway headed for Reseda and a homicide that had just been called in. He called John, who was in Northridge at the hospital, and told him that they had another homicide, and that it involved a cop and some others. John sped down Reseda Boulevard headed for the house, and Jim and John arrived at the same time. They met at the back door where three uniformed LAPD officers stood over the remains of the three men. Jim walked up and asked, “So, what the fuck do we have here?” “A mess!” He heard a voice from inside the home, a voice he knew all too well.

  Jade Morgan stepped into the doorway, and Jim said, “Jesus Christ! Do you have fuckin’ ESP now?” She laughed and said, “No…I was doing an autopsy for John at Northridge, and the call came over my radio. So, I drove right over. What a mess.” John asked, “Do we have any idea who the guys are?” Jade said, “Well, the one in the police uniform has a name tag that says ‘Washington’ on it.” John and Jim looked at each other, and John pulled out his tablet and looked at the list from the Sanchez killing. “Son of a bitch,” John said. Jade looked confused and asked, “What?”

  John showed the tablet to Jim who nodded and said, “This fucker is on what we now know for certain is a hit list.” “As in a hit man hit list?” Jade asked. They both nodded. “Well, if you come around to the front of the house, you will see why someone may have wanted to kill these guys.”

  The two men walked around the small house to find thirteen men in zip tie handcuffs sitting on the grass. All were white and middle-aged, and John didn’t need to go inside to know what they were dealing with. He looked at Jade and asked, “Are there any fatalities?” She shook her head. “How many girls?” Jim asked. “Seven at last count and two boys.”

  Jim said, “Well, they just catered to all tastes, didn’t they?” John and Jade shot him a dirty look, and Jim said, “Yea, like I’m the only fuckin’ guy here thinking that!” John called for his CSI team and asked them to bring Steve Hoffman with them. Then he called immigration, and one of the officers on scene got really, really upset. He heard yelling, and he looked at Jade’s face and knew who it was.

  It took a few seconds, and Andre Espinoza appeared through the crowd of onlookers and police. “You’re calling in immigration? Jesus, fuckin’ feds. You assholes are always right there with that shit. These girls need to be treated and taken care of, and all you want to do is cart them off to some immigration station, so they can be packed up and shipped back across the border only to be grabbed again and returned here…or worse.”

  John’s formidable frame towere
d over Espinoza who looked up to see John looking at him most disapprovingly. “They will be debriefed by my office before we turn them over to immigration, officer. You know the protocol.”

  Andre was clearly agitated seeing Swenson with Jade standing in the doorway behind him. He calmed down and said, “I want to talk to some of these victims and get their stories.” John looked on, confused, and asked, “What are you even doing here, Officer Espinoza? This is not anywhere near your patrol area?” “I’m off duty. I grew up only a few blocks from here. I was visiting my family when the call came in, so I came right over.”

  John asked, “Where does your family live?” Espinoza got a pissed off look on his face, and he glared at Jade. John said, “Why are you staring at Chief Medical Examiner Morgan? I don’t think the answer to my question lies with her.” Espinoza drew his eyes away from her and said, “My family lives at the corner of Wilbur and Heartland just off Vanowen.” John said, “Literally right around the corner from the West Valley police station on Vanowen?” “Yea, so what? That’s where I grew up, and I was first introduced to police work. The cops took me in when I was a kid. They kept me off the streets, and I became one of them. You got a problem with that?”

  John shook his head slowly and said, “I was just curious how you got here so fast, that’s all.” Jim was watching the interaction between John, Andre, and Jade, and he knew that there was something wrong. “What the fuck’s the deal here? You two have a love spat?” Jim asked with a bit of jest in his voice.

  Andre turned to leave, and John asked, “Officer Espinoza? Would you be so kind as to wait a few moments? I would like to speak with you in private.” “Go fuck yourself, Swenson. The FBI has no jurisdiction over me. No, I’m not going to wait around.” He started to walk off, and John called out to one of his team members and said, “Please take Officer Espinoza into custody and hold him until I can speak with him.”

  Andre yelled out, “You can’t do as you wish, you son of a bitch. I haven’t done anything wrong. Fuck you. Fuck you!” He was combative when the agent took a hold of his arm and accidently belted the agent in the mouth. John saw it and made his way through the crowd to Andre, who was trying to help up the agent he struck. He felt a giant hand grab the back of his neck and his feet leave the ground. John flipped him around in his hands, holding Andre two feet off the ground and said, “You are now under arrest for assaulting a federal officer.”

  Andre’s face went from anger to shame. John pulled him close and whispered into his face, “I’m the last man on the planet that you want to piss off, and you just did. You’re under arrest, you son of a bitch.” He put him down and cuffed him and took him to his truck. Jim watched the whole event unfold. He looked at Jade who was looking on with a look he didn’t understand. Jim took out a cigarette from his left top pocket, lit it, and said to himself as he snapped the Zippo closed, “Interesting. I think it’s going to get even more interesting for Officer Espinoza. Much, much more interesting.”

  John put Espinosa in the back of his truck and cuffed his feet as well. Steve wheeled up to him and said, “Are you done playing circle jerk, so we can process this crime scene?” John walked off with Steve wheeling next to him. They got near the back door where the bodies were now covered with a yellow tarp. “There’s nothing to investigate here. This is the third police officer executed in order by an unknown assailant.” Steve got a thoughtful look on his face and asked, “A serial killer?” John shook his head as Jim approached. “What’s the topic of conversation that has John shaking his head?”

  Steve looked up at Jim and said, “I asked John if we’re dealing with a serial killer, and he shook his head.” Jim laughed and handed Steve a bloodstained pamphlet that Jade had pulled off Washington’s body. “The same as the others?” Steve asked. “You bet your fuckin’ ass. This isn’t a serial killer, boys. This is a hit man. We got us a cop killer, and he’s really, really good.”

  John looked over at Espinoza sitting in the back of his truck. “Jim’s right. This is not a serial killer. These are executions. Someone inside the LAPD has put a hit out on these people, and the killer knows all of their dirty little secrets.”

  Jim laughed. “I guess that’s one way to clean up the department. I bet neither one of you has picked up on the pattern in these killings.” John looked at Jim and said, “Outside of the damn list that the killer has supplied?”

  Jim nodded. Steve looked on and said, “Well, Jim, what the fuck is the pattern?” “I have been checking these names out, and they don’t come from Rampart division.” Both John and Steve looked confused. “Not from Rampart?” John asked. “Nope. All these mother fuckers come out of West Valley just down the street from here, and it gets better.” “Really? How?” Steve asked. “That’s where Garrison Cantrell originated as well.” The look on John’s face changed, and Jim caught it. “I just saw the light bulb come on in Agent Swenson’s eyes.” Steve said, “So, there’s a hit man who’s a cop who’s gunning down cops and exposing their corruption?”

  John nodded slowly. Steve motioned for the three men to come in close to his face. Steve said, “Um…isn’t that what the Iron Eagle does?” John nodded slowly. Steve said, “But it’s not the Eagle!” John and Jim nodded. “Well, gentlemen, we have a real problem because this isn’t the Iron Eagle. And the Iron Eagle has no idea who it is, does he?” Steve was looking at John, who shook his head. “Well, we better get it figured out and fast before this guy expands his kills to us.” With that, they broke off their private conversation. John walked back over to the crime scene and tapped Jade on the shoulder. She looked up and followed John to a corner of the house out of sight. “Are you oaky?” he asked. “No, John, I’m not okay. I think that you have the Iron Eagle in your truck. I think that Andre is the Eagle, and I think that is why he threatened me. Remember what the Eagle did to Barry Mullin and Jill Makin?”

  John nodded. “Well? Shit, John. I think he’s going to try to kill me.” John put his hand on her trembling shoulder and said, “There are two things that I can promise you, Jade. First, I won’t let him hurt you, and second, he’s not the Iron Eagle.” “How can you be so damn sure?” “Do you trust me?” She nodded. “Then trust me when I tell you that I am the foremost expert on the Iron Eagle, and Andre is not him. I think there is more to Andre than meets the eye, though, and I will get to the bottom of it.” His hand was still on her shoulder, and he could feel the tension leaving her, and she stopped shaking. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Oh yes. I am a hundred percent sure. Now go back to work. From the blood stains, this is another sniper shot.” She nodded, and the two walked back out from behind the house.

  Jade went back to work, and Steve and John jumped in his truck with Andre in the back. Steve asked, “Where to?” “The office. We need to book Mr. Espinoza on federal assault charges and then have a chat.

  Garrison Cantrell finally got home at a little after three p.m. He walked into his home, and it was a mess. He had not been home since his arrest for Schultz’s murder, and the cops tore the place apart looking for and, as far as he was concerned, planting evidence. He walked through the torn up remnants of his home and just shook his head. “Thanks a lot, guys. You really didn’t have to fuck up my house.” “That’s what they do when they serve a search warrant!” Cantrell didn’t respond right away. He just started picking things up and putting them back where they belonged. He finally acknowledged the male voice in the room. “To what do I owe the honor of a visit from you?” he said, putting items back on shelves. “You know why. So they let you out…how did you manage to get that accomplished?” “Does it matter?” “No…not really.” “So what now?” Cantrell asked. He turned to see the short figure of a man in the shadow of his back door. “Well, I guess that all depends on you. What do you want to happen?”

  Cantrell continued his cleanup and was uprighting his sofa when the man entered and helped him. Cantrell looked at him and said, “Alverez is dead. I g
ot hung for that…I suppose that you are the one responsible for the killings in the past several days?” “Of course…but that’s not news to you.” Cantrell lifted up a love seat and sat down. He looked on at the man now standing in his living room, staying out of the line of sight of the front windows.

  “With you under surveillance, your movements will be tracked. I helped Santone with the case law to get you out of jail. I have to do what I feel is best for myself and the protection of my business interests.”

  Cantrell was short tempered and asked, “What do you want? Do you want to know if I’m going to kill you?” “That would be a good start.” “I’m not going to kill you.” There was a pause, and the man asked, “Are you going to out the movement and what we are trying to accomplish?” Cantrell laughed. “Don’t you think that if I was going to do that I would have done it a long time ago?” “Good point.” “Thanks. So…why are you here?” Cantrell asked. “You know why I’m here. You fell on the sword for a lot of men and women. You will be well compensated when this is over.” “You’re goddamn right I will be. I lost my career for you and your people. You’re damn well going to pay me and pay me very, very well.” “I will. I must be off. Keep your head down. You’re on the FBI’s radar. I saw Agents Swenson and Hoffman grab you after court. What did they want?”