The Poe Consequence

by Keith Steinbaum

  Veronica remained silent.

  “Well?” Kevin asked.

  “I can’t believe you’d do that for me,” she said. “Your emotions over my brother’s gang are tied up in this, too.”

  “I’d be lying to you if I said I can’t believe it, either,” he replied. “I’d hate to see what Seth’s reaction would be if he found out there was an Alvarado Street Diablo hanging out in the room by the garage. But if it’s just for a few days we’ll make it work, okay? Until you figure things out.”

  After several seconds of silence, Veronica voiced her acceptance to Kevin’s offer. “You’re really something, Mr. Palmer,” she said. “It’s a deal. I guess I have some planning to do.”

  When the conversation ended, Kevin stared at the receiver in his hand. “What have I just done?” he asked himself. “Am I that selfish putting my desire to please Veronica over the health of Warren’s son? What would Seth think if he knew I was doing a favor for an Alvarado Street Diablo? What kind of uncle am I? What kind of brother?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Face felt like shit, receiving limited relief from the pain pills he’d taken every four hours since yesterday. Escorted outside by an attendant pushing his wheelchair, he took a deep breath of the cool, late October air. The Lobo who almost killed him, the one with a scar substituting for an eyebrow, remained as vivid as a photograph inside his head. But desire for payback needed to wait until he healed from his admittedly weakened state. Toiling through spasms of pain as he worked his way into Veronica’s front seat, Face settled on the best possible position for minimizing his discomfort.

  He stared out the window in silence at the landscaped green lawns and colorful flowers that continued from one block to the next. He contrasted the scenery before him with the cement and blacktop that dominated his own neighborhood, imagining what other differences existed away from the only life he’d ever known. Maybe he could open an auto shop somewhere in the Valley, finally dropping the flag to leave the warring world of the Diablos and Lobos behind. Veronica had escaped to start a new life, so why not him?

  The car’s front right tire rolled over a pothole and the sudden jerk intensified the grinding pain under his bandages. An audible groan escaped from his lips.

  Veronica placed her hand on his knee. “I’m really sorry,” she said, “I didn’t see that coming.”

  Face just nodded, teeth clenched against the pain.

  “Are those pain pills working at all?” she asked.

  “Don’t know. Maybe a little, I guess.”

  Veronica took a deep breath. “I have to tell you something,” she said. “We won’t be staying at my apartment.”

  Face squirmed in his seat, trying to find a tolerable position. “You takin’ me back home?” he mumbled.

  Veronica shook her head. “No, not now,” she answered. “You know you have to stay away for a while. But my place won’t work either. I don’t want my roommate thinking you might be in a gang.”

  “They got fuckin’ gangs everywhere,” he muttered. “Welcome to my world, chica.”

  Veronica glared at Face. “No, Alex,” she told him, “welcome to my world. My new world. Where I got friends who aren’t in gangs. And a great job. And a nice apartment in a safe neighborhood. I left your world behind to start a new life. You can’t mess it up. You needed me to help you and I did. Now I need you to help me.”

  Face realized Veronica was right. He had needed her, forced his way into her life, and might have died without her help. She had rescued him in a big way, even pulling some strings to keep the police away.

  “Okay,” he said. “Where we goin’?”

  “I’ve been seeing a man for a while. A wonderful man. He lives with his nephew in a house that has a room next to the garage. It’s got everything we need. A bathroom with a shower, a bed for you, and a couch I can sleep on. We can stay there for a few days until I find another place.”

  “Why ain’t you afraid of him findin’ out the truth? Like your roommate?”

  “He already knows about you,” she said, “but to him your name is Alex, not Face. Face has never come up in conversation, alright?”

  “Ain’t nobody can stop me from bein’ who I am.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she yelled. “is that right, Face?” Veronica moved over to the side of the road. “This isn’t going to work,” she said, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand. “If I can’t stop Face from being who he is, then why don’t I just drive Face back to his car. If he’s so damn tough, he should go find the bangers who shot him and get his precious payback!”

  “Be cool, Veronica,” he said, too weak to argue. “That ain’t what I meant. I’ll be a perfect fuckin’ angel.”

  Veronica stared at him for a long while before pulling back into the street. “There’s something else you have to remember,” she said. “His nephew also lives in the house, and he doesn’t know about you.” Veronica placed her hand on Face’s knee again, giving him a meaningful glance. “And he’s not going to find out, Alex. He’s not even going to know we’re there. When he’s home you can’t leave the room.”

  Face offered Veronica a small smile of reassurance before turning back toward the window. “Don’t wanna lay no ‘hood shit on some suburban kid, huh?”

  “It’s too late for that,” she replied. “Seth is the boy whose father got killed in that drive-by at Alfredo’s Market.”

  Face’s head swung around again.

  “Do you remember?” she asked. “Warren Palmer was his name. The man I’m seeing is Warren’s brother, Kevin. That’s where we’re going.”

  He stared at Veronica in silence. The same kid whose father got killed that night? How the hell did this happen? Was this more than just a crazy coincidence?

  “I don’t wanna talk right now,” he said.

  Face closed his eyes. He thought back again to the failed drive-by, and how he prevented Swat from firing in the direction of the kid. For some reason the police didn’t come down hard like he expected them to do. Maybe they found out Swat did the killin’, so what did it matter after he died? Atkinson told them Swat’s heart attack turned out to be the first one—in his sleep that same night. The little white kid represented the beginning of all the heart attack shit and now they’d be in the same house? Maybe Veronica should be told everything so she’d understand the craziness in his head right now. If he told her the truth she’d realize why they should stay somewhere else.

  “Veronica?”

  She looked at him and smiled. “Yes?”

  Face looked into her eyes and saw the same familiar expression that provided comfort and reassurance after another one of his old man’s beatings. He turned back to the window, his eyes anchored to the road. “Forget it,” he mumbled.

  * * *

  After helping Veronica and Alex get settled, Kevin felt relieved when he closed the door, leaving them alone in the room. He’d received grudging permission to work at home that day and a read-between-the-lines suggestion to produce positive results on his article about L.A.’s Vietnamese community; another in a series highlighting the city’s expanding cultures. As he started to write, however, he thought about the length of time since he last spoke with Carl Atkinson. During their meeting at Phillipe’s restaurant, Atkinson assured Kevin that he’d keep him updated about the situation with the North Rampart Lobos and the Alvarado Street Diablos, but there had only been one conversation since that time. Kevin had moved on from his series of reports about L.A.’s Latino gang problem, but he hadn’t lost any of his hunger for the latest developments involving the two gangs responsible for Warren’s death. If the killer remained out there, he wanted him brought to justice. He also wanted to know if any answers had been uncovered in the strange riddle of the heart attacks—a story as unique and bazaar as any he recalled, even by L.A.’s standards.

  After leaving Atkinson a message, the telephone rang an hour later.

  “Haven’t heard from you in a while, Carl,” he said. “Let me
guess. All this peace on earth, goodwill toward men shit has you spending more time on the golf course?”

  Atkinson laughed. “Some things never change, Kevin. War in the world, violence in the streets, and your stupid sarcasm.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, “but I’m serious about wanting to be kept up to date about the heart attacks. Got anything new to tell me?”

  “Do you remember the last time we spoke?” Atkinson asked. “About the meeting Captain Dean and I had with the gang members?”

  Kevin reached for a pen and paper. “Yes,” he said.

  “I put it out there the best I could that day. Broke down every death from heart attack. Read off all the names. How one always follows another murder. And the four a.m. connection.”

  “What four a.m. connection?”

  “Shit, I didn’t tell you?” Atkinson kept silent for a moment before continuing. “Kevin, I swear, if I see any of this in print I’ll come over there and…”

  “Show me firsthand what made you an All-City lineman two years running, right?”

  “Right. So listen to this. You can set your watch to these heart attacks. The ability of the murderer to kill the victim at the same time, every time, is mind-boggling to say the least. We can’t prove every one of them occurred at exactly four a.m., but we know a lot of them have. The others are very possibly the same time. Or damn close to it. My hunch is they’re all four a.m.”

  A quiet whistle escaped Kevin’s lips. Jotting down ‘four a.m.’ on the notepad, Kevin drew a large heart around it. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Autopsies. Witnesses. Hell, after nineteen heart attacks, the pattern becomes obvious.”

  “Multiple murders? Same time of death? Move over, Son of Sam. Make room, Ted Bundy. You got company, fellas.”

  “They won’t have company until he’s caught,” Atkinson remarked. “But you get the picture.”

  “After that meeting with the gang members, you told me you felt like you made a breakthrough,” Kevin said. “Like they actually might have listened to you. It’s been about a month and a half since we last talked, Carl. Any difference?”

  “Like night and day,” he answered. “Captain Dean and I have met each week since then to review the situation and as far as we know there hasn’t been one murder that can be attributed to the Lobos or Diablos. And as you might have guessed, not one heart attack.” Atkinson chuckled. “Still no time for golf, though.”

  Kevin shook his head. “So let me get this straight. As long as the Lobos and Diablos stop killing each other, whoever’s causing the heart attacks seems to have lost his desire. And this is where the story ends, and they all lived happily ever after?”

  “That’s not Kevin Palmer being sarcastic again, is it?”

  “Shit, Carl, I can’t help myself. This whole thing is so sad and ridiculous.”

  “In my line of work I’ve got to take the positive and run with it whenever I can,” Atkinson said. “This last month and a half has been paradise compared to all the months before, so you better believe I’m happy. Or, as the saying goes, ‘cautiously optimistic.’ In the meantime, we’ve still got a killer out there we have to find. And I’m keeping my fingers crossed the two gangs stick to their truce.”

  “Their truce? Is that what this is?”

  “Well, there’s no damn signatures on a peace treaty, okay?” Atkinson replied. “But if you look at all the years of violence between those gangs, what else would you call it?”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?” Kevin asked.

  “No, nothing else,” Atkinson answered.

  “No fingerprints? Hair samples?”

  “Sorry, Sherlock,” Atkinson remarked. “This killer’s incredibly shrewd. He hasn’t made a mistake as far as we can tell. In all my years on the force, I’ve never faced off with anyone like this.” Kevin heard the frustration in Carl’s voice and decided to back off the subject. For now.

  “Thanks, Carl,” he said. “Don’t forget about me, alright? Something’s got to crack on this thing and I’ll be waiting.”

  “How are things with Seth?”

  “Better,” he replied. “No Hallmark moments yet, but we’ll see.”

  When Kevin placed the phone back on the cradle, he pretended the conversation still continued.

  “So what do you think of this, Carl?” he said. “My girlfriend’s Alvarado Street Diablo brother was shot trying to escape another gang, no doubt our friends from the North Rampart Lobos. He’s hiding out in my back room right now. As we speak. My own actual gangbanger houseguest. Am I as stupid as I sound?”

  Kevin jumped to his feet and went into his room, closing the door behind him. He removed the flask of scotch from his pocket and guzzled some down. He’d been a man of his word until the realization of his offer to Veronica struck home. “Just think of it as a concession toward my mental health, Veronica,” he said softly, enjoying the warmth of his long-lost friend. Walking into his bathroom and staring into the mirror, he recoiled at the eyes of guilt staring back at him. “How could I have offered to let this guy stay?” he asked himself. “He’s a goddamn Alvarado Street Diablo!”

  Kevin wondered if he’d ever be able to turn the page and give Veronica’s brother a chance. “Turn the page?” he muttered. “There’s not a book thick enough to ever bring Warren back.” He took another large swig before placing the flask back into his pocket. After brushing his teeth (making sure to use a large dab of toothpaste), he deposited a couple of mints into his mouth and walked back into the front room. “Just for a while, Veronica,” he said softly.

  Kevin picked up the notepad, nodding his head and whistling softly as he stared at his drawing of the heart encircling the “four a.m.”

  “This guy is real good.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I’m fuckin’ goin’ crazy in here!” Face complained. “What’s it been, four days? How long we gotta stick around this place?”

  “Not much longer, Alex,” Veronica replied, reapplying the ointment and bandages. “Kevin thought we’d be gone by now, too, but he understands you need a couple of more days here, okay. He’s been an angel about this.”

  “I’d rather hang at someone else’s crib.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t,” she said. “And I’m the one that has to take care of you. All I’m asking is a little more time to make sure you’re all right.”

  “You give Ma a story?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “I told her that you ran into an old friend who invited you up to Oxnard.”

  “Cool,” he replied. “Thanks for coverin’ for me.”

  “She’s going to talk to you about breaking that boy’s nose. His mother came to the house looking for you. Mama told me she was really angry.”

  “Fuck that asshole,” Face muttered. “I told you he set me up. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him!”

  “And you’re lucky they didn’t kill you.”

  “How you been sneakin’ off to work without the kid findin’ out?”

  “There’s a side door in the garage that leads to the trash cans. I slip through the gate and go around the corner where my car’s parked. I don’t like hiding in here either, Alex, but Kevin’s offer was exactly what we needed.”

  “I’m feelin’ better,” Face told her. “Maybe I’ll get me some fresh air. The kid’s at school, right?”

  “I heard the bus this morning so I know he’s gone,” she said. “But I don’t know what time he comes home, okay? If Seth ever sees you…”

  “I know,” he said. “The kid’ll shit.”

  “You’re still not well yet, Alex. The wound still looks bad. Be careful.”

  Veronica looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go,” she told him, helping him on with his shirt.

  “Thanks for the new clothes,” he said.

  “Just some things from Target, but they ought to hold you over.” Veronica grabbed her purse. “I can trust you to be smart, right?”

  “Got the TV you bro
ught me, some food and my cell phone,” he told her. “I’m cool.”

  The door closed and Face stared at it, knowing the other side was his ticket to a little bit of freedom. Just walking out to the street would be heaven compared to the last few days but he first needed to make an important phone call, his first one since the attempt on his life. He dialed Hawk’s number.

  “Qué pasa, cabrón?” he said.

  “Face?” Hawk replied, sounding like he’d been sleeping. “Where the fuck you been, man? You ain’t returned my calls or nothin’.”

  “Had me some trouble, vato, he said. “Couple of pinchi Lobos. Took a bullet but I’m all right.”

  “What the fuck? There ain’t been no goddamn killings since that meeting with Atkinson. You ain’t gonna let them get away with that shit are you, Face?”

  “That’s why I’m callin’ your ass,” he said. “You got your drug connections, your gun connections, hell, you deal with ‘em more than anybody I know. Those assholes sell to everybody. Find out if they know ‘bout a Lobo motherfucker got a big scar ‘round his left eye. You got that, vato?”

  “Yeah, I got it. You gonna answer the fuckin’ phone if I call you this time?”

  “Not yet,” he told him. “I’m gonna lay low where I’m at a little longer. I’ll call you in a few days.”

  “I don’t want you dead, Face. Good to know you’re okay.”

  “One more thing,” he said. “Send some eyes to my house. My ma’s alone now, understand?”

  “We’ll be watchin’,” he answered.

  Face tossed the phone on the bed and headed toward the door. At the right time he’d find the motherfucking Lobo who shot him and mess him up real good. But mátalo, killing him, wasn’t an option. He wasn’t takin’ no chances with his healthy heart.