by P. A. Brown
“I guess office hours are officially over,” David said.
“Am I under arrest, officer?”
“Yes, Dr. Sevchuk, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder and conspiracy to engage in the exchange of sex for money. We’ll get into the baby brokering some other time. Just know we’ve got enough to put you away for a good long time. That ten thousand came with an expense you weren’t expecting.”
The receptionist stared at them in wide-eyed horror as they paraded Sevchuk through the waiting room. But when she stood up David motioned her to stay where she was. Sevchuk launched into a stream of heated Ukrainian. Konstatinov translated.
“He is telling her that everything will be okay, that it’s all a misunderstanding. Oh, and he asked her to call his lawyer.”
“The words of a truly innocent man.”
Wednesday, 6:15 PM, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles Chris let himself in and was immediately overwhelmed by dog. Sergeant seemed unusually hyperactive and Chris wondered why. Until he went outside and met his neighbor, Joanne.
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“Oh hi, Chris. I was just telling David earlier that we don’t see either of you very much any more.” She chatted away, completely oblivious to the ashen silence that fell over Chris. “I said you two have to come over for dinner some night for barbecue...” Finally something seemed to penetrate. She fell silent. “Is something wrong, Chris? Are you still not feeling good? After that terrible accident and all, I was worried. It’s so bad on the freeways today, you just never know—”
“No, I’m fine, Joanne. Just tired, is all.”
“Oh, I understand that.” She looked down to where Sergeant and Koko were twined around each other leashes and giggled. “Your dog is beautiful. Funny, I never really saw you or David as dog people. Guess you never know, do you?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she thought maybe faggots didn’t own dogs, then he bit back the uncalled for snipe. She and her husband were good neighbors, a little square and conventional, but still the kind of people you wanted next door, if something ever happened. He’d never seen any sign that they were bent out of shape at him and David being a couple. They said they liked having a cop next door.
So did I, he thought wistfully. This was crazy. He missed David. And he came around to see me? Just how bad was it for David? Bad. He just knew it. It was bad for him, too. He never meant for it to go this far. David was just supposed to apologize and Chris would forgive him. Wouldn’t he? God, he wished he could see him right now, this second. He would forgive him, if he could just see him.
But... hadn’t David betrayed his trust? David and Jairo... the thought had the power to make him physically sick.
He tugged at Sergeant’s leash. “Come on, guy. Let’s take you out for your walk.” He waved at Joanne, eager to get away from her, before she could ask more questions. They headed toward the park, part of him dreading the reappearance of Jairo, part of him welcoming the chance to put the horrible little queen in his place.
The opportunity never presented itself. The walk was uneventful. Sergeant played with some other neighborhood L.A. BONEYARD 219
dogs, and was a hit with anyone who had the courage to approach him, and get past the fact that he was a Doberman.
Once they did, Sergeant won them over with his friendliness and his charm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Thursday, 7:55 AM, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando Road, Los Angeles
David ate a fat bear claw and black coffee at his cluttered desk for breakfast. Outside a weak early morning sun, and a fitful breeze off the San Gabriel’s, was finally clearing off the smog that had rolled in so thick during the night he had thought there were forest fires burning somewhere. Jairo was nowhere to be seen. A momentary blessing. David typed up his second interview report on Mikalenko and Sevchuk, neatly tying the two together. He could see the light at the end of a long, tortuous tunnel and it no longer looked like an oncoming train.
Maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t have to write a 60-day on this one.
The DA still hadn’t gotten back to him about his request.
No doubt she needed time to look over his evidence and Mikalenko’s previous record. If she was suitably impressed he was sure he’d hear from her. Meaning if she thought the case was a slam dunk she’d call. The current DA, like most of her predecessors, was a political animal through and through. She wouldn’t take on anything she wasn’t almost guaranteed to win.
David had long ago given up letting the political exigencies of an elected official’s need for gold stars get to him. There was no doubt the press would love this one, so if David could convince her of its winnability, then she would go for it. Saving beautiful blond women from foreigners was always worth brownie points at the election polls.
David knew he had abandoned whatever ideals he might have had when he joined the force. They had largely been driven out by a press that wouldn’t know the truth if it was a ravening weasel attached to their face, or a mayor who could only see as far as the next election. Now that the self-serving politicians and so called community leaders had ham-strung the 222 P.A. Brown
LAPD with their useless chest-pounding, he guessed they got the police force they wanted. He was just no longer sure if he wanted to be a part of it.
But David, like Jairo, wasn’t a quitter.
It galled him that he had something in common with the brash young detective. He would rather they were miles apart in everything. But the truth was, they both wanted to be good cops. And no one would let them be that anymore.
Following a late lunch, the DA finally called. She could meet him tomorrow morning at the Men’s Central where Mikalenko and Sevchuk were being held. She would speak to Sevchuk first, since he offered the better chance of breaking his fragile defenses and getting what they needed to get Mikalenko.
“I hope you’re right in your assessment,” she said. “We don’t need a diplomatic incident where it looks like we’re targeting foreign nationals.”
“I doubt the Ukrainians would want to touch this pair either. Unless one of them is connected.”
The DA made a rude sound. “Just what I need, a mob connected Ukrainian soldier.”
“I doubt if the doctor is connected to anything. It’s Mikalenko that’s the questionable one. He wants to deal too, but I’d feel better doing a deal with Sevchuk. His biggest crime was greed. Not like Mikalenko, who was evil all around.”
“Well, bring me the goods and I’d love to put them both away. I’m happy cutting this doctor a deal if he’ll give us the goods on the other one.”
“I’ll deliver what I can, counselor.”
“You always were a cautious one, Laine. But you get results, that’s all that counts in the end. Not like some of the hotshots who think all they have to do is phone it in and I’ll do the work.”
David didn’t know whether to thank her or be insulted. He chose silence.
“Eight o’clock tomorrow then.”
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“Eight.”
Back in the squad room, Jairo was waiting for him. His eyes were glowing and he jumped to his feet when David entered the room.
“I think we have an ID on the skeletonized remains. Dental records for a Katrina Mydry. Found her records through a Ukrainian dentist in Westwood.”
“What made you go there?”
“Ukrainian, right? They had Ukrainian doctors and a Ukrainian pimp, so it figures he’d take them to a Ukrainian dentist.”
“Good work. Is it a positive ID?”
“The guy’s ninety-nine percent certain. The gold teeth were the clincher.”
“So it’s not Natalya. Wonder where she is? What about the other body? The one we thought might be Zuzanna.”
“Can’t seem to locate records on her. I’ve got my Ukrainian dentist looking at his records. He’ll let us know tomorrow if she was a patient.”
“Good,” David said. “Now yo
u get to put it all into a report.
I’m meeting with the DA tomorrow to talk to Sevchuk, see if we can shake anything more out of him in exchange for consideration.”
“What’s she considering?”
“She didn’t say. Our DA keeps things pretty close to the chest.”
“But it’s a righteous bust, right?”
“Yeah, it’s righteous. It’ll look good in your jacket. Might even get you a commendation.”
Jairo beamed.
“A few more details and we can shut the case down. Hand it over to the prosecutors.”
“And then we go to court.”
David grimaced. “Yeah, then court.”
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“And you were almost a lawyer?”
“You get lucky sometimes and you don’t get what you ask for.”
“You don’t think you’d have been happy as a lawyer?”
“Who knows.” David shrugs, not really wanting to talk about it. It was a moot point and the memories of those days weren’t pleasant. He had disappointed his parents, he had disappointed himself. No one had been happy over his choices.
And was it much better now? Chris hated what he did nearly as much as his parents had. Feared for him. Every time there was an officer involved shooting on TV, Chris would be pale and withdrawn for the rest of the evening. And David could do nothing to reassure him. Accidents happened. He was the first to admit his job was dangerous, though he tried to tell Chris he was really more of a desk jockey. The really dangerous police work occurred in patrol. He did what he could to mitigate the danger, but the truth was he could catch a bullet, or the business end of a knife any day.
So what was he going to do? Sit here and feel sorry for himself, or try to fix the one mess in his life he could fix?
He impatiently waited for the shift to end. He worked on finishing up his reports, delivering the ones that were ready and logging out of his PC.
Then, instead of heading to the hotel for another lonely, frustrating night, he pointed the nose of his Chevy home, to Silver Lake.
Chris’s rental car was in the driveway. David wondered if he’d heard anything about his own car. Well, only one way to find out. Squaring his shoulders he strode up the walkway and rapped on the wooden door. Inside Sergeant went ballistic.
The door cracked open and before Chris could stop him, Sergeant bolted past him and leapt up, his non-existent tail wiggling in his butt, his tongue lolling out in rapture.
David patted the knobby black head. “Hey guy, glad to see me?” He looked up to meet Chris’s gaze and suddenly felt ill at ease. “Chris.”
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“David.”
They stood in the doorway, making an awkward plateau, the dog totally oblivious to the atmosphere. Finally Chris seemed to have made a decision. He opened the door wide. “Come on in.”
David followed him into the living room. Sergeant bounced after them. David took the seat Chris offered him.
“I’ve still got some beer...”
“Ah, sure. Thanks.”
Chris got the Bud and brought himself a glass of white wine.
He sat in his I-Ching chair, catty-corner to the sofa where David sat. Neither one spoke for several seconds, then David took a deep breath and opened his mouth to ask Chris how he was doing.
“So how—” They both said.
Chris grinned weakly. “You first.”
David shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I miss you.”
Chris looked away, then back. His lantern bright eyes held David’s gaze and seemed to peer into his soul. David wondered what he would see there.
“I missed you, too.”
David made a decision then. If the only way to get Chris back was to lie about Jairo, he would do it. Getting Chris back was suddenly more important than his integrity. More important than anything. He knew he’d never succumb to Jairo again, but if he couldn’t convince Chris of that, it didn’t really matter, did it?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Thursday, 6:20 PM, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles Chris stared at David’s rough face, drinking in every crag and crater. He wanted nothing more than to fling himself into David’s arms. But there was a shadow between them. A big man-sized shadow that kept him rooted to the spot, refusing to give in.
So when the inane conversation started he was more than happy to play along.
On the floor at their feet, Sergeant shifted so that he was pressed against David’s legs. They both looked down at the snoring dog. “He misses you,” Chris said. He looked up to meet David’s gaze. “So do I.”
“Yeah,” David’s voice was husky. “I’m glad I stopped by.”
“Joanne said you came by yesterday.”
“Well, yeah, I was hoping to catch you...” No mention of finding the locks changed. But then David would never deliberately embarrass someone for any reason. David took another swig of beer and looked away.
“What’s going on with the car?” he asked. “They made a decision yet?”
“They say not,” Chris said. “But it can’t be much longer. I don’t see how they can try to fix it. It’s a write-off.”
“Yeah, well, you know insurance companies. What will you get to replace it?”
“I don’t know.” Chris took a sip of Chardonnay. “I’ll look around. Something with some room to carry equipment, though most of my work no longer involves equipment procurement.
Someone else delivers that. Maybe you can help me when I go looking. You know me and cars, I like driving them but picking one out...”
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“Sure,” David said, not even trying to hide his enthusiasm.
Chris saw his drink was almost empty. He offered him another. David looked down at the brown bottle in his hand.
He looked like he was going to accept, then he shook his head.
“I shouldn’t. I’m driving.”
Chris almost said he could stay here, but something stopped the words in his mouth. There was still unfinished business between them. Unfinished business called Jairo.
“So how’s work?”
“Fine.”
“Anything interesting happen?”
“No.” David seemed to realize the conversation was a nonstarter. He ventured, “How about you. Your new contract working for you?”
“It’s going well. We’ve made good progress in a short time.
We may beat our deadline. There’s a bonus if we do.”
There usually was in Chris’s line of work. He often got bonuses for a job well done. There were no bonuses in police work, unless you counted putting a piece of scum behind bars for a very long time a bonus. David never got kudos for a job well done, not even verbal ones. There was always someone waiting to criticize the work he did. Questioning his methods.
Success was never a factor.
David nodded. “You were always so good at your job. You deserve the bonuses.”
“It’s fun working with Becky again. I’m glad I finally talked her into to crossing over to the dark side,” he laughed at the reference to her going out on her own and forgoing a steady pay, since with him, she only got paid if she worked. He couldn’t afford to keep a payroll going for non-production. But when she got paid, she got paid well. And she trusted there’d be enough work to make it worthwhile.
“She still living with Clay?” David asked.
“Yeah.” Chris was still laughing, as though he hadn’t in a long time, and he was finally letting go. “She keeps saying she’s L.A. BONEYARD 229
going to make an honest man of him, but really, can you see her married?”
It was David’s turn to laugh. “No, not really.”
They both skirted the five-hundred pound gorilla in the room; there was no reference to Jairo by either of them all evening. David did mention Martinez once. “I think he’s having the time of his life, beating chollas at their own game. But he doesn’t mean to stay, or at least so he says.” He set his beer bottle
down on the coffee table. Chris immediately picked it up.
David stood.
“You going so soon?” Chris couldn’t hide the sorrow in his voice. David met his gaze and something in him surrendered.
He stepped closer to Chris, his hands coming up to grip Chris’s biceps. Then his mouth came down on Chris’s.
His breath was hot against Chris’s throat; he could feel his own pulse on David’s lips. He growled and dug his fingers into David’s thick hair, dragging his face down, and ramming his mouth over David’s again.
They were both breathing hard by the time they broke apart.
“Chris—” David stroked his face, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. Their eyes met and held. What passed between them was raw lust, untamed by the deprivation. Maybe grown stronger.
Chris was so hard he hurt. He couldn’t help it, he rocked his hips forward, moaning when David’s thigh went between his legs.
David’s voice was hoarse, “I’m going to get him transferred.
I won’t see him again, ever. I promise.”
“Oh David—”
“Let’s go to bed—”
But then a memory/nightmare image broke through Chris’s lust. Jairo doing exactly this and David responding with the same fever. He jerked away from David, staring up at his face with disgust and horror.
“I can’t... Oh, God, I want to, but I can’t...”
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He whirled and fled up the stairs, leaving David with his fading tumescence and a confused dog. After about five minutes, in which he half expected David to follow him—and would he have sent him away again? He would never know. He heard the soft click of the front door closing and knew he would have to creep downstairs to lock up.
He did and he went to bed soon after. To his surprise he slept like the dead, though he was not refreshed when he dragged his butt into the shower the next morning.
