by P. A. Brown
He thought of Chris. A man so good he didn’t know the kind of raw evil that existed in the world. A man so good, he imagined the man he loved had to be equally as good. Trying to live up to that was sometimes the only thing that kept David sane.
Could he really risk that for a tight ass and a hard cock?
He blinked and realized Konstatinov was asking him a question. He shook his head and met the other man’s worried gaze.
“Are you okay, Sergeant? It is late, we can take this up again tomorrow—”
“No, that’s okay. We need to sort this out now. Tomorrow we can get a subpoena for the doctor’s records. See if we can shake something out of him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, what were you saying?”
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“Halyna and Zuzanna often went to parties, ‘special parties’
she called them. They were instructed to be nice to the men who chose them. Some of the men were okay, they even brought gifts for the girls, or their families back home. But Zuzanna thinks the gifts never made it home. She thinks Mickey lied to them, that he was pocketing all the money and gifts.”
“A dishonest pimp. Who’d have thought? Does she give any names to these friendly johns?”
“The odd nickname. Zayachik. Means, ah, rabbit. There’s another called Kutsup, means goat. And it looks like they call their manager Medved. The bear.”
David knew what that meant in the gay scene. Muscle men with lots of body hair. Did it mean the same in the straight world? “I’m guessing they didn’t use the names on the johns,”
he said dryly. “They knew better. Any idea how they ended up here, in L.A., I mean.”
Konstatinov scanned through his handwritten notes, flipping back to look at earlier ones. “Zuzanna talks about meeting a man in Kiev, and being promised a good job in the United States. She signed some papers and they took her passport. She never saw it again. At first they were taken someplace where everyone spoke ‘funny,’ not English which they sort of knew, but something else. And they said it was hot.
She was very unhappy about that. I guess it was a lot hotter than they were used to in her area of Ukraine.” He frowned, then added, “And the sun was very bright and the air...smelled funny. I guess the food was terrible. Their tomatoes were green.” He grinned wryly. “I am thinking tomatillos.”
It was David’s turn to frown. “Could be the San Diego area, or any of the border states. They’re all pretty hot.”
“Or Mexico,” Konstatinov said. “Hot and they talk funny.
At least to a Ukrainian. And the food takes some getting used to.” At David’s look he said, “Married a lady from Guadalajara.
She can cook a mean streak, but it is all nouvelle Mexican.” He patted his stomach, which David now saw had a soft mound to it. “She is in love with habaneros.”
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“You should introduce her to my former partner. It’d be love at first sight.” David smiled at the memory of Martinez, wishing the federal overlords hadn’t decided Northeast needed some shaking up. As far as David was concerned, Martinez’s transfer, however temporary, had been an unmitigated disaster.
“Let’s take a look at those names, see if anything pops.”
David pulled up the criminal database, and entered the names Zuzanna had put in her journal. Only one got a hit.
Konstatinov came around to his side of the desk, and peered over his shoulder. “Mickey. Valerian Mikalenko, two counts of soliciting, one assault with a deadly.” David read the details of the charges. “Got a nickel in Corcoran. Wonder if he ran with Manson.” David flipped through the entry. “Given illegal alien status, but no order to deport. Connected? Or did he just fall through the cracks.”
“In what way?” Konstatinov pulled a chair around and sat down. He leaned over to study the screen. Mikalenko’s booking shot was on the page, along with his vitals. The guy was barely five-seven in stocking feet. And he was clearly hirsute. “How does our little Ukrainian bear get connected?”
“Knows the right people. It could help explain how they got the girls into the country.” David pulled out his notebook. He flipped it open to a blank page. “Let’s see if we can talk to someone at the Consulate.” But ten minutes later they found out that Ukraine had no consulate in Los Angeles. The nearest one was in San Francisco. After that they’d have to go to New York.
David sighed and called up a new document. “We’ll have to go through channels to get someone upstairs to request the information on that.”
“Yes, sir.”
David started the internal request; the first round of paperwork designed to get someone above them to shake the dust off their tail and make something happen. A lot of tails would have to be shaken before anything would respond to their request. If it happened at all. David didn’t hold out much hope. They’d have to find another way.
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When he was part way through the bureaucratic labyrinth of words, his cell rang. It was Chris.
“You coming home tonight?” Chris sounded tired, but plaintive. David closed his eyes at the pain in his lover’s voice.
“Sure, I’ll be home soon.” He glanced across at Konstatinov, who was trying not to look like he was listening.
“Just got caught up in something.”
“Wrap it up soon, hon. I miss you. Sergeant and I both miss you.”
“I’ll be home soon.” David hung up before Chris could say anything more. He took another ragged breath and abruptly stood up. “I need more coffee. What about you?”
“Sure. I could go for a cup.”
David got the pot brewing. He nodded to a couple of swing shift D’s who came by to grab a cup and carried two mugs back to his desk. He handed one to Konstatinov. “Wasn’t sure what you took.”
“Black is fine.”
It was another forty-five minutes before David called it a night. He rubbed his forehead, where a headache had taken root right after Chris’s call. “That’s it then,” he said to Konstatinov.
“We’ll pick it up tomorrow. I’m going to see if we can get a subpoena for those patient records Want to ride along?”
“Yes, please.”
“Meet back here around eight, we’ll draft it up and take it to the sitting judge.”
“I will be here.”
David let himself into the dark house. He paused in the foyer after he’d divested himself of his Smith & Wesson, shoes and badge. Then he made his silent way to the kitchen where he grabbed water out of the fridge and stood over the sink, drinking.
Finally he couldn’t put it off any longer. He trudged up the stairs and slipped into the bedroom. Sergeant looked up from the bed and wiggled in greeting. David signaled him down, got 132 P.A. Brown
undressed, and exchanged places with the dog. Chris snorted and rolled over, his arm draping over David’s bare chest.
David held his breath but Chris didn’t wake up. Feeling like thirty pieces of shit, David put his back to Chris and tried to sleep. Finally he slipped into a tangled web of erotic dreams. A dark-haired man stroked him, and mouthed his hardness until he cried out. He woke to find Chris between his legs, lips wrapped around his cock. He arched his back, and wound his fingers through Chris’s short, spiky hair. But the image that came as he orgasmed was of a dark, sloe-eyed Jairo.
Chris crawled up his damp body and pressed his mouth against David’s throat. “I couldn’t resist. You’re too yummy.
Sorry I woke you up.”
David laughed shakily. “You don’t really think I could sleep through that, do you?”
He tucked Chris under his arm and forced his frantic thoughts back into the dark corners of his mind. He’d think about what it meant tomorrow. Except it hadn’t meant anything. Jairo didn’t mean anything... Did he?
The next morning he made sure he was up first. By the time Chris stumbled downstairs, he was on his second cup of coffee and had the L.A. Times half read. The dog had been fed
and had his short morning walk. Chris stooped to brush his lips over David’s mouth and patted the dog.
“You should have woken me up last night when you got home. We could have made it a little more interactive.”
David avoided meeting Chris’s gaze. “You were sound asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.” He buried his head in the sports section. “You going in to work today?”
“Have to. Jantz wants me to start the initial implementation of their server rollout. Plus I have to meet the rest of the L.A.
team. I could be gone a while,” he said apologetically. “I probably won’t be back for supper.”
“That’s okay. I’ll find something, I’m sure. You’re not taking on too much, are you? Remember you just got out of the hospital.”
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“I’m okay. Honest.” Chris picked up the salt shaker, and studied it like he’d never seen it before. “How’s your new partner? He working out for you?”
David suppressed the urge to get up from the table. He still didn’t raise his head from the paper. “He’s okay. No Martinez, but then not many are.”
“That’s probably a good thing.”
David knew Chris was trying to lighten things up with his joke, but this morning it fell flat. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s just the way he is.”
“So,” Chris said. “You find out anything more about that poor woman?” Off David’s blank look he looked impatient.
“You know, the one I didn’t hit?”
“Come on, Chris... you know I don’t talk about my work.
That isn’t something you need to think about. It wasn’t your fault. That’s all you need to know.”
“Right, so don’t think about it. Easy for you to say.” Chris rubbed the back of his neck and opened his mouth to say more.
“Just let it go Chris.”
Chris shut his mouth and looked away. David hastily finished up the paper, bussed Chris on the lips, and left. Only the dog followed him to the door. He patted the black, knobby head. “Take care of him, huh, guy?”
Sergeant wriggled his butt. David shut the door on his too happy face.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Saturday, 7:20 AM, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando Road, Los Angeles
David strode into the homicide squad room shortly before seven-thirty and found Jairo already at his desk. He took his jacket off and turned on his computer. He’d barely called up the first report on the Halyna homicide/missing person when Konstatinov walked in. His uniform looked freshly pressed, even his equipment belt looked polished. David felt frumpy beside him. Jairo just looked like Jairo. Cocky and full of himself.
“So what is up for today?” Jairo broke the stilted silence that had fallen over their part of the squad room.
David busied himself writing up the justification for the subpoena he wanted to get on Zuzanna’s doctor. Finally he looked up. “We need to follow up on that cell phone recovered from the dig in Griffith Park. If it was the doer’s we might get lucky. Even if it belonged to one of the victim’s we could get some useful hits. I also want you to follow up on the tox screen results on the Stakchinko case. Find out what she was on when she was pushed. Where are we on IDing either of the victims in the park? Talk to Lopez about those fly eggs she collected. It might help narrow down a location.”
“They might have a lead on the dental records of Zuzanna Konjenko,” Jairo said. “They should be able to give us a yes or no later this week.”
“What about the other one?”
“Nothing yet. They’re pulling a list of missing persons. The gold teeth help. Not many women have them. I’ve already checked out her travel documents,” Jairo went on, mousing through something on his screen. “They entered the U.S.
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through the San Diego portal sixteen months ago. They were here on a student visa that was set to expire in eight months.”
“San Diego,” David mused, meeting Konstatinov’s gaze.
“Matches what we’ve learned so far. They crossed over from Mexico. What are the odds we don’t find anything on the Mexican end?”
“They would have had to show papers at the border. And the girls would have had to produce ID.”
“Probably being held by this Mickey character, if the paperwork was even legit.”
“He would more than likely warn them that if they tried to do anything to alert the authorities that their families back home would suffer,” Konstatinov said. David and Jairo looked at him.
“It is how these traffickers operate. They intimidate the girls and there is swift retaliation against transgressors. They are brutal.”
“Pimps usually are,” David said. “They don’t make money on compassion, though they’re usually pretty good at faking it.”
“How do you know all this?” Jairo asked Konstatinov.
“This is a much talked about crime among our people. It shames us all, colors us all with the same black brush.”
David interrupted and spoke to Jairo, “I want you to call forensics and ask when we can expect those cell phone records and the tox screen and entomology results. You,” this time the look was directed at Konstatinov, “come with me. We’re going to talk to the judge, then go see a doctor.”
But the doctor wasn’t in his office. David left a message with the receptionist, and he and Konstatinov headed back to Northeast to figure out their next move.
Saturday, 8:50 PM, Cove Ave Silver Lake, Los Angeles
.
Chris let himself in to the cool, silent house. Sergeant greeted him at the door and circled him excitedly. He patted the L.A. BONEYARD 137
dog’s head. “Sorry day when a guy gets more attention from his dog than his lover.”
Sergeant went ballistic when Chris pulled out his leash. “We have to make this a quick one,” he said, exhaustion already dragging him down. All he wanted to do was curl up in front of a mindless sitcom and veg until bedtime. Which at the rate he was going was going to be before ten.
He took the same route David had told him about, down the hill and through the park. He was startled when a man stepped out of a white sports car with a brown dog and greeted Sergeant like they were long lost brothers. Only belatedly did he recognize David’s new partner. Jairo Hernandez.
He pulled Sergeant to heel and wrapped the leash around his hand. “What are you doing here?”
“Brought my dog to the park,” Jairo said. “Isn’t that what everyone does?”
“You live around here?” Chris was surprised. It wasn’t an area many cops could afford, unless, like David, they lived with someone who had money.
Jairo shrugged, and gazed out over the placid lake, now lit only by a combination of city lights, and house lights glittering off the waveless surface. “It’s a nice park.”
“Yeah, it is.” Chris let out the leash and started walking north. He wasn’t surprised when Jairo followed. Not surprised, but not happy. He wasn’t sure he liked this guy he didn’t know.
But he could hardly be rude to David’s partner. He’d made that mistake with Martinez, and Martinez had won that round.
“You don’t run?” Jairo jogged in place, clearly ready to take off if encouraged. Chris shook his head.
“Sorry, no.”
“Guess you’re still tired from your traveling.”
Chris stopped and turned to stare at Jairo. “David told you that?”
“He mentioned it.” Jairo showed his teeth in what Chris figured was supposed to be a smile. To him it looked like all 138 P.A. Brown
flash and no substance. It struck Chris with mounting horror that Jairo reminded him of himself before he met David.
“Just yesterday,” Jairo kept talking.
“Yeah, I was back east.”
“Work?”
“David didn’t tell you that?” Chris felt like turning around and going home, but Sergeant didn’t deserve that. He straightened and stared at Jairo; they were nearly eye to
eye. “If you need to know, I was in New York, on business. Do you want to know what I was doing?”
“Touchy, aren’t we?”
“Not normally. Listen, I have a dog to walk, then I have to get home. My business doesn’t end when I leave the office.”
“Guess we’re in the same boat,” Jairo said. “Neither does mine.”
Jairo finally left, but not until he had totally ruined Chris’s time out with the dog. He fed Sergeant once they got inside, and grabbed a beer from the fridge, too lazy to open a bottle of wine. He dropped onto the I-Ching chair, and moodily sipped his drink, while his gaze played across the reservoir out the big bay window. An almost full moon played hide and seek with a low lying wisp of cloud, light dancing over the restless water’s surface. The dog came to lie at his feet.
He was nearly finished his beer and was debating whether to have another or call it quits when the phone rang.
He didn’t recognize the number and picked it up with trepidation. “Yes?”
“Ah, Chris, I was hoping to catch David at home.” It was Martinez. “He’s not there is he?”
“No, he’s not,” Chris snapped. “What did you expect, he’d leave work to come home?”
“Whoa. Where’s that coming from? Something going on, Chris?”
Suddenly Chris dropped his chin into his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “David’s... David’s L.A. BONEYARD 139
just acting weird. Ever since he got that new partner. I don’t know what’s going on. He won’t talk to me anymore.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Martinez said. “Some days are just like that. Even to someone like David, who takes pride in his work, it can get you down. Eat you up and spit you out.”
