by David Putnam
“You got it.” I didn’t mind the delay. Maybe with a little more time I could work up the nerve to tell him about last night.
Ned put his seat down and disappeared below the door’s windowsill.
My conscience worked on me like a starving man on a rib bone. I couldn’t let him stay, not without telling him. I had to tell him. “Hey, Ned?”
His head popped back up. “Yeah?”
Gibbs came up on the radio. “Hey, our primary is moving. He’s got one poo-butt with him and they’re getting in the Lincoln.”
Ned readjusted his seat to the “up” position and started his car. “It’s showtime.”
My partner had called it right. Gadd didn’t go on the move that early with the children to go play b-ball. Yet another reprieve, I couldn’t tell Ned about Beth, not now. We needed him for the mobile surveillance. Sure, that was a good enough reason not to. He needed his head in the game.
We followed the Lincoln over to Alameda and straight up toward downtown LA. Gadd turned the same as he did the day before onto 101st Street, eastbound, and then made another hard right into the Jordan Downs housing projects. Gibbs and Ned automatically fell back. I followed them in. The black Lincoln circled around in the side streets almost as if looking for a tail, but his manner was too passive for it. The entire time, Gadd talked with the kid in the car using his hands to emphasise the lesson. The kid just continued to nod.
Gadd pulled up to the basketball courts. The kid jumped out. My heart dropped—he matched the description of Ollie’s nephew, Devon D’Arcy. Tall, chubby, his hair cut in a fade, a Cadillac medallion swinging from a chain around his neck. I’d worked the street long enough to know just by the way D’Arcy carried himself, the way he interacted with his peers, that he was too far gone to recover from his downward spiral into juvenile delinquency. The street had claimed another one. I didn’t know how I’d tell Ollie, but she probably already knew and just couldn’t accept it.
D’Arcy, with a weighted-down pillowcase in hand, met the three other boys on the sidewalk next to a metallic blue Pontiac and a white nondescript minivan. The pillowcase looked like it carried guns. Gadd, in his Lincoln, zoomed off.
For a long moment I didn’t know what to do, follow Gadd or continue the surveillance of the kids who were now armed. Then Gadd helped with the decision; he didn’t go far. He drove down the street, pulled a U-turn, stopped, and watched D’Arcy talk to the other three boys. D’Arcy now busy passing on the plan that Gadd had outlined.
I scrunched down in the seat and picked up the radio mike. “All right, this is it. They met with three other primaries and two vehicles—a white minivan and a metallic blue Pontiac. In a minute, they’re going to be heading out. Stand by, I’ll call which exit they take when they leave the projects. You’re going to have to pick them up. I’ll have to stay in here until they’re out or I’ll burn it. Be advised, our main primary will be following behind at a distance in the Lincoln.”
Gibbs and Ned both clicked their radios in acknowledgment. Even though kids were involved, I couldn’t help but feel the excitement of the thrill of the chase.
D’Arcy talked some more and then reached into the bag and handed out three handguns. He did it right in the open without hesitation, as if totally immune to the law. The three victims, now would-be bank robbers, nodded to what D’Arcy said. All three looked scared to death. D’Arcy finished his instructions and stuck out his fist the same as in preparation to the start of a basketball game. The other three fist-bumped him. They got in the blue Pontiac, started the car, and took off. D’Arcy looked down the block to the Lincoln and gave Gadd the thumbs-up. D’Arcy got in the white minivan and took off following the Pontiac. Gadd waited a minute, started up, and followed the minivan.
Before that moment we didn’t know that Gadd used an intermediary, D’Arcy, to further insulate himself from any crime. But now I’d witnessed his conspiracy as he set his caper in motion. For Gadd, P.C. 182 Conspiracy carried the same penalty as the crime. We could also hang on him the gun charges and contributing to the delinquency of a minor, multiple counts. Sure, we could put him away for all of those. But what I really wanted was to catch him with a gun in his hand and be able to pull a Ned, say to Gadd: “Peekaboo, asshole.” And pull the trigger. The thought of doing it, dropping the hammer on Gadd, made the sweat break out on my forehead and run in my eyes. Or it could have been the horrible summer heat.
Out on Alameda northbound, the blue Pontiac in the lead, followed by the white minivan, then the black Lincoln and then three members of the violent crimes team, stretched out for half a mile intermingled among unsuspecting citizens.
I came up on the radio and asked dispatch to call Coffman at home and to tell him the surveillance was in progress. To tell him that it was going down. A few minutes later dispatch came back up. “Sam three has been notified. He’ll be up on the surveillance in twenty minutes. We’ll keep him advised of your location.”
The conga line of cars wound its way up to the freeway and headed eastbound. They transitioned to the Pomona Freeway. When we crossed the Los Angeles County line, into San Bernardino County, per department policy, I notified dispatch and also told dispatch that we’d soon be out of radio range. Minutes later we got off at Central Avenue and headed south. I broadcast the location in the blind. We could no longer receive dispatch. I just hoped they could hear us.
The Pontiac, minivan, and Lincoln made a slow pass at Chino Merchants bank and continued on for a couple of blocks. Gadd pulled to the side of the curb on Central in a perfect position to watch the robbery go down. Ned came up on the radio. “I’m staying with the primary.” He pulled over a block from Gadd. Ned wanted a piece of Gadd just like I did, only Ned didn’t know the whole truth about Darkman.
The minivan and the Pontiac drove three more blocks, turned onto a side street, and pulled over. D’Arcy stuck his arm out the window of the van and pointed down to the asphalt street. This would be the rendezvous spot to dump the hot Pontiac and change into the white minivan that was not stolen, the van D’Arcy would be waiting in to casually drive away like Joe-citizen.
At that moment, I realized we didn’t have near enough cops to take down all these players. We needed six to ten more cops to do it right.
Ned came up on the radio, thinking the same thing. “Bruno, how are we going to take these guys down without firing a shot?”
CHAPTER FORTY
I KEYED THE mike: “Ned, you’re going to have to come off the primary and come up on the Pontiac.”
“No way. We need to take down the primary at the scene to make the case stronger.”
“Can’t do it. This thing is going down right now. There’s no time to call in backup. We have to focus on the 211. We can pick up the other two later.”
Gibbs came up on the radio. “Bruno, the Pontiac just pulled in front of the bank. All three ran in the front door, guns drawn.”
“Okay,” I said. “We wait until they come out, then we box their car with all three of ours. Do what you have to do. Do not let them drive out of the box; do not let this thing go mobile. You copy, Ned?”
He clicked his mike. He wasn’t happy about letting Gadd and D’Arcy get away. Neither was I.
I pulled into the parking lot of the bank just as all three black juveniles with guns in their hands ran from the front door, two carrying bags of money.
I gunned the Toyota right at them. To the right, Ned in his Pathfinder bounced over the curb at high speed, his vehicle aimed at the Pontiac. Gibbs came in from the left.
Two more seconds we’d have them boxed.
The last juvenile getting in the left rear of the Pontiac saw Ned barreling at them broadside, his engine wound wide open. The kid raised his gun and fired twice. The gun bucked in his hand. White gun smoke rose in the hot summer air. Ned’s windshield spiderwebbed in two places in the front driver’s window. Someone in the Pontiac pulled the shooter inside.
Ned?
Had he been hit? Was N
ed shot?
The Pontiac lunged forward just as Gibbs rammed the front of the car at low speed, crumpling a bit of the hood, stopping it dead. A half second later Ned braked hard laying down a patch of skid. White smoke roiled up from his back tires. He rammed the side of the Pontiac. The Pontiac slewed sideways, the rear end swung around and stopped short of crashing into the front door of the bank. I came up and bumped into the rear at the corner of the car. Ned and Gibbs tightened up, putting their cars metal to metal with the Pontiac so the car couldn’t move at all in any direction. Gibbs was at the front and Ned on the passenger side. That left only one side open, the driver’s side that opened to the front door of the bank.
I slid across the seat, jumped out, and ran the few steps to the front door, blocking their only escape route, my gun out and down at my side. I stood there exposed with no cover. I couldn’t let them slip inside and take hostages.
All three kids in the car looked dazed and scared. Ned and Gibbs both had their guns out as they squatted behind their cars, yelling, “Sheriff’s Department, put your hands up! Put your hands up!”
Their hands shot up, three pairs of them.
“Ned,” I yelled. “Are you all right?”
“You got this?” he yelled back.
“Yeah.”
He ran, got back into his Pathfinder, and smoked his tires backing up. He cranked the wheel, sliding the car around, and hit the gas. He drove over the curb and back into the street the same way he came in. He headed up Central, the last place we’d seen Gadd.
Two Chino police cars bounced into the bank’s driveway. Gibbs held up his badge. “Sheriff’s Department! We’re deputies!”
The two cops jumped out with shotguns and covered the kids.
I held up my hand and yelled, “It’s okay. They’re just kids. They have their hands up. I’m going to take them out one at a time.” I pointed to the kid in the front seat on my side. “Come on, son, slide out. Open your door and slide on out.”
“Don’t shoot me, mister. Please don’t shoot me. I already dropped the gun.”
“I won’t shoot. Just get your ass out here.”
He did. “Now lay down right there.” He did. “Now you, driver, slide over, get out, and lay right there next to your buddy.” He complied. I said to the third, “Come on, son, it’s your turn. Come on out.” He’d been the one to fire at Ned, and kid or no kid, I didn’t like him for it. He could’ve killed Ned with his reckless behavior.
He didn’t move. “I said get the hell out of the car. Now!”
His hands still up, he turned to look at me. Tears streamed down his face. Fear wouldn’t let him move. “Ah, shit. Okay, okay,” I said. “It’s okay, kid.” I put my gun away and held up both hands to show him. “See, everything is okay. No one’s going to shoot you.”
He still couldn’t move.
I stepped in between the two on the ground and headed to the rear door of the Pontiac.
Gibbs yelled, “Bruno, don’t.”
I took another step.
Coffman appeared next to Gibbs with his own shotgun pointed at the kid in the car. “Bruno, stand down. That’s an order.”
I looked at Coffman and then back at the kid. He wasn’t going to come out on his own, no chance.
I took the final step to the back door. “Hey, kid, I’m not going to hurt you. You understand? I’m just going to open the door.” I hesitated. When he didn’t move, I opened the door. The gun, an old .38 revolver, lay on the seat next to him. The inside of the car smelled of burnt gunpowder and shit. The kid must’ve crapped himself.
Coffman said, “Goddamnit, Bruno, back off. Get the hell outta the line of fire.”
I ignored him and held up both hands to show the kid. “See, no gun. What’s your name? Come on, tell me your name.”
He just stared at me, his eyes and cheeks wet with tears.
One of the kids facedown on the concrete said, “Dat’s Sammy. He a’ight, he just ascared.”
I leaned down, put one knee on the seat, and slowly moved my hand toward him. If Sammy wanted the gun, he could grab it and shoot me before I could stop him.
I stopped, looked over the roof of the car, and called to Gibbs and Coffman and the two Chino coppers with shotguns, “Nobody fire. I got this. Sammy’s just a little scared. He’ll be all right. Right, Sammy? You just need a minute to get it together. Right? You guys, put your guns down. You’re scaring my friend Sammy.” No one moved. “Go on, put your guns down.”
They complied. I looked back in. “That better, Sammy? You want to come out now? Come on, son.” I held out my hand. “It’s okay, take my hand.”
He slowly reached out. I leaned all the way in and took his hand. “That’s it. Come on out.”
I got him all the way out and leaned him up against the car. All the others hurried around to our side of the car and handcuffed the two on the ground along with Sammy who I held against the car.
The kid that spoke for Sammy said, “Hey, whattaya doing? We’re juvies. You can’t take us in. We’re juvies. Hey, hey, you gotta let us go. We gotta get home. We got a game this afternoon.” He still believed in the propaganda Gadd and D’Arcy had fed him, that juveniles couldn’t be held responsible for their crimes.
Coffman said, “Sorry, kid, you three little shitasses are headed for juvie hall.”
“No. Wait. Wait, that’s not right. You can’t take me in. I’ve got a scholarship, a full ride.”
The Chino PD officers took custody of the three child bank robbers, put them in their patrol cars, and called a tow for the Pontiac.
The threat, all the action, was over; the adrenaline bled off. I backed up to the closest wall and slid down to the ground, my hands shaking, my knees too weak to hold me up. On the other side of the glass doors, the employees and bank customers talked and pointed at the Pontiac and pointed at me. With a felony arrest and conviction, the kid would lose his scholarship. I wanted to choke Gadd, ring his neck.
Coffman came over and grunted as he sat next to me. He puffed on his cigar in silence. After a time, still not looking at me, he said, “Without doubt, that was the dumbest thing I’ve ever witnessed. And I was in the Marine Corps for twenty years. Believe me when I say, that’s saying something.”
“Yeah, I kinda got that from the way you barked at me.”
“You know I’m going to have to make a report and tell the lieutenant all about it. Tell him the whole thing just the way it went down. That horrible, reckless disregard of your training and the violation of policy in front of fifteen, twenty witnesses. The way you jeopardized your safety like that after I gave you a direct order.”
“Yeah, I know, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“The way I write it up—”
He didn’t finish and instead looked at me with his bloodshot, old man’s watery eyes.
“Yeah?” I said.
“You’re gonna get the medal of valor out of it, that’s for damn sure. Bruno, don’t ever do that shit again. This old heart can’t take it.” He struggled to his feet and walked off leaving in his wake a trail of blue-gray cigar smoke.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I FINALLY STRUGGLED to my feet just as Ned pulled up and parked in the middle of the parking lot away from the cluster of emergency vehicles that now dominated the area close to the bank; Chino PD, San Bernardino County Sheriff, and a fire truck had all responded due to the crashed vehicles. Ned got out and walked around his car, checking the damaged front end, mainly the bumper, contorted and drooping on one side. Coffman and Gibbs headed toward him. When Coffman pointed to something on Ned’s head, he reached up to his right ear. His hand came back with blood, and I rushed toward him. I saw Gibbs’ look of concern as he broke away and flagged down one of the Chino PD guys. I heard him yell, “Hey, call paramedics for my partner, he’s injured!”
Now I really moved. “Ned, you okay?” I asked.
“Shit, yeah, I’m okay. It’s just a scratch.” He put his hand up to the side of his he
ad and came back with more blood than before.
Coffman took the cigar out of his mouth and pointed to the spiderwebbed windshield, the bullet holes, and then back to Ned’s head. “That’s a gotdamn bullet graze. That’s what that is. Ned, my boy, that little shitass missed killing you by an inch or less.”
“Naw, it’s probably just broken glass. Sorry. I lost him, Bruno. Gadd got on the freeway and floored it. I saw him get on, but I was too far back. By the time I got on, he was in the wind. I got this beast up to a hundred miles an hour, thought it was going to rattle apart. I went at least twenty miles, never saw him. He must’ve got off somewhere in between. That asshole’s slippery.”
“That’s okay. Maybe you should sit down.”
“I’m fine. Let’s go round up Gadd and D’Arcy. Gadd deserves a good ass kickin’. It really pisses me off that he got away when he was the one who put all this in motion. He made us do this.” Ned swung his arm toward the smashed-up Pontiac still parked in front of the bank, then touched his head and looked at his hand again, the blood still wet and not yet tacky. Some started to run down his neck and onto his shirt.
Coffman said, “You’re gettin’ checked out by the medics, and that’s an order.”
“Sarge—”
Coffman took his cigar from his mouth and squinted in the smoke. “Sarge, my achin’ ass. No bullshit this time, Ned. You’re gonna get checked out if I have to hold you down myself.”
Sirens from down the street echoed off the houses en route to our location, further disrupting the quiet morning.
Coffman turned to Gibbs. “You write this mess up and walk it through for arrests warrants on Gadd and D’Arcy. Bruno, get on the phone and get a telephonic search warrant for the place on Willowbrook. I don’t want to dick around with this. I don’t want to give these two any time to think. I want to hit the Willowbrook house by …” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost noon now, so no later than three. Let’s shoot for three. Get on it.”
