Alonzo pulled to the curb and a minute later my old rust-spotted '96 Chrysler squad car pulled up behind us and parked. As Roulon got out, I could see that he was already in uniform.
He opened the trunk and was pulling our war bags out as we joined him. He handed Horace and me our duffels. "You two can take turns changing in the back of the patrol car."
I opened the back door of Car Thirteen. As I was doing this, Horaco leaned in close and whispered, "You and I are about to have some fun, asshole."
As I was finishing putting on my uniform, I had a decision to make over which belt to wear. If Agent Love could track me using the Haven Park PD device, it might give me a slight advantage because the little pen was only a satellite transmitter and probably not too accurate as a GPS. Alonzo knew where I was anyway so I strung my civilian belt through my uniform, then grabbed an extra pair of black socks from my duffel, shoved them into my pocket and got out.
After Horace and I were in harness, Alonzo reached into his pocket and handed me the murder gun. He had put it in a police evidence bag to keep our prints off it. I looked through the cellophane at the blue steel Covert Carry automatic with six in the clip. There was a smooth spot above the trigger where the serial numbers had been filed. Your basic throwdown gun.
"What about the cartridges? You wipe the brass?" I asked.
"We're not idiots, Scully," Alonzo said. "After you shoot both of 'em, wipe the gun clean, then put it in the bitch's hand. Fire it once so she tests positive when CSI does the gunshot residue test, then call this number." Alonzo handed me a slip of paper. 'The guy on that phone will report gunshots to 911 in Spanish. Ill tell dispatch I'm passing the apartment on my way home and will cover the front. Don't screw it up."
"Don't worry," I told him.
I took off walking, with Velario on my heels, never more than a foot behind. He was so close that I could feel his hot breath on my ear.
In less than two minutes, one of us would be going on alone.
Chapter 42
My uniform shirt was beginning to stick to my back as w e neared the four-story Garden Apartments. The building loomed ahead 011 the opposite corner like a big stucco shoe box. It was after midnight, and most of the lights w ere off inside. I paused in a recessed doorway 011 the corner to look the place over before crossing the street.
"What're you waiting for?" Horace prodded.
"You wanta just stroll up the trout walk and start knocking on doors? That's your plan? We're here to clip this guy. It might be better if we're not seen."
"It's late. They're all fucking illegals. They won't mess with us. Nobody wants to risk getting deported. We need to check the mailboxes, see which apartment lie's in. How the fuck else will we find his room?"
I didn't answer and stepped off the curb. I crossed Wilcox and started up the street heading along the west side of the apartment building. I found an alley that ran perpendicular and turned left.
It took two more minutes to get to the rear of the apartment complex, where I saw an eight-foot-high wooden fence with an unlocked back gate. I swung it open and we walked into a small backyard area. Four wooden planter boxes containing water-starved citrus trees supplied the meager courtyard landscaping. We crossed that weed-choked space, staying next to the apartment wall so we wouldn't be seen by any residents who might be sitting on their narrow balconies. Then we went through a large door into the main building.
Once we got to the lobby elevator, I saw a sign Scotch-taped to the metal doors that said:
Utiliza LA ESCALERA.
Out of Service.
I bypassed the main staircase, preferring to use the fire stairs. Then I descended into the subterranean parking garage.
"The fuck you going?" Horace growled as he lumbered along behind me. "Whatta we doin' in the damn garage?"
I went clown one more flight until we reached a large open parking level that contained at least fifty cars. Most of them were old and in pretty bad shape.
"Ain't gonna find him down here," Horace complained. " 'Less he's bangin' his bitch in the backseat."
I found Rocky's empty Mercedes parked in a stall marked 456.
"Apartment four-fifty-six," I told him. "Happy now?"
He wasn't happy. He didn't like being out-thought.
We headed back into the stairwell and started up. If I was going to unload Velario, now was the time.
For the last five minutes, I'd been coming up with and discarding different ways to go about it. He had a reputation as a barroom brawler and was supposed to be eat-quick. Since he didn't trust me, he was being careful to always walk a few feet to the left and behind, staying in my blind spot.
As we reentered the staircase, I heard the creak of leather as he unholstered his sidearm. Then I heard his aluminum street baton coming out of its metal belt ring. I had an ugly image of that murderous Neanderthal trailing behind me with a. 38 in one hand and an eighteen-inch aluminum bat in the other.
I stopped on the third-floor landing and reached for the murder weapon, pulling the street-clean nine-millimeter Para automatic out of the cellophane bag.
"What're you doing?" Horace said, backing away, raising the nose of his. 38 to the vicinity of my groin. His baton was belt-high at the ready.
I'm checking the gun," I said. "Don't want a misfire." I motioned toward his. 38. "And stop pointing that at me."
Horace ignored the request and instead took another step back, giving himself a better range of motion in case I tried anything.
I went through an elaborate weapons check on the Para. I dropped the clip, checked the loads, and jammed it back up into the handle. I carefully slipped the safety forward to the on position. When I finished I looked over at Horace, who was standing there like a video game assassin — shaved head, weapons in both hands, ready to spill some sauce.
"Safety's broken," I said, and pointed the gun at the concrete wall, pulling the trigger helplessly. The hammer wouldn't move.
"Bullshit," Horace said.
"You try it, then." I handed Velario the Para. This caused him a logistics problem because he had the metal baton in one hand and his police 38 in the other. He had to holster something. He finally slid the metal baton back into his belt ring and he took the automatic from me. Once he was holding it, he seemed to drop his guard slightly, because he now had all the unholstered weapons and, except for my police-issue sidearm in its flapped holster, which would be hard to draw quickly, he thought I was momentarily defenseless.
Me lowered his own weapon and glared clown at the little palm-sized automatic, quickly discovering the problem. "There's nothing wrong with the safety, dummy. You just gotta push it clown."
As he said this, my right hand snaked into my back pocket. Horace was still looking clown at the Para as I yanked the leather sap out and made a mighty swing-for-the-fences pivot toward him with the sap at full arm extension. Two pounds of encased lead whistled through the air and hit him square in the teeth. Little pieces of chipped enamel flew like broken pottery. I lis giant head snapped back and hit the concrete wall. He dropped the street gun and barely managed to hang on to his. 38. It dangled precariously from his fingers, momentarily forgotten.
I took one step forward, gave him a backward shot to the temple using my elbow. As soon as that landed, I stomped on his right foot to hold him in place and threw a hard left cross followed by a vicious uppercut with the sap. It was a great three-punch combination, but despite all this, the big ex-linebacker didn't go down. He was stunned, but still standing, his gun hanging loosely from his fingertips. I swatted it away. It clattered to the ground, bouncing clown two steps.
He looked up at me with dull eyes, then grabbed feebly for the sap. I let go of it and he came away with the two-pound lead weight in his hand. Then he tried to get his arm back to swing it, but by now he was moving at half speed. I finished him off with a double left jab over a chopping right. I landed all three perfectly and he slammed back against the wall and started to slide down with a puz
zled look on his face. His expression seemed to say, But I never lose one of these.
"We having fun yet?" I asked, then I kicked him in the head. But one eye stayed open, staring. He was slumped over. What's this guy using for a skull? I thought. Forty-gauge iron plate?
I snatched the handcuffs off his belt and cuffed both his wrists through the metal handrail in the stairwell. Then I grabbed the extra pair of socks I'd taken from my duffel earlier and stuffed them into his mouth. He was bleeding from four places on his head and four of his teeth were gone. The rest were shattered. I picked up both guns and turned off his shoulder rover. I was just getting ready to go when I glanced down and saw him staring up at me through one open bloodshot eye. I'd given him the best I had and he was still not out.
"I gotta hand it to you, Horace. I'm impressed."
I turned and left him there.
Chapter 43
I exited the stairwell on the fourth floor and glanced out a window that overlooked the street. No white Kscaladc. No federal backup.
Apartment 456 was in the middle of the top-floor corridor on the courtyard side of the building. I carefully tried the doorknob. Locked.
It had a solid wood core so I didn't think I could kick it in.
I stood in the hallway looking for a likely hide-a-key spot. I checked over the doorjamb. Dust bunnies and spiders. No potted plants or wall art. I checked the fire-extinguisher box down the hall. Nada.
I certainly didn't want to climb up to the roof and try to rappel down onto the balcony like some character in a Bruce Lee movie.
It felt too much like comedy.
I also knew that if Alonzo didn't get the 911 call soon, he and Roulon Green would come looking. With the elevators broken, they'd probably also use the less-traveled fire stairs and would find Horace. I had used up too much valuable time already and knew I couldn't stand around scratching my head.
The damned roof gag boiled down to my only decent choice. I returned to the stairwell and looked down one flight at Velario, who was still cuffed to the railing with my socks in his mouth. His left eye was now swollen completely shut, but the other one was glaring up at me with murderous hatred.
"Comfy?" 1 whispered down at him.
Then I turned and climbed up the one additional flight and came out onto a flat, silver-painted roof. 'There was a half-moon lighting the night and I could see a minefield of hardware-store clutter up here. It looked as if the apartments' residents used this roof for a sundeck. Beach chairs and hibaehis shared space with several flourishing marijuana plants with protective signs that read HECTOR'S BUD or PROPERTY OF JUAN GARCIA-NO TOGA.
I picked my way across this campground of flowering happiness and crossed to the interior edge of the building, then walked along counting apartment windows below me until I got to the spot I hoped was directly above Rocky's balcony. I looked down at the dead citrus trees in the courtyard below. To do this, I was going to have to hang down from the rain gutter, dangling four stories up. I hated it, but there was no other way.
I lay on my stomach and slowly lowered myself over the edge, gripping the rain gutter with both hands and extending to my full five feet eleven inches. Then I searched for the balcony railing with my toes. After half a minute of this, the gutter started to pull loose, coming aw ay from the eaves of the roof with a loud metallic shriek.
It suddenly gave way and I crashed painfully onto the balcony below, landing on some wooden patio furniture, shattering a small glass-top table. Electric pain buzzed up my arm from my funny bone. I felt a sharp stab in my side like a rib had just broken.
I groaned and tried to collect myself. just then the door to the balcony flew open and Rocky was standing there butt-naked, fists up, read}' to kick my ass again. Despite the pain, I scrambled to my feet.
"You!" he said, quickly recognizing me from the jail.
He started to advance. I didn't want to waste any more of my blood on this guy, so I pulled the Para and aimed it at him with the safety still on.
"Stop," I ordered. "This isn't what you think."
Despite the automatic in my hand, Rocky was still advancing, about to deck me.
"juanito, what is it?" a woman's voice called from inside the apartment.
"I need four minutes," I said. "Put on a robe and listen to me."
"You're the cop with that culo Bell."
"Rocky, I'm not with Bell. Fin an LAPD officer working undercover inside the Haven Park PD. Your life is in danger. Not from me, from them. You need to hear what I have to say."
He still had his fists up.
"I was sent here to kill you, but I came to warn you instead. There are others outside the building to make sure I do the job. We don't have any time. I know you have no reason to trust me, but you've got to take a chance."
"You're the one holding the gun, and I'm supposed to take a chance?"
I needed to do something dramatic to turn him, so I handed the Para automatic over and said, "You hold it, then."
He stood there with the small automatic in his hand, trying to decide what to do. Then he turned his head and yelled, "Carmen. Put something on. We have company."
Chapter 44
We went into the small one-bedroom apartment, where Rocky grabbed a silk fight robe with EL ALBOROTADOR embroidered on the back. The furnishings in the unit were sparse. No pictures or personal effects. A queen-sized bed dominated a small bedroom barely large enough to accommodate it.
I caught a glimpse of a naked woman as she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.
"Okay. Who's trying to kill me?" Chacon said suspiciously.
"C'mon, you can't be that dense. You really think you can take all this away from Bratano and still get to city hall?"
"I've got people coming to protect me."
"Yeah. The Marines from Pendleton." He looked surprised. "Your phones are tapped. They know those guys aren't coining till tomorrow. That's why this is going down tonight. Right now there are two cops outside to make sure I do it right."
"You're Bells partner. How can I believe anything you say?"
"Come here," I said, moving to the front door. "I want to show you something."
I stepped into the hallway. He hesitated, not moving.
"Whatta you afraid of? You got a gun."
He followed me reluctantly into the hall and then into the staircase. We walked down one flight, where Horace was still cuffed to the railing, glaring malevolently out of one swollen eye.
"Remember this guy?" I reached down and yanked my socks out of Horace's mouth.
"You're gonna fucking die, Scully," he growled through broken teeth. "You're a corpse."
"That's enough," I said, holding out the socks. "Open wide."
He clenched his broken jaw, so I kicked him in the shin. He opened his mouth to scream out and I jammed my socks back in.
"You really fucked him up," Rocky said.
"I'm supposed to kill you and Carmen, put the gun in her hand so it looks like a street divorce."
He thought about it. "Okay, let's say I believe you," he said. "Whatta we do about it?"
"Not here."
We left Horace where he was and climbed back to the fourth floor and entered the hallway. As I passed the window, I looked at the street out front. Alonzo's white Escalade still wasn't there.
We went back into the apartment and locked the door. Carmen had changed into a conservative black pantsuit. Rocky immediately stripped off his robe and started to get dressed while I filled both of them in on the rest of the plot and how Alonzo had instructed me to do it.
After I was finished, Carmen said, "Is Bratano insane? Mow does he think lie can get away with that?"
"Me controls the cops, so he controls everything from the crime scene to the booking desk. Believe me, if I hadn't managed to slip in between these guys, it would have worked."
Just then, my shoulder rover clicked twice. Alonzos impatient signal for me to check in and tell him what was taking so long.
"I lave you got a car wc can use to get out of here? We can't use Rocky's Mercedes. We'll never get it out of the garage."
"I have a little red Mustang," Carmen said. "It's parked on the street half a block down."
"Okay. We'll use that," I said. "We have to get out of this jurisdiction. There's supposed to be some FBI or Homeland agents around here somewhere to back me up, but so far I haven't seen them."
"It's gonna be next to impossible to get out of Fleetwood going east," Rocky said. "All they have to do is block the three bridges that cross the L. A. River. We're better off trying to head toward Monterey Park or Cypress."
I nodded, then explained exactly what we needed to do.
Chapter 45
I had Rocky go down the hall earning the gun and take a position by the front window overlooking the street. My shoulder rover had squelched twice more in the last minute. Alonzo was impatient, demanding a reply. I pulled my sidearm and looked over at Carmen.
"I've got to fire this thing because I'm supposed to be committing a double murder," I explained. "They could be close enough to hear the gunshots. Ready?"
She nodded.
I aimed my police revolver at the wall that overlooked the courtyard and pulled the trigger. The first bullet punched through the plaster and started bouncing around inside. The second and third rounds hit a wall stud, thunking loudly. I jammed the gun back into my harness leather, then used the apartment phone to dial the number Alonzo had given mc.
After two rings a man answered, "Yeah."
"Make the call. Apartment four-fifty-six," I said and hung up.
The shots had awakened our neighbors. We could hear people out in the corridor, slamming doors and talking loudly in Spanish.
"Lets go." I led Carmen out of the room. There were about ten people milling around in the hall.
"Que es?" a young vato wearing a wife-beater tec said. He was only about seventeen, but was holding a blue steel. 45. His skin was crawling with 18th Street gang tats.
On The Grind ss-8 Page 16
