Mom and I split the Spinach Fontina Fondue, and it was delicious. It was so good, that I swore if we ate there again, that’s what I’ll get for the main meal. Rosanna had the pizza, but she didn’t like it. She thought it had too much garlic on it; if I had ordered the pizza, it wouldn’t have been a problem because I loved garlic. Mom liked her meal, but said she had eaten at a similar restaurant in L.A.—also called The Stinking Rose—and swore it was better.
I didn’t put much faith in what she said because, to Mom, everything was rated by how good a time she had. If she enjoyed herself and the company was good, then she would swear the food was great. On the other hand, if she had a bad time, then the food rating would suffer. Of course, I guess we were all like that, to some extent.
When we finally settled in, we ended up going to Garfield Elementary School, on Filbert Street. It turned out to be a good school, with a well-deserved reputation. We lived at some apartment on Union Street, so it wasn’t much of a walk to get to school, but the streets were steep, even for San Francisco. The street where we lived was steep enough that the cars had to park sideways instead of straight with the curb. It made walking a daily chore. I don’t know how Mom afforded the place, but I wasn’t complaining.
Rosa, or Rosanna, as she was now known by, had grown into a young lady, and she was gorgeous! Maybe all the walking on those steep streets had toned her legs. All of the boys wanted to date her, and as I later found out, they wanted to do more than date.
We had lived there for more than a couple of years now, and I had made friends. I was also used to my new name, which was now Maddy. It might have been the longest amount of time I had ever been called by the same name.
We missed the whole first year of school, but started back in August. Mom went through the routine of telling us how to lie to get food, but she didn’t have to. Rosanna and I had grown into expert liars. We knew when to lower our heads, when to pout, when to look up at people with sorrowful puppy-dog eyes, and most important of all, we knew when to make our voices crack, as if tears were bursting to get out.
It always took me a few weeks to get used to the names, especially the first name, but I understood why Mom had us change them. If somebody was looking for you, and they were smart, they’d know that people usually keep the same first name. Mom said it was better if we got used to changing it. Rachel and I practiced by calling each other by name every time we spoke, so instead of, “Hey, what’re you doing?” I’d say, “Hey, Rosanna, what’re you doing?”
She’d respond by saying, “I’m fine, Maddy.”
The other thing we did was give each other nicknames. She became Big Sis and I was Little Sis. Mom said we could keep nicknames, even when we changed regular names. It made it easier all the way around.
As we got ready for school, Mom gave us a crash course on remembering our birthdays and on how to get a free lunch. “Most important of all,” she said, “is to remember your new names. This is crucial. Don’t ever tell anyone your old names. Ever.”
Mom finished drinking her coffee, and talked about saving enough money to move out and find someplace nice to live, a place where she could get a good job, and maybe even save for a house.
Two years later, we were still in that rat-infested apartment. At first, I didn’t notice, but the longer we lived there, the more I realized it was not the place I thought it had been.
The only good thing about living there was that no one would think to look for us—not in that dump. The neighborhood was mostly drug addicts and dealers, mixed in with people worse off than us.
Despite our circumstances, things were starting to get better. Mom wasn’t as nervous as she used to be and Rosanna was doing great in school. I was still behind the rest of the class, but one of the teachers volunteered to help me and I was starting to catch up. We even had some nights at home where we laughed like we used to.
Christmas was three weeks away. I went to bed dreaming of what Mom always told us, that someday a nice man would find us and take care of us, and things would be great.
Two days before Christmas, he found us. But it wasn’t the nice man.
Premonitions
Jeff met me at the station in the morning. We chatted it up with a few other cops, then got in the car and hit the streets. As we drove down Eddy Street, Jeff slowed and pulled over to the curb. It was time for morning coffee, and nothing interfered with that, except a homicide. I grabbed an outside table while he got coffee. A few minutes later, he returned with two coffees and sat next to me.
“What’s on the agenda?” I asked.
He took a bite of a cinnamon twist, took a slow sip of coffee, and said, "Nothing different. Cruise the streets. Talk to some folks. Find out what's going on."
“What about yesterday?”
“What about it?”
“Come on, you know what I’m talkin’ about, and I’m your goddamn partner.”
“If it was important, I’d let you know,” he said. “Trust is the number one issue with partners.”
I took that to mean I wasn’t going to be let in on whatever the hell was going on, so I didn’t push.
The day started out same as all of them did, cruising the streets, stopping to talk with shop owners, keeping a close eye on potential trouble. Three kids made a quick turn as we approached the corner.
Jeff pulled over and got out. Before he could tell me to stay inside, I got out too.
“What’s the rush?” he said.
They looked to be Asian, Vietnamese if I had to guess. I didn’t see any tats, so no gang affiliations.
The one closest to us turned toward Jeff and said, “No rush. Just time to leave.”
“Just stay a while,” Jeff said. “And put your hands on the wall.”
“What you breakin’ our chops for?” This from the only one to speak so far.
“Just checking to see what you’re carrying,” Jeff said.
I unbuckled my gun, just to be safe, and kept an eye on the other two.
“Ain’t carrying nothin’.”
“Then this won’t take long,” Jeff said.
The one with the mouth said, “Don’t do this shit at the Metropolis.”
Jeff shot me a look, then spun the kid around. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Shut up, dude.”
I glared at the kid who said it. “Your turn to shut up.”
Jeff had the mouth with his back to the wall, facing him. “What about the Metropolis?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t mean nothin’. Just talking.”
Jeff reached into the kid’s pocket and pulled out a small bag. It looked to have a few pills in it.
“What the fuck? That shit ain’t mine.”
“It goes away if what you tell me sounds good,” Jeff said.
I looked to the kid, then Jeff, while trying to keep my eyes on the other two. I couldn’t tell if Jeff had anything in his hands when he reached in, but I didn’t think so. Besides, he was my partner.
Jeff let the kids go, but he put the pills in his pocket. We got in the car and pulled away from the curb.
“What are we doin’ with the pills?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”
I didn’t say anything more, but after driving around for half an hour, I said, “Were they yours?”
Jeff looked over, eyes narrowed. “What?”
“The pills. Did the kid really have them?”
“Officer Benz, I don’t know what the hell they’re teaching at the Academy nowadays, but whatever they told you about crooked cops, you are not partnered with one.” He flashed a thin smile. “And for the record, the pills belonged to the kid, and we are turning them in. If you’re wondering why I didn’t bust him, it’s because this lead might turn into something better. Besides, we can always get those kids later. If they’re messing with pills they’re not stopping because of what happened today.”
“Okay, but I had to ask.”
We turned on Mason, drove for a while, then ended up back on Eddy. It wasn’t even noon and I had already seen more than my share of drunks, junkies, and transvestites than anyone should have to. Throw in the whores, derelicts and drug dealers and I’d had my fill for the whole damn week.
We cruised for another half an hour and then Jeff spotted another coffee shop, prompting an urge. While he went for drinks, I spotted suspicious activity on the corner.
Five kids were hanging by the light pole across the street. They looked like ordinary gangbangers, dressed in tattered jeans and short leather jackets. Four of them were definitely Asian. Since we were in Little Saigon, I assumed they were Vietnamese, same as the others we had run across. The Vietnamese had been good for the neighborhood—in general—but like most immigrants, they came with their own baggage, and that baggage was in the form of the AZN Boyz.
I got out of the car and approached them, after unbuckling my gun holster. One of them looked my way, then said, “What’s goin’ on?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out,” I said. “Gathering pretty early, aren’t you?”
“I could say it’s none of your business,” he said.
“And I could say, turn around and put your hands on the wall. All of you.”
“What for? We ain’t done nothing wrong.”
“I’ll decide that after I search you.”
“We got rights,” he said.
“Those rights went away a long time ago,” I said. “Now, do what I said.”
A few minutes later, Jeff walked across the street, holding two cups of coffee. He set them on the hood of the car, and drew his gun. “Any problems?” he asked.
“None I can’t handle,” I said. “Couple of punks breaking bad’s all.”
That remark drew a sneer from a few of them.
“We takin’ them in, or lettin’ them go?” Jeff asked.
I thought for a few seconds. We had nothing to hold them on. “I guess we’re letting them go—for now.”
The leader of the group smirked, which made me want to lock him up right then. “See you around, bitch,” he said. Then they all walked away.
We got back into the car and continued driving.
“Be careful,” Jeff said. “They have no respect, and if one of them had been carrying heavy weight, and they suspected you were about to take them down, they wouldn't have hesitated to kill you, no matter the heat it would bring.” He paused to signal a left turn, then looked back at me.
“This is the Tenderloin, and it’s no place to mess around. The people here don’t care if they go to jail. All it means is that they’re served three meals a day, and they get to spend time with family and friends. They plain don’t care, so be careful.”
“I’ll be careful, but I’m not looking the other way.”
* * *
Three days later, during another coffee-shop stop, I noticed the same gangbangers huddling together on the same corner. I got out of the car and approached. Before I knew it, they formed a circle around me, and began crowding my space.
“Take it easy,” I said.
“We’ll take it easy when you stop givin’ us shit,” one of them said, and he moved even closer.
I was about to call for help, when I heard Jeff’s voice. “Hands against the wall, fuckers. Don’t make any sudden moves or I’ll plant you deep.”
The guys moved toward the wall. A quick search revealed a small amount of heroin in one of their pockets. After that, Jeff had them in cuffs. He put two of them in the back seat of our car, and called another patrol car to get the other three.
On the way to the station, the skinny, long-haired one said, “What do we need to do to get this to go away?”
“What have you got in mind?” Jeff asked.
“Shut-up!” the heavier, clean-cut one said.
“I ain't doin' hard time,” second one says. “Besides, it was a bad bust. That bitch planted the drugs on us.”
A smile lit the heavier one’s face. “Had to be. We didn’t have no drugs.”
Jeff looked at me, pulled to the curb and then got out. He signaled me to join him.
“Is that right—what he’s sayin’? Did you plant the drugs?”
“What difference does it make? You know they do drugs.”
“Planting drugs went out with the ‘60s.”
“You’re dreaming.”
“Is that what they teach in the academy now?” Jeff asked.
“Now I know you’re dreaming. Planting drugs is still as alive as prostitution or wife beating. Nothing went out with the ‘60s, except maybe your memory.”
He shook his head and headed back toward the car. “Follow my lead,” he said, and opened the door.
“What have you got to trade?” Jeff said, and stared at the skinny one.
“Don’t say a fuckin’ word,” the other one said.
“Fuck that,” the first one said, then he turned his head toward Jeff.
“I know a guard at San Quentin that runs China White, and a lot of it. It’s a big operation. I mean a big one.”
The heavy gangbanger grabbed the other one by the hair and yanked him to the side. He butted his head. “Shut the fuck up! You know what’ll happen.”
Blood gushed from both of their foreheads. “I don’t care what happens. I’ll leave. Go south. But I ain’t goin’ to prison.”
“You pussy bitch. What would your brother say?”
“Wouldn’t say shit, because he’s sittin’ on death row. Not me, motherfucker. Ain’t catchin’ me waitin’ for no needle.”
“Needle’s already got your name on it, bitch. You’re just too stupid to see it.”
Jeff stared over the seat at them. “Tell me what you know. If it’s big enough, this bust might go away.”
“Fuck you. This is goin’ away, regardless. That bitch planted drugs on us.”
The skinny one spoke up next. “Guard up at San Quentin’s runnin’ tar and whores both. Makes a delivery about every week.”
Jeff pointed at the heavy guy. “Shut the fuck up.” Then he turned to the other one and said, “What’s the angle?”
“Passes off the whores as wives lookin’ for ‘booty call’ visits. Tar is straight up.”
“Who pays for the booty calls?” Jeff asked.
“Poor guys can’t pay because they got no money. Rich guys don’t need to pay because they’re so rich their wives will wait, regardless. That leaves the middle-classers. Got enough money to pay for ass, but not enough to convince the wives to wait.”
“What about the tar?”
“Guard’s got an inside man who splits it up into eight-balls and then sells the eight-balls to guys who split it up more. Profits are huge.”
Jeff sighed. “I imagine they are. After a few months in prison, a man will pay anything for a real piece of ass.” He looked back at the guy we had nicknamed ‘Skinny’ and said, “Tell me how this works. Who’s the supplier? When do they meet and where?”
“That’d be easy,” Skinny said. “We supply the bitches and my brother’s boys supply the dope.”
Jeff nodded and then smiled. “You just might come out of this with more than a walk.”
“That’s what I’m lookin’ for,” Skinny said. “Gonna walk all the way to L.A.”
“L.A.’s not big enough to hide your ass. We find you no matter what.”
“‘We find you.’ You mean we’ll find you, don’t you? It looks like you lost your grammar lessons. Besides, L.A.’s a big place. There are plenty of spots to hide,” Skinny said.
“Plenty of AZN Boyz down there, too, and each one’s got two eyes. You’re a dead motherfucker.”
“The meet’s set up for Thursday night,” Skinny said. “Gonna’ be at 7:00 at the Phoenix, on Eddy Street. Room 112.”
“You’ll have to bust me, too, so he doesn’t suspect anything. And make it look real.”
“No need to worry about that,” Jeff said. “It’ll look real enough.”
“What about the
drugs?” I asked.
“Saturday. Same place. Same room.”
“Okay, get out of here before somebody sees you,” Jeff said. Then he pointed his finger at me. “And Lisa will be one of the ‘girls’ you introduce. Don’t worry. She can handle it.”
Skinny and his buddy got out of the car and headed down the street. I looked at Jeff with a blank stare. “‘She can handle it?’ What the hell was that all about? I’ve never done UC work.”
“It’s about time you started,” Jeff said.
“What the hell do you have in mind?” I asked.
“Pass you off as one of the whores, get them to pick up the drugs, then bust them for all of it.”
“Aren’t you turning this into the boss?”
“We’re doing this ourselves. It will look good.”
“It’ll look good if I don’t get killed. Or didn’t you think about that? Or don’t you care?”
“I thought about it, and I do care, but I’m confident you can hold your end.”
I thought about Jeff’s proposition, and how it would look on my record, then said, “Let’s do it.” But I wasn’t nearly as confident as Jeff.
A Night At Home
Not long after my thirteenth birthday, Mom took us to the mall so we could shop for each other. It was getting close to Christmas, so she gave Rosanna and me five dollars each and said, “Use it to buy a present for each other. I’ll wait in the food court.”
We decided to spend the money on Mom instead of ourselves. With ten dollars, we could get her something nice. Besides, we didn’t need anything.
It only took us half an hour to shop. We got her a bottle of a special bath soap she liked, one she hadn’t bought since we lived at the old apartment. We even had it gift wrapped, then went back to meet her. As we crossed the food court, I could see that Mom was sitting at a table with somebody. His back was facing us. “Who’s that?” I asked.
Rosanna slowed down. She grabbed hold of my arm and held me back. “Hang on, Little Sister.”
Promises Kept, The Story of Number Two Page 4