by David Putnam
I came back to the counter.
No deputy sheriff had ever let fifty thousand in buy money walk. But this wasn’t a typical deal. I tossed Jumbo the brown paper bag. All the serial numbers were registered. “Where we going to do this?”
Jumbo opened the bag and thumbed the bills, checking to make sure there wasn’t cut newspaper in between. He looked up. “Tomorrow night at—”
“No, tonight. You got my money. I get to call the time, midnight tonight. You get to call the location.”
“Fine. Give me a number. I’ll call you one hour before, at eleven, and tell you where. I ring the phone number once, you’re not there the deal’s off and you lose your deposit.”
“Do I need to bring a truck?”
“We’ll have the truck and it won’t even cost you extra. Just don’t drive it around too long.”
Jumbo stuck out his hand to shake.
“I’ll be waiting for your call.” I left his hand hanging in midair, backed out to the double doors, turned, and hurried away.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
I NEEDED SOMETHING to do until the phone call from Jumbo. I stopped at TW to pick up Junior Mint. RD was all over me about what was happening with the investigation. At the same time, Junior Mint jumped around and grabbed my hand loose in his mouth like he always did when he was happy to see me. His undaunted devotion allowed a spark of joy to enter my life. I told RD as little as possible and left in a hurry. I needed some time to think.
In the car on the drive home, Junior sat tall on the seat next to me and periodically leaned over and licked my cheek. “Yeah, I know. I said I was sorry for leaving you there so long.” He licked my cheek again. “Yeah, you can only take so much of RD, I get that. I’m the same way. I promise it won’t happen again.” He gave me the big eyes. “I said I promise.”
I parked two blocks away from our house instead of all the way over in the parking lot of MLK. After tonight it wouldn’t matter anymore; I was going to close the sting down and do the roundup. With the gun deal, whether successful or not, word would hit the street and the cover would be blown. TW clients would scatter in the wind.
Dusk settled, coloring the horizon in dark grays and varying shades of blue. Venus burned bright.
From a few houses away, I could see that the front windows of our house on Nord were dark. Odd. Dad should’ve been home. Junior stayed at my side until we hit the yard. He bounded up the three steps of the porch and waited. The door wasn’t locked. Something wasn’t right.
Inside, Dad sat on the couch in the darkened room. My heart sank. This had been the same way I’d found him the night I came home and he told me about Olivia’s overdose. Told me she was gone forever. He’d been the one to find her, a huge burden to bear. I didn’t know how I would’ve handled it. Not well.
I turned on the light and went to him. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” He stared off into space, his hands clasped in his lap, fingers gripped tight. He didn’t answer.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Dad, what’s the matter? What’s happened?”
His head slowly turned toward me, his eyes sad.
“Is it Alonzo?” I asked. “What’s happened to Alonzo? Dad?”
“They got him.” His voice came out in a whimper. He’d always been so strong and firm, I’d never heard him whimper, not once. Life had beaten down this wonderful man.
“Who’s got him?”
“Margaret came by to tell me.”
“Margaret?” The woman from the foster home on Laurel, where Social Services had placed Alonzo.
“And?”
“Derek has Alonzo.”
“What?” I jumped to my feet. “That’s impossible.”
I’d left Derek knocked flat on his belly in The Body Shop with his gun tossed on top of his back. To seal the deal, I’d left the dope and money in the open safe with the deputies only minutes away. Derek had to be in jail.
“That’s not right, Dad, you have to be mistaken.”
“Margaret said that earlier today Derek came by the house on Laurel with the caseworker. They had court papers. Derek’s parents now have legal custody of Alonzo. That’s what Margaret said. There’s nothing she could do about it. He should be with us, Bruno. Alonzo should live here with us. Not with those people.”
I jumped up and paced the room. “No. No. No. This can’t be. This is a huge miscarriage of justice. It’s not right.”
This was all my fault. The night I crushed Derek’s fingers, I shouldn’t have sent him into the police station alone. I should’ve gone in with him and made sure he told them what he’d done to Albert. A touchy situation though, with the way I had elicited the confession. In all likelihood, they would’ve kept me and let him walk.
Dad struggled to get up. His legs had to be as weak as mine from all the heated emotions. I gave him a hand.
He didn’t let go; he just stared up at my eyes. “Derek is the boy’s legal father.”
I knew what Dad was trying to do. He wanted just a glimmer of justification, but no matter what Dad said, nothing would come out sounding right. I had told him about the incident three years earlier where I grabbed Derek Sams off Central Avenue in front of a pager store and drove him around. I didn’t have to tell Dad what my intent had been at the time—he was a smart man and could figure it out. One of the biggest regrets of my life was that I had not carried through that plan and instead put Sams on a bus to Barstow. Now I saw that I’d made another big mistake letting Derek run loose. Dad stood before me worried I’d go back and finish the job I’d started. And he was right. Nothing in this world would stop me not this time.
“We’ll get him back,” I whispered.
But the law was against that ever happening.
“I called our attorney,” Dad said, “and told him what happened. He said he was about to give us a call. He said the judge ruled against us. He said he could appeal but it would be a waste of money.”
“Derek’s in jail, Dad.” I didn’t know what else to say. At least with Derek in jail for a good long time, over the gun and the coke at The Body Shop, Alonzo wouldn’t be exposed to him.
“No, Son. Before it got dark, not thirty minutes ago, he drove by the front of the house, twice. I opened the door the second time. He stopped in the street right out there in front of God and everyone, stuck his arm in the air, and gave me a vulgar gesture with his finger. He cackled loud like some kind of half-crazed fool. He only wanted Alonzo so he could get back at us. He’s a vindictive little shit.”
In all my life I had never heard Dad talk that way about anyone. And he had never used the word “shit.” Tonight was a night of firsts.
I hurried to the phone and called the watch deputy at Lynwood Station. He told me when the deputies arrived on scene at The Body Shop, they only found the manager handcuffed in the repair bay. Derek wasn’t there. I hadn’t hit him as hard as I thought and the little weasel had been playing possum. He’d gotten away yet again. The kid had nine lives.
Dad sat at the kitchen table with a grim expression.
I sat down next to him. I took his hand. “I promise you this isn’t going to stand.”
“Son, please, don’t do anything foolish.”
“I don’t have to. All I have to do is let the truth out to eat.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Remember, a long time ago you told me that truth was a lion and that all you had to do was let it out to eat. That truth just needs a chance to defend itself.”
“Yes, I know, but what truth are you talking about?”
My shame forced me to look away.
“What? Son, tell me.”
“A while back, this was before Derek went to jail fighting that manslaughter case, I went looking for him. This was a second time I did it.”
“Ah, Bruno.”
“I know,” I said.
Dad shook his head. “It’s not your fault. Sin chooses us according to our weaknesses. You could never tolerate injustice. Te
ll me the rest of it. This was after Albert went missing and before Olivia—”
I squeezed his hand, interrupting him. “Yes, that’s right. Remember we couldn’t find Derek and I told you I thought he had something to do with what had happened to Albert?”
That had been when Olivia was still alive, emotionally crushed over her missing son. I had to do something.
He nodded.
“I caught up to Derek and he told me—”
“Oh, dear Lord, no.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Tell me. I have to know all of it.”
I stared down at the floor. I could only say the horrific words to my shoes. “You know how Olivia was with the boys—she watched them like a hawk. She was a great mother. You know this part of it. She didn’t do it often, but the day Albert went missing, she left the twins with Derek. It was only for a couple of minutes. She had to run to the store to get some diapers and baby food. Derek wouldn’t go, so she had to. Derek told me Albert wouldn’t stop crying. Derek couldn’t take the constant crying and he—shook Albert too hard. Then … then he put Albert—”
Dad’s hand came up out of the darkness and covered my mouth. He really didn’t want to hear all of it after all. Good thing. To tell him the last part about the valise and the San Pedro Bridge—the long lonely drop to the ocean—might have been the end of me ever saying another word. No one knew about what Sams had done—not all of it—except me, a heavy burden to bear. Too heavy.
Dad sat quiet for a long while. “So that’s it. Derek did do it and Olivia finally got it out of him. He either told her or she just figured it out. That’s why she—”
I nodded and looked at his face through the dimness. “I dropped Derek off at the South Gate Police station. He was supposed to go in and confess to what he’d done to Albert.”
“That was the right thing, Bruno. Let the law handle it.”
“No, it wasn’t, Dad. If I had taken care of it the right way, if I’d have gone in with him, told them it wasn’t a missing person case, that it was a homicide, Olivia might still be with us. We might still have a family with her and Alonzo.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know everything that went on.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I … I just mean, you don’t know that’s the whole truth. This story came from Derek, and I’m sure he didn’t give you that information willingly.”
That’s not what he meant to say. I knew him well enough to know he’d changed his mind. “Wait, you were going to say something else. What is it?”
My cell phone trilled. Too early for Jumbo with a location for the deal.
I picked it up.
It was Ledezma from the Crazy Eight. “It’s Nigel. Come quick.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
“NIGEL, HE’S BAD hurt. You better hurry,” Ledezma said over the cell phone.
“What happened? Hurt how?” But I knew.
“I’m not getting involved in this, Karl. You comin’ or not? He looks like someone put him through a meat grinder, I’m not kiddin’ here. It’s bad. The worst I’ve seen, and I’ve owned this stinking bar for sixteen years.”
“Did you call paramedics?”
“He said not to. He said he needed to talk to you first.”
“I’m coming.” I hung up.
“I have to go, Dad.”
“I understand. We can talk later. You go.”
I took off running out the door. Halfway across the front yard, I realized Junior Mint had followed along. No time to take him back and make him stay. For two blocks he ran alongside in a full sprint.
It was the gun deal. Johnny Sin used fear and confusion and tyranny to keep his opponent off guard. For the next few hours he didn’t want me thinking about how I could rip him off and used Nigel as a distraction. A dangerous game, because now all I wanted to do was shoot the bastard.
We made it to the Opel, started up, and drove like hell. The Crazy Eight wasn’t far, and I didn’t let traffic get in the way or slow us down. Twice I banged over the curb and onto the sidewalk to get around cars lined up at an intersection. I drove with one hand, dialed 911, and got paramedics rolling. The same call would alert LAPD.
It couldn’t have taken more than six or seven minutes from the time I hung up to when I pulled into the back parking lot of The Eight. I bailed out, leaving the car door standing open, the engine in smoking ruins and one blown tire. Junior Mint bounded alongside me. I burst through the back door into the near darkness of the bar. I shoved the crowd of regulars out of the way and went down on one knee. I couldn’t see; my eyes hadn’t adjusted.
“Ledezma, turn on the lights.”
“Drag him outside, Karl. ABC will yank my license for sure over this one. You know I’m already on probation with those guys.”
The drunks parted. Ledezma stood behind the bar.
“I said turn on the lights. Now.”
He did. A couple of the folks in the crowd gasped. I wanted to weep. “Ah, Nigel.” I sat down getting underneath him, his shoulders in my lap, his head cradled in the crook of my arm.
“Hey, Karl, good to see you, man.” He reached out a bloody hand and clutched my shoulder, smearing the khaki-colored shirt. I didn’t know how he could see anything; his eyes were welded shut with swollen purples and reds. His entire face was bloated, and the skin parted here and there with slices that seeped blood. The bones underneath were fractured, as were his arms and ribs and collar bones.
“You just lie still. Paramedics are on the way.”
“It’s okay. It’s funny, I don’t feel it anymore. You think you could get me a vodka tonic, hold the tonic?”
“Sure. You rest easy.” Tears blurred my vision. “What happened?”
“It was Johnny.” His tone came out singsong, as if the answer had been obvious to any fool who knew anything at all. “He used two black eight balls from a pool table, put ’em in a sock. Showed them to me first, told me what he was going to do, too. Said he was going to beat me to within an inch of my life, and boy he sure missed the mark, didn’t he, Karl? Didn’t he? I got at least a couple of feet left, don’t you think?” He tried to laugh and coughed and choked. Blood sputtered into the air in a fine mist.
“Don’t talk anymore, just rest. Ledezma, get me a wet towel with some ice. Hurry.”
Outside, sirens echoed up and down the street. The police and paramedics.
“Karl? Karl, are you still there?”
“I’m right here, Nigel. Just take it easy.”
“Karl.”
“Yes.”
“Johnny said something queer, real queer. He said … he said that you are really a cop. That’s funny, isn’t it, Karl? You of all people a cop.” His breathing became more labored and he spoke with a heavier rasp. “Said your name was really Bruno Johnson. I told him he was crazy. He said he knew it the whole time. That bird is nuts, ain’t he, Karl?”
“Yes, he’s nuts all right.”
“Bruno Johnson of all people, that guy’s a brute, a real animal. You still going to do the deal with him if he’s crazy?”
I didn’t answer.
He said, “I know it’s silly to ask this.” Cough. “Especially under the circumstances.”
“Go ahead and ask anything you want.”
“I don’t think I’m going to make the deal with you tonight … I … I’ll still get my finder’s fee, right?”
“You’ll get it even if the deal goes sour, you have my word.”
“You’re a good man, Karl. I’m glad we met. Really, I am. Now, I’m sooo tired. I’m just going to take a little nap. Feels like I haven’t slept in thirty years, you know what I’m sayin’? You going to stay right here, Karl?”
“Yeah, Nigel, I’m not going anywhere.”
Paramedics didn’t transport Nigel right away. They worked on him a long time. I stood by, looking on, dazed and confused. Johnny Sin got what he wanted. Confusion, disruption, hot emotions fogging clear thought
s.
Working patrol, I had stood tall over similar instances, good people down in the street or laid out on some grimy floor. But during all those times, I had been able to put aside my emotions in order to deal with the job: finding who committed such a hateful assault. This time I had a vested interest and it changed everything.
The paramedics finally got him on a gurney and strapped in. The filthy floor of The Eight was littered with torn and abandoned packages that had sheathed the medical supplies used to stave off death. The medics didn’t have to tell me a status. Nigel was barely hanging on.
The two blue uniforms from LAPD weren’t real interested in a beaten-down drunk, even one “beaten within two feet of his life.” Not when it happened in the back parking lot of the Crazy Eight. A nightly event in their minds, the parking lot and bar a swirling vortex of the disenfranchised—no victims involved.
They asked me my name. I took out my wallet and gave them the TW driver’s license that said Karl. I’d be Karl for a few more hours.
The two uniforms left following the gurney. I came out of my daze standing in the same spot with Junior Mint sitting by my foot leaning up and licking my hand. He’d sensed my need for consolation. How much time had passed? Forty minutes? An hour? I checked my watch. Fifty-three minutes. The other patrons had moved back to the bar to resume their drinking, the night’s entertainment over.
The cell phone in my pocket trilled. I didn’t have my own—this was the one Black Bart insisted that I carry. I took it out and flipped it open. “This is Karl.”
“Bruno!”
“Dad?”
“Help, Bruno. Come quick.”
CHAPTER SIXTY
I STEPPED OUTSIDE the front door of the Crazy Eight, panic-stricken. I needed a car. The Opel was around back and trashed. Traffic whizzed by. Night people were already out creeping the streets. I needed to get home. I fought the urge to step in the street, pull my gun, and commandeer an unsuspecting driver.