L.A. Boneyard

by P. A. Brown

  “Did you see that green thing in that storefront? I mean, is Joan Collin’s campy slut look back? And where on earth did they find those hideous shoes? Even the Olsen twins would be repulsed by those. I don’t care if they were Jimmy Choo’s.”

  “You don’t even sell women’s clothes, hon. What do you care what they wear?”

  “Honey, I don’t, but I still have to walk the planet with them. Wearing something that butt ugly can ruin even my appetite.”

  Ahead of them were the Santa Ana and the Hollywood freeway overpasses. Chris saw the flashing lights of a white, unmarked CHP car that had pulled over some hapless driver on the freeway ramp. The uniformed officer was standing behind the driver’s side door, reading something the driver had handed him while traffic streamed past them.

  Before they had passed the access to the ramp, the khaki-suited cop strolled back to his vehicle with the red lights pulsing inside. Instinctively Chris looked at the speedometer, but he wasn’t speeding, probably why everyone else was passing him.

  52 P.A. Brown

  Des seemed to notice where his gaze was because he said,

  “You know, ever since you and David hooked up, you’ve become a real Nelly drive safe. I liked the old, reckless Chris.”

  “No you didn’t. How many times did I have to listen to you complain that I needed a keeper, that I was always getting into trouble?”

  “Well, I never really meant it.”

  Chris took a sip of latte, and found it was still too hot. He sloshed coffee into his lap and cursed. The cup tumbled out of his hand and he reached for it, resting his chin on the steering wheel while he groped for it under the seat, before it could dump its contents on his carpet, and stain it.

  They headed into the shadow of one of the dozens of overpasses that turned the downtown interchange into a spaghetti ride. The roar overhead from the two freeways, and the nearby Pasadena freeway, penetrated the sealed vehicle, and thrummed through his feet. Movement on the top of the overpass caught Chris’s eye, and he peered upward, confused.

  “What the—”

  Something tumbled onto Figueroa right in front of him. He yelled and jerked the steering wheel hard right, slamming on the brakes at the same time. Tires squealed and the Escape shuddered as it impacted something, then was rear ended by the vehicle behind them. There was the sickening crunch and scream of tearing metal and shattering glass.

  The last thing Chris remembered were the air bags deploying in an explosion of powder. He was slammed back into the seat.

  Beside him Des cried out.

  Then there was only the tick-tick of cooling engine parts.

  Steam hissed from the punctured radiator. The Escape listed alarmingly to one side. Chris could barely move. Or speak.

  When he tried to call out to Des, all he could do was manage a weak, “Des, you okay? Please, Des...”

  In the distance all he could hear was the roar of traffic overhead.

  “Hang on, hon,” he whispered. “Someone’s coming.”

  L.A. BONEYARD 53

  He tried to turn his head, to look out the side window, but he couldn’t move, left or right. Out of the corner of his eye he could see someone approach the driver’s side door. He tried to call out, to let them know he was okay, but not even a croak emerged this time. He could hear heavy breathing, but didn’t know if it was his own or Des’s. Every time he tried to suck in air, pain lanced through his chest. His vision grew red-tinged.

  He had no idea how much time passed. It seemed like hours. The traffic noises faded to a dull roar. Overhead he heard a helicopter.

  Finally Des’s door was wrenched open and he heard a soothing voice speak softly to Des. Meanwhile he heard the sharp grind of metal that went on and on. Finally his own door was pried opened, and gentle hands guided him out of his seat.

  They lay him on a stretcher, checking his vital signs as they wheeled him toward a blue and white ambulance, lights strobing on the top of the vehicle.

  Free of his Escape Chris was now able to look around at the crash site. Figueroa was closed in both directions and was crowded with fire trucks and neon yellow vested paramedics.

  What had happened? He saw the vehicle that had rear-ended him, a panel truck that had been carrying a load of plate glass which now lay shattered in glittering shards around the pavement. He could hear Des muttering to someone who was trying to calm him down. Then he looked over at his Escape.

  Totaled didn’t begin to describe it. It looked like it had been opened by a giant can opener, the once clean lines twisted into a nightmare form.

  One of the paramedics bent over him. “Can I check your wallet sir? I need to find some ID, so I know who to alert.”

  Chris managed to nod, and felt his wallet being taken from his jacket pocket. He even heard the man flip it open and presumably read his name. He knew his emergency contact would be David. He wanted to tell the guy not to call; David would only worry. But he couldn’t get the words out. He turned his head, letting his gaze wander out to where his Escape lay in a twisted mass of metal and rubber. That was when he saw the third body. A woman—at least he thought it was a woman, 54 P.A. Brown

  though she was too mangled to be positive—lay sprawled untidily on the pavement between the bumper of his SUV, and the concrete abutment he had slammed into when he swerved off the pavement. Already yellow crime scene tape had been strung around the two vehicles and the body. A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach, threatening to bring up the lamb couscous he’d shared with Des earlier.

  Sunday, 4:20 PM, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando Road, Los Angeles

  When the autopsy concluded David and Jairo had returned to the station. In the locker room, David stripped off his shirt and tossed it into the bag he kept there for that purpose.

  Everything he wore today would need to be washed before it could be worn again. The morgue smell clung to every porous surface, and only hot water and soap could dull it. He skimmed off his wool pants, and replaced them with a lighter, linen pair.

  When he snagged a golf shirt out, he realized Jairo was beside him, staring.

  The younger man had already changed into another all black outfit that hugged his broad chest and did nothing to conceal the bulge between his long legs.

  “You know if you keep looking at me like that everyone’s going to know.”

  “Know what?” Jairo licked his lips. “That I want you to fuck me? You like bluntness, eh? How’s that for bluntness.”

  “I think you need to transfer to another division.”

  “No.” Jairo stepped closer. David could smell his cologne all too well. Worse, he could smell Jairo. “I won’t ask. And you can’t, can you? Not without giving a reason. You can’t even claim sexual harassment, since you’re my senior officer.”

  He was right. David couldn’t ask for reassignment. He slammed his locker shut and looked around to verify they were alone. “Can you explain to me what the hell you’re up to?

  You’re married and have no intention of telling your wife L.A. BONEYARD 55

  anything. Do you really think if you keep this up no one else is going to notice? Maybe you can shield your wife from the gossip, but we both know the guys here. They get a hold of this and both of us get dragged through the mud. Is that what you want?”

  “Everyone knows I like pussy. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about Vanessa.”

  “Vanessa?”

  “The producer’s wife,” Jairo said it like he was reading one of the headlines from the gossip rags. “She was a hot little number, and a perfect cover, don’t you think?”

  “And it doesn’t bother you that you ruined a perfectly good marriage?”

  “There was nothing perfect about that marriage. The guy was a pig. I did her a favor.”

  “So now you think no one’s going to notice you sniffing around me like a dog in heat?”

  “They won’t. We both know they won’t see what they don’t want to see.”

&n
bsp; “I think you overestimate your ability to keep secrets,”

  David snapped. Except Jairo was right. The other cops would never look beyond the reputation and see Jairo for what he was.

  He only had to leer at a woman now and then and his cover would never be blown. “Fine, I’ll be your training officer. But there are going to be some ground rules.”

  “Fine. Name them.”

  “No touching. No innuendos and no more attempts to seduce me—”

  “I don’t have to attempt anything. I only have to stand beside you and you wonder what it would be like, don’t you?

  Well, I know what it would be like. Incendio y hielo. Muy grande! ”

  David closed his eyes and thought of Chris. Chris didn’t deserve this. David had never had a problem with fidelity before. Why was this time so different? Why was this man so different?

  56 P.A. Brown

  His cell phone rang. He answered it curtly, then fell silent as the voice at the other end sent his heart plummeting into his stomach.

  Sunday, 5:15 PM, South Figueroa Street, Los Angeles Chris must have fallen back into unconsciousness then.

  When he came to next, he was being unloaded from the ambulance. He had a mask over his face that smelled vaguely of sweat and vomit. Something was strapped to his wrist. Every time he tried to take a breath, his chest burned and shards of raw pain scored his nerve endings.

  “You’re at USC county, sir,” the paramedic said. “I’ll need your insurance information—”

  “He’ll get it to you when he can. Trust me, he’s good for it.”

  Chris couldn’t believe it, it was David. He crouched down beside Chris’s stretcher, his normally dark face parchment white.

  “Chris, honey, you’re going to be okay,” David said. “Don’t try to move. Stay still—”

  “How—”

  “The paramedic recognized my name on your contact card.

  I guess being infamous has its benefits.”

  “Des?”

  “Is okay. Trust me. He’s fine.”

  Of course he trusted him. David had never lied to him, not in all the years they’d been together. It wasn’t in his nature to lie. Someone came up behind David, a lean, dark man in a black, long sleeve shirt, equally black pants and cheap sunglasses. Another cop?

  David saw him looking. “My new partner, Jairo Garcia Hernandez. Remember I told you Martinez was being reassigned for six months.”

  L.A. BONEYARD 57

  Chris didn’t know where the words came from; he was probably in shock. He smiled, though it hurt like hell. “He’s a lot better looking than Martinez.”

  And damned if David didn’t blush.

  Chris struggled into a sitting position. He ignored David’s efforts to get him to lie back down. He looked over at Des on a gurney beside him. His friend’s face was nearly as ashen as David’s, and a scratch over his right eye had bled freely, staining his hairless head, and dappling his Christian Dior shirt. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing normally.

  Then Chris remembered what he had seen in front of his ruined vehicle.

  “Oh God, did I hit someone?” His voice was edged with hysteria. “Did I kill her? Oh, God, David—”

  “Shh. No. Hush baby. You didn’t hit anyone.

  Someone...someone threw her off the overpass into the path of your vehicle.”

  “S-she was murdered?”

  “Yes,” David said grimly. “She was murdered. A CHP

  officer saw it just before she landed in front of you.”

  Chris grasped David’s hand. “Who was she? You have to tell me, David.”

  David gently disengaged his hand. “I don’t know, hon.

  When I find out more, I’ll let you know. Now,” he said sternly.

  “You have to go to the hospital. I’ll come around later and check on you.”

  “Take care of the dog? I called, but it was a wrong number, so I couldn’t take him back like you wanted. I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t.” David put his finger on Chris’s lips, stopping his words. “I don’t care about the damned dog. I’ll take care of him, okay. We’ll both be all right. You just get better and come home to us.”

  Chris subsided back on the gurney. “Okay.” He closed his eyes. “I love you, David.”

  “Love you too,” David whispered.

  58 P.A. Brown

  Chris smiled and let his muscles go slack as the doors rumbled open and the gurney rolled into emergency.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sunday, 5:50 PM, USC County General, North State Street, East Los Angeles

  At the hospital David wasn’t allowed to see Chris after he was checked in and the emergency team took over. He would have to wait until he was out of surgery and in ICU. Even then he could only stay ten minutes.

  Jairo took him back to the station, though he would rather have stayed at the hospital. “Come on, I’ve got a brother who’s an emergency doctor, he hates it when family won’t give him any peace.”

  “I thought your brother was a taxi driver?”

  “Big family. What can I say? Devout Catholics, and all that.”

  Back at the station David made sure he put Jairo to work on his autopsy report. At seven they called it a night. David would have just enough time to make it out to the hospital before visiting hours were over.

  He found Chris dozing in a semi-private room with an empty bed by the door. A flat screen TV hung over his bed, and a set of earphones were plugged in. A tray with a can of ginger ale and a half-empty package of digestives had been pushed to the side of the bed. An IV was taped to the back of his left hand, pumping a clear liquid into him, and an oxygen line was inserted in his nose. He started when David gently tugged the phones out of his ears.

  “Wake up, sleepy head.”

  “David.” Chris smiled, eyes still at half mast. “What time is it?”

  “Seven-twenty. How are you feeling?”

  60 P.A. Brown

  Chris reached over and picked up David’s hand with his unencumbered right, holding it in his lap. “Tired. Sore. Did I really hit that woman?” He sounded plaintive.

  “No, hon, you didn’t. And I don’t want you thinking like that.” His voice hardened and he clutched Chris’s hand when thoughts of what might have happened invaded his waking nightmare.

  “But she’s dead, isn’t she?”

  David raised Chris’s palm to his mouth and kissed it. “Yes, she’s dead. But that’s someone else’s doing. Not yours.”

  “You’ll catch him, won’t you?”

  “I’ll do everything in my power to do that. But meanwhile, I need you to concentrate on getting better.”

  “Sure.” Chris yawned, his eyes blinking as he fought sleep.

  “Can you find out how Des is? No one will talk to me. I hope Trevor was called. He’ll be worried sick if Des doesn’t come home.”

  “Shh, I’ll call Trevor and let him know, and I’ll talk to the doctor about Des. Being a cop has to have some advantages, right?”

  When Chris didn’t answer, David stooped down and kissed Chris’s forehead. Chris’s eyes fluttered open again, and this time David kissed his mouth. He ran his thumb over Chris’s lips. “I love you hon, no matter what, remember that.”

  Chris fell asleep smiling.

  And David had never felt like more of a shit heel.

  David talked to Chris’s doctor and found out that they wanted to keep him for observation. He’d broken a rib, which had punctured his lung. They wanted to monitor him for a couple of days, to be on the safe side. The doctor assured him it wasn’t life threatening, but he needed to be watched. His friend, Desmond Hayward, was listed in stable condition and would probably be released later that day, pending test results.

  L.A. BONEYARD 61

  Back home, he called Trevor, and told him what the doctor had said. Trevor was just on his way in to see his lover. Was there anything he wanted him to take to Chris?

  “Sure,” David said.
“A big hug and kiss.” Then he had to add, “But not too big a kiss,” in case Trevor wondered at the lack of his normal jealousy towards the man who had almost been Chris’s lover.

  “Sure,” Trevor said easily. “I’ll let him know you’re thinking of him. What’s this I hear about you guys getting a dog? Where did that come from?”

  “Long story. I’ll let Chris explain it to you.”

  Sweeney came into the room and insisted on being picked up. David let the tension flow out of him as he stroked the purring cat. The next morning he and the dog spent a tension packed hour staring at each other. David would have called the pound then and there, but he remembered Chris begging him to take care of the dog. Finally he gave up the uneven battle, heading back in to work. Jairo was already at his desk, a half-eaten bear claw beside the dregs of station coffee.

  David eyed the cup. “That stuff will kill you.”

  “What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.” Jairo pulled a pencil out from behind his ear. “How’s Chris?”

  “Fine. They’re keeping him in a few days for tests.”

  “Bet he’s a happy camper.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “So, what’s on tap for today?”

  “I want a report on that overpass toss job. ID, anything the M.E. can tell us. Who was she and why did someone throw her onto a busy freeway.”

  “Isn’t that Central Division’s radio car area?”

  “Let me worry about that. Just get the data for me.”

  Jairo grabbed his bear claw, and crammed it in his mouth, scooping his jacket off the back of his chair. “What are you going to be doing?”

  62 P.A. Brown

  “I’ve got some reports to finish up. If you want, we can meet up for lunch.”

  “Sure, Little Thailand again?”

  “One?” David asked. “Make sure you start a murder book on the autopsy you attended. I started the initial incident report, and the one for RHD, you can finish them up. I’ll warn you now, they expect details. Don’t try to bluff through it. They’ll see through it and nail your scrote to the wall. Then they’ll tell you to write it again.”