Corner Blitz (Burnside Series Book 5)

by David Chill

  "Mr. Garcia," I said, and waited for him to respond.

  He motioned for me to follow him into an alley. I took a glimpse behind me, but no one was joining us. We walked into a small dark area. I put my hands on my .38 and watched his hands to see if they moved toward the leather sap.

  "No, no, señor," he protested, as he raised his hands. "It is nothing like that."

  "Then what is it?" I demanded.

  "I didn't want Diego to hear me say this. Or anyone else for that matter."

  "Hear what?"

  "That blonde girl you're looking for? That Molly?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "She will not be back here."

  "Why not?"

  "She was scared off."

  "By you?"

  "No. Of course not. Diego's friends are my friends."

  "Then who?"

  He took a breath. "By Diego's girlfriend. Sofia."

  "Go on," I said.

  "Yes. Sofia heard that Molly spent the night and she was extremely upset. She confronted them outside our building yesterday. Sofia told Diego if he kept seeing her, she would, well, help him go from rooster to hen, if you know what I mean."

  I didn't need or want any further detail on that subject. "Diego was going out with Sofia for how long?"

  "I do not know for sure," his father shrugged. "Two years, maybe three. But I've seen this pattern with other kids here. They may be doing that on and off forever."

  "And this girlfriend scared Molly off."

  "Yes. Sofia told her if she ever came around here again, she'd slit her throat. Called her a chalk outline waiting to happen. Sofia, she is a very passionate young woman. And she gets this wild look in her eyes at times. That blonde girl, you could just see she was shaking. After that, Molly, she got out of here in a big hurry."

  I peered at him. "And how do you know all this?"

  He shrugged. "I just know. And I can't say anything more. But I thought I should say something. I don't want anyone to get hurt. But I can only control so much."

  "Were Diego and Molly in a romantic relationship?"

  The father shrugged. "Not exactly. But they might have been headed in that direction."

  I chewed on this for a moment and then asked what else he could tell me. Diego's father shook his head. He didn't look happy. He said he was worried for his son, worried for Molly. He looked just plain worried.

  "You have my card," I said. "Don't hesitate to contact me if anything comes up. Or if there's anything more you want to share."

  He said okay, we shook hands, walked out of the alley and then headed in opposite directions. It took a couple of minutes to reach my Pathfinder. Someone had left an empty can of beer on the hood. I took the can, walked down the block and placed it onto an overflowing trash bin. When I unlocked my vehicle and climbed inside, the first thing that struck me was the warm, pungent scent of pastrami.

  I turned over the engine and headed back to my world.

  Chapter 4

  Given my schedule and my general forgetfulness of events such as birthdays and anniversaries, I may never be the model husband. I did, however, receive a very warm welcome from the two loves of my life as I walked into our apartment. My wife, Gail, greeted me with a very big hug and then relieved me of the bag containing the No. 19 sandwich from Langer's. Our black cocker spaniel, Chewy, jumped up on me a number of times before realizing Gail had taken the sandwich. She quickly scampered away from me, and did what all dogs are prone to do. Follow the food.

  "So how was your day, sweetie?" she asked, unwrapping her dinner.

  "Quite good," I replied. "And I did get to meet the governor, albeit briefly."

  Gail nodded, impressed. "And are you going to vote for him now?' she asked.

  I shrugged. "I don't know. I'm a little skeptical of all politicians. But Rex Palmer is a client, and it helps to have friends in high places."

  "So how did this new case come about?"

  "Jeremy Hoffman recommended me to the governor. His daughter has gone missing and he wants someone to find her."

  "Interesting," she said, taking a bite of her sandwich and smiling approvingly. "And how did all this lead you down to Langer's?"

  "A friend of the daughter's lives nearby. She was last seen with him. He goes to the same school, Stone Canyon, and also works as a vendor at the Coliseum. Brought back a few memories for me."

  "Really?"

  "I'll tell you about it another time. This needs more detail than I have the energy to expend right now. But it dates back to when I was a vendor. I was about this kid's age. Around the time my mother got sick."

  Gail put her sandwich down and reached over to squeeze my hand. "You don't talk about your parents much. I know it's painful."

  "It is. Made me grow up a lot quicker than I should have. Made me take things more seriously. It taught me you had to play the hand you're dealt."

  "You've done all right," Gail said as she glanced at an eager Chewy, who was busy pawing her leg. When Chewy wanted something, she was not shy about letting us know, although she thankfully didn't bark. I wasn't even sure she knew how. Gail pulled off a small piece of pastrami and fed it to her. "That's all you get," she said. "This isn't the healthiest thing for me, so it can't be at all healthy for you."

  "She'll have a big backyard to run around in soon," I said, feeling better as I watched my two favorite girls. "Any word from the bank on our mortgage?"

  "The loan officer called again this morning. Wanted more documents. We're supposed to close in a few weeks and they can't figure out what they need."

  "These things get worked out," I said. "Focus on how nice it will be to own a home. Our little family will soon have our very own place."

  "Mr. Positive," she smiled. "I like that new persona."

  "I'm going to miss living in Santa Monica. It's been a long time here for me. We're in a great neighborhood."

  "I know. We just can't afford to own here. Yet."

  "Maybe when my wife the successful attorney starts her own practice we can move back here. Or when I win the lottery."

  "You never know," she said.

  "We won't be far away. Mar Vista's nice. You know it means 'view of the sea' in Spanish."

  "That's good," she said. "But the only water view we'll actually have is of our neighbor's kiddie pool."

  "Funny. Oh, and I have an invitation you may like. Would you be interested in accompanying me to the gubernatorial debate tomorrow night?"

  Gail put her sandwich down and smiled that megawatt smile. "Why, I would be delighted to. The governor gave you a few passes?"

  "His campaign manager, actually. For you, it will be entertainment. For me, it'll be work."

  "You think you'll find out something about his daughter there?"

  "You never know. Put enough puzzle pieces on the table, and I can usually connect them into something meaningful."

  "You know, you may not be the only member of this family working tomorrow night."

  "Oh?"

  "I'm sure the city attorney will be at the debate. Can't hurt to say hello to him. You know I sometimes wonder about politics as a career. I might want to run for office. Down the road maybe. One day."

  I took this in. "Politics is a tricky business. Everything you do is open to public scrutiny. Along with everything I do."

  "If I worried about you doing anything morally wrong, I wouldn't have married you."

  "My job occasionally requires me to take liberties with the law," I reminded her.

  "Nothing I can't handle."

  "You're great," I said. "And I think you'd make a fine public figure one day."

  "Perhaps," Gail said, looking down at her torso once more. "But in the short term I'll settle for getting my old private figure back."

  *

  The next morning came early as usual. My neighbor, Ms. Linzmeier, was now starting each morning by watching one of those religious shows on TV. Today, the Southern preacher was talking about how you get two lives, the one
you're born into and the one you choose. I glanced over at the clock which read 5:30 am and then over at Gail, who dozed happily, oblivious to any outside noise. I then felt a cold, wet object on my fingers. Apparently Chewy was up early too, and wanted to go for a walk. After taking our little dog out to do her business, I drank my usual pot of French roast coffee, read the local news online, and then headed out into the day.

  Summer had effectively ended in Santa Monica. The morning was cool and foggy. But Santa Monica was often a good bit cooler than the rest of the LA basin. As I made my way downtown to the LAPD's Rampart Station, the fog had mostly dissipated. I liked the fog, I thought it added character to the day, and I hoped that living in Mar Vista wouldn't take that from us. It was only a couple of miles from the coast, but in LA, that could mean a world of difference in terms of climate.

  My drive took all of 20 minutes. If you can get on the freeway before 7:00 am, traveling in LA is not so bad. It also helps when you're going to see someone whose morning shift starts at dawn. And Juan Saavedra's new job not only had him up early, it kept him staying late as well.

  The Rampart station was not on Rampart Boulevard, but rather along 6th Street, about halfway between the Harbor Freeway and MacArthur Park. The police station was housed in a building with a nice glass design facing the street, and a not-so-attractive white stucco and red brick exterior on the other three walls.

  As I walked inside building, I asked one of the uniforms where I could find the captain's office. Naturally, I was directed to corner office in the far reaches of the building. An assistant normally sat at a desk nearby, but she was nowhere to be seen. I took that as an open invitation to walk right in.

  "Captain Saavedra."

  Juan Saavedra was sitting at his desk reviewing a stack of reports, a pair of bifocals perched at the edge of his nose. His close-cropped silver hair and ruddy features gave him a distinguished look. He was a stocky man, and I noticed the start of a pot belly, something that hadn't been there before. Yet on his desk was a glass, filled to the rim with what looked like a chocolate milk shake. A white plastic straw rose out at an angle.

  "Oh, looky here," he crowed. "If it isn't the president of the LAPD alumni association. Sorry, but I don't plan on joining for a few more years."

  "I don't blame you. You're moving up the ranks quickly. I may come visit you in the chief's office one day."

  "Unlikely," he said. "I prefer police work over politics. The chief's job requires a different set of skills."

  "And maybe someone who makes healthier breakfast choices."

  "I will have you know," he said as he lifted the glass, "that this shake has all of 90 calories. Part of a weight loss plan. It's not what it looks like."

  "Glad to hear you're avoiding desserts for breakfast. By the way, how does it taste?"

  Juan shrugged as he took a sip from the straw. "Not bad, not great. Healthier than doughnuts."

  "Heck of an example you're setting for your men," I said. "A captain who doesn't eat doughnuts and doesn't wear a mustache. You're breaking protocol."

  "Oh, just what I need today. A critique on how to be a cop. Dare I review your history?"

  I sat down. "Maybe not. I wasn't the model officer. Especially near the end."

  "I'm well aware. Now you're getting high profile clients, you're raking in the big bucks, you have a Barbie doll wife and a perfect kid on the way. Sounds like things worked out for you."

  "It's been a good year," I admitted. "Although I don't know about the big bucks. We're buying a house on the Westside, but it means moving out of Santa Monica."

  "My sympathies. I have a nice place now, but it's down in Mission Viejo. South Orange County. Took me an hour to get in this morning. With no traffic."

  "Must be nice to get out of the urban sprawl of LA though. Better place to raise your kids."

  Juan shrugged. "I don't know about that. The schools down there might be a little better, but every place has its problems. At least my kids have a chance to play on a good high school football team."

  "It's one of the best programs," I said.

  "Indeed. So what brings you out here on this fine morning?" he asked. "I assume you need a favor."

  I jerked my head back feigning shock. "Juan. I'm surprised at you. Can't I stop by and see an old friend and shoot the breeze for a little while?"

  "You could, but you don't. I imagine there's something you want."

  "And I imagine you'll have a price for me to pay," I countered.

  "Look. You know the drill. That's what makes the world go round. What's up?"

  "Couple of things. I wanted to ask what you know about Xavier Bishop."

  "Heck of a cornerback. He's done a great job at your alma mater. He'll be playing on Sundays."

  "C'mon Juan."

  "C'mon what? You think you can waltz in here and get confidential police info?"

  "Yes."

  "Cripes, Burnsy. Some things are off limits," he said, the slightest hint of a smile crossing his face.

  I sighed. "Okay. Pair of tickets to the USC-Stanford game?"

  "Atta boy. You haven't forgotten the wheels of justice can turn fast or slow. Depends on who's at the controls."

  "I see getting promoted hasn't changed you."

  "I am who I am. And I think I do my job damn well. I just want to get a little piece of the pie."

  "Understood."

  "So," Juan said, typing a few items into his computer. "Xavier Bishop, alias X, X-Man, X Island, and Granite."

  "Granite?"

  "Hey, I don't make this stuff up. Assume it has something to do with his physique. Let's see here. Picked up last week for assault on a one Desiree Brown. His girlfriend, I gather. Maybe former girlfriend by now. Over at Robinson Garden, on Ellendale Place. A few blocks north of the SC campus. Looks like it's not student housing, but the building is all students. Funny how landlords work things, huh?"

  "Rich college kids pay their rent on time."

  "More like their parents do. Anyways, the call was made at around 10:00 pm last Thursday night. Uniforms responded and found the victim had bruises on her face. She identified Bishop. All she said was they had an argument and he hit her. We picked up the suspect the next day and his hand was wrapped in a bandage."

  "Okay," I said. "Anything else you can share on that case?"

  "That about does it. Xavier was questioned and released, pending results of DNA testing. The media got it right. They called him a person of interest."

  "Okay. Let me ask you about another topic."

  "Sure," Juan said, rolling his eyes. "I've got nothing else to do today. Providing you with unauthorized police intel just makes me feel good about myself."

  "Ah, Juan. I'm just trying to make your job easier."

  "Why doesn't it usually work out that way?"

  "I'll ignore that," I grinned. "What do you know about the Stone Canyon School?"

  "The one in Bel-Air? Great school if you have the money. It's a 7 through 12 program, middle and high schools. You and Gail are quite a few years away from applying."

  "I wasn't exactly thinking of us."

  "You working on something?"

  "Yeah. Anything ever require police attention over there? Any students in trouble?"

  Juan shrugged and scanned the computer again. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Couple of kids got popped for DUI last year. Another got taken in for possession of weed. Nothing different from any other school. Except maybe the parents have an easier time getting them off."

  "That's it?"

  "Pretty much. Funny you mentioned Stone Canyon. When Rafael was in 5th grade, we were getting concerned about our local middle school in Reseda. Not a great place. So we took a tour of a few private schools and one of them was Stone Canyon. Unbelievable campus. Felt like we had entered another world. The school presented a perfect environment. Made it sound like anyone who didn't want to send their kids there would be shirking their parental duties."

  "Did you apply there?"
/>
  "Nope. Their annual tuition is about double what we pay on our mortgage. I may be a captain, but I'm still on a government salary. That's why we moved to Orange County. Bigger house, get the kids out of the LA Unified School District. Our local elementary school was actually pretty good. But once they hit middle and high school age, the options in L.A. get bleak."

  "I'll keep that in mind for the future."

  Juan nodded. "You'll be fine until 6th grade. But that's 10 years away. At that point you'll have some decisions to make. Public schools in this town are a mess. When you and I were growing up, California had the best schools in the country. Now we have the worst. Maybe we're better than Mississippi. Maybe Arkansas too. Thank Proposition 13 for that. They cut taxes and guess what. They wound up with a lot less money to put into schools. Kids paid the price."

  "Some people might say there are other reasons our schools are in trouble. Sub-par teachers. And that Prop. 13 cut out some bureaucratic waste."

  "Spoken like a true USC guy. Your heroes are Ronald Reagan and Buster Palmer. Anti-government Republicans from way back."

  I didn't say anything right away, as Rex asked me to be discreet. Now wasn't the time to let Juan know my new client was Buster Palmer's son, and that I was looking for his missing granddaughter. I was suddenly reminded of a directive an aging partner had made when I first joined the LAPD. He was a year away from retirement and told me he'd rather I do nothing than make a mistake. Applied judiciously, it wasn't the worst advice, but he was full of these gems and was all too eager to impart them to his rookie partner. We lasted about three weeks before I asked to be reassigned. But that little tidbit stayed with me. There were times when it was indeed best to say as little as possible.

  "Well," I said, "my opportunity to be a room parent is a long ways off."

  "Trust me. It will happen. Sooner than you might think. Time moves quickly. I remember when our kids were in diapers. Didn't seem that long ago. But with kids, it's really like they say. The days go by slow and the years go by fast."