by David Putnam
Ramon hesitated, uncomfortable in what he was about to say.
Years ago, 18th Street Hispanic gang members came around and threatened him and his family with great bodily injury if they didn’t pay a neighborhood tax for protection. They paid it for a while until the amount kept going up and up, an amount that threatened to take the business to its knees. Like most all cops in the area, I ate on the cuff, unaware of the tyranny right under our noses. One busy night on patrol, I didn’t have time to stop to eat, the in-progress calls came too thick. I got to Lucy’s so late they’d already closed. But not too late to find two gang members, shaved headed, tat tooed soldiers for the Mexican Mafia who had Ramon up against the wall around back of the restaurant. They had already stabbed him once and were about to gut him. I’d seen his car out front and walked around to see if he’d answer the back door. The two soldiers let him slide to the ground and immediately squared off with me. I could’ve legally shot them both, pulled my .357, and without checking for witnesses, gunned them right where they stood. Only I was angry and wanted a little get-even time. Back alley, no witnesses, no lights, classic curbside justice BMF style. I drew my mahogany straight stick baton and for two months, while in intensive care, they wished I had used my .357.
Even severely stabbed, in fear for his family, Ramon remained reluctant to tell the story about the protection he paid. All the deputies and cops from the surrounding area loved Ramon and his family. They put enough heat on the 18th Street gang members that a truce was called. Mad Dog MacDonald from the Lynwood Sheriff Station gang unit brought the news to the family that Lucy’s was off limits to all clicks associated with the Mexican Mafia.
Now in his office, Ramon looked torn.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I understand. I won’t come back anymore.”
“No, no, that’s not it at all.” He broke eye contact.
I took a step toward him. “What then?”
“Robby Wicks is a friend of yours, right? I know he is. You used to be thick as thieves, coming here to eat all the time when you were a detective.”
I felt a little weak in the knees, backed up, and grabbed hold of the doorway. “What? Tell me?”
“It might be nothing. But, well, he came in two weeks ago, like old times, like he had never missed a week in all the time he’d been gone, at least two years now. Came right in, asked for me. I wasn’t here, so my guys called me. He wanted them to call me. When I showed up, he acted like it was no big deal, like this was just a social visit. You know what I mean?”
My mouth went dry. “And?”
“Well—”
“Come on, Ramon.”
“Wicks tried to cover it but he finally got around to the reason he came. He asked about you.”
“He asked about me?” That wasn’t so bad, he was just checking up to see how I was doing. That wasn’t it at all. Not judging by Ramon’s expression.
“What? Give me the rest of it.”
“He wasn’t alone.”
“Who was with him?”
“A guy who wasn’t like other cops. His hair was—” Ramon put his hands up to his own semibald pate. “You know, perfect, his clothes were pressed and new.”
“Who was he, Ramon?” I already knew the answer.
“He had a little gold badge hooked to his belt next to his gun. I saw it when his blue suit coat came open. He wouldn’t take a free meal. The guy insisted on paying. The badge, I seen it before. It was FBI.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tommy ate tacos until his stomach bulged round and hard. My appetite was suddenly gone.
Ramon patted Tommy’s head. “Where’s this niño’s shoes?”
“It’s a long story. I’m watching him for his mama who had to go out of town.” Tommy looked up at me at this news regarding his mama.
Ramon got down on one knee. “Chiquito hombre, how did you break your arm? Did you fall off a wild bucking bronco?”
Tommy looked away, hesitated, then looked right in Ramon’s eye. “I fell off the back porch while I was playing. My mama told me not to play there.” The coached lie hung heavy in the air.
The kid covered for his parents. The experts had ruled the break as a spiral fracture only accomplished by a child abuser who yanked and twisted at the same time.
“My mama really went out of town?”
I nodded, the lie stuck in my throat. Right now this was the only way for his own good. “Come on, kid, we have to roll.”
“Don’t forget the ice cream. You promised chocolate ice cream with hot fudge.”
Ramon chuckled. “Wait a minute.” He disappeared back in his office and rummaged around. He came back with a pair of shoes, stylish shoes still in the box, the kind with the skates in the heel. When Tommy saw them his eyes went round as saucers and his mouth into a little O.
“I hope these fit. I got them for my nephew, but never got around to giving them to him before his own grandmama beat me to it and bought a pair.”
Tommy grabbed the box and sat down on the floor. “They’ll fit. They’ll fit.” His pure delight warmed my heart.
I could see they were a little too big. I got down on the spotless floor to help him. I wadded up some of the tissue paper from in the box and put it in the toes. His legs wouldn’t stop moving as I tried to lace them up. I tied the last bow. He jumped up and skated around the small kitchen area. I held my breath. If he fell—
“We have to get going. Thanks, amigo. And don’t worry about that other thing with Robby. I already knew all about it. It’s no big deal, okay?”
“Sure, sure, Bruno. Don’t be a stranger.” He put his warm hand on my arm. The man was street-smart. He knew I was in way over my head. I’d put it out of my mind, tried not think about it until I got Tommy to Dad’s safe and sound. I had to focus on one thing. The alternative was far too ugly.
Tommy insisted that he walk and wouldn’t let me carry him. We took Long Beach down to Mr. Cho’s and went in. Cho stood behind the counter. He started yelling as soon as we came in. “Get out, get out. I call poleese.”
We ignored him and went to the chest freezer where he kept the ice cream and then over to the isle where he kept the jars of marshmallow and chocolate syrup. Mr. Cho followed along yelling. Tommy didn’t seem to mind. He must’ve grown accustomed to a similar environment.
“All they got is chocolate syrup and no hot fudge. Is chocolate syrup going to be good enough?” Tommy put his hand to his mouth and burped. The thought of more food took him to the edge. He nodded and skated away down the aisle.
“Where’s my last paycheck? You owe me for two weeks.”
“They say, you come back I call. Get out. Get out. I call right now.” He went to the phone on the counter and dialed.
“Okay, forget the check. I’m taking the ice cream instead.”
“Hello, poleese.” I snatched the phone from his hand and listened, heard the dial tone. He didn’t want any more trouble and tried to bluff. I yanked the phone from the wall. “Have a good life, Mr. Cho.”
Outside, I again averted my eyes from the spot where the kid had fallen, not wanting to see the dried blood if it was still there. I ran to catch up to Tommy who rolled off down the street riding on the heel skates.
I’d been wrong or right, really, the first time I assessed the situation. The surveillance had been for me, and the robbery was collateral damage. Robby had not been there by coincidence, his team was watching me. But then what about the murders with the gasoline? Was it just a cover? He hadn’t made it up. The murders were really happening. The story was all over the papers and TV news.
I caught up to Tommy and guided him around the corner. I’d been right about that night. My internal radar had been right-on after all. I didn’t feel any eyes on us now, but wasn’t going to take the chance. I used a preplanned escape route I’d set up far in advance. If they were watching, the plan would only work once. We went on down to Washington Avenue and turned west. Tommy’s stomach was full. He’d had a little na
p and now he had some shoe skates. The ice cream made my hands ache from the cold and acted as a good prop. The bag of cash hung off my shoulder. I took Tommy by the shoulder and guided him down a long path to an old, tired manse. In its day, Lynwood was an upper-middle-class neighborhood, labeled The All American City. The south side had huge houses on big lots. Los Angeles, the city on the west border, put in vast blocks of public housing—Imperial Courts, Nickerson Gardens, and Jordan Downs. Crime raged in all the nearby cities: Compton, the gateway to Los Angeles, and Bell Gardens, and South Gate. Eventually, the good folks moved out and left the zoo to the animals. Some stayed and fought the good fight. This house was one of them.
I knocked on the solid oak door. Mr. Howard Marks, a wrinkled, white-haired old gentleman, who should’ve been long dead from old age, opened the door. The skin under his watery blue eyes sagged, displaying little pink half moons. His entire body shook from the effort to stay on his feet. He smiled, knew the reason for the preplanned visit, put a hand on my arm, and ushered us in. He closed the door. I took Tommy right through the house and out the back door into a huge one-acre lot overgrown with what had once been a world-class garden. I picked up Tommy because his skates wouldn’t roll on the dirt path with all the vines and overgrowth. We went right out into an alley where a car was parked. We got in and started up. Mr. Howard Marks was a friend of Marie’s. He agreed a long time ago to help out.
I drove down the alley, made a right, did a couple more counter moves, checked the mirrors for a tail. We were in the clear. I headed for Dad’s. I was late for the meeting with Robby. No way was I going to see him now. Fate had interceded and saved my ass.
Chapter Twenty-Three
This time Junior caught our scent and came up, his hind end waggled with his tail. Tommy clung to me tighter when he saw the dog and buried his head in my chest. “It’s okay, little guy, this is a nice dog. Here, look.”
Tommy would have none of it. He started to whimper.
It was still early. The interior lights lit up the house. The door was locked this time, like it was supposed to be. I knocked quietly. Nothing. On the other side came the noise from the Game Boy, a trade-off to keep the kids quiet inside the house where no one could see them. I knocked again, a little louder, and looked back over my shoulder. The backyard was long and deep with overgrown shrubs. No one could see. Dad opened the door with a big smile. I handed him the ice cream and chocolate syrup. I left the black gym bag with the money on the porch. The bag represented something corrupt and filthy, the idea of bringing it inside where the kids played would pollute their innocence.
Dad didn’t falter at the sight of another child, this one not in the plan. He smiled and rubbed Tommy’s head, didn’t ask any questions. His eyes smiled at me.
“I couldn’t walk away and leave him, not—”
“I didn’t say a word. Come on, let’s get some of this ice cream dished up, whatta ya say? “ With his free hand, he pried Tommy off my chest and took him over to the kitchen table and sat down. He was going to talk to Tommy a good long time, like he did with the others. When he finished talking, Tommy would call him Grandpa and feel like he’d known Dad all his life.
The house was too hot. I took off the army coat and put the ice cream in the freezer. Then I peeked around the corner into the living room where the make-believe battle raged on the television screen. Four boys, Ricky, Toby, Randy, and Wally with controllers in hand juked and ducked, playing the game. Alonzo was too young. He marveled at the action. Two others, Sonny and Marvin, lay on the floor playing the board game Chutes and Ladders.
Alonzo’s eyes were bright, his smile heartwarming. He reminded me of my daughter who reminded me of my dear wife, God rest their souls. Alonzo sensed a change in the environment and looked up. When he saw me, he leapt up, came right off the floor as if propelled out of a cannon. “Daddy.”
I wasn’t his daddy. He’d taken to calling me that. And who was I to correct him? The other boys hesitated, looked up, only the game was too enticing, and they went back to their controllers.
Alonzo all but bowled me over. I backed up several steps, regained my balance, scooped him up, and swung him in the air, hugging him so hard I caught myself, the little voice inside my head reminding me he was only three and terribly fragile. He’d put on even more weight. He’d been skin and bone two years ago, now Dad had gone the other way feeding him. I’d have to have a talk with him about feeding the kids too much. What was I thinking? We were done, officially on the lam. Tomorrow we’d all be in Costa Rica, or at least too far into the journey for anyone to pull us back.
Costa Rica.
Alonzo giggled and hugged my neck with his little pudgy arms. The thought of leaving elated me and at the same time scared the hell out of me. I looked over at Dad who sat at the table talking quietly to Tommy, the new family addition. Dad looked up, our eyes met. He read me like a book, saw it was all over for him. He was going to have to give up his kids and never see them again. I felt as if someone had socked me in the stomach. I closed my eyes and hugged Alonzo, kissed the top of his head. Dad continued on in a low murmur to Tommy, the kids always came first.
I took out eight bowls, used up the whole half gallon of chocolate ice cream and most of the bottle of syrup. I knew it probably wasn’t the healthiest diet and recognized that it was the guilt making me do it. I set Alonzo down and carried three bowls into the living room, then another three. The dessert was enough motivation. They put the games on hold and dug in. Spoons clanged on glass bowls. I went back in the kitchen, gave Tommy his bowl while Dad continued to talk to him. He spooned chocolate ice cream into the boy’s mouth as the child nodded. I took the last bowl into the living room with Alonzo, sat in Dad’s chair and watched my grandson eat. A great weight lifted off me. Even though it was earlier than we planned, the idea of leaving, escaping before getting caught let me breathe in a full lung of air for the first time in months. I sat with Alonzo a long time, rocking, and stroking his hair. Dad came in with Tommy asleep in his arms and carried him down the hall to a bedroom. When he returned empty handed, he said to the boys in a quiet voice, “Time for bed.”
They didn’t argue, they turned off the TV, put up the controllers, came over and carefully gave me a kiss on the cheek without disturbing Alonzo, and went off to bed.
I started to get up. Dad waved me back down. He sat on the couch, one too low and difficult for him to extricate himself with his bad knees. He stared at me. I didn’t want to look at him. There was no alternative. Finally, I said, “Tomorrow, five o’clock. Marie will be here at three to help get things ready.”
Saying the words made it real.
My mind spun out far ahead, categorizing and prioritizing all the things that had to be done. I had to go back to the house on Alabama and 117th to dig up the money. Track down Jumbo for the balance. The latter might take more time than I had available. We would need the money. How could we house and clothe and feed eight kids without it? Marie knew nothing about the money and planned on living by both of us getting jobs. But then who would watch the kids? No, I wouldn’t leave without the money.
Dad’s eyes welled with tears, a sight that kick-started my waterworks as well. We’d talked and talked about it before. I wanted him to follow along in a year or so when the heat died down. But he was the one against it. He said it was too dangerous, and if the Feds ever discovered where we were, the kids would be in jeopardy of going back to where they’d come from, an absolutely untenable environment. “Besides,” he’d said, “I’ll be dead and gone long before all the hubbub dies down.” Something I didn’t want to believe. Dad had always been there for me, to imagine him gone, well, it just wouldn’t be the same world.
At the same time, I knew these kids had been keeping him going, keeping him alive. Take them away and he’d wither like a flower without water.
I got up, went over, and offered him my hand. He took it. I pulled him up and hugged him with Alonzo between us. After a long time I stepped back a
nd handed him Alonzo, kissed them both, turned, and left.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I’d made one pass on Alabama to check for problems, like extra eyes that didn’t belong. The red light from a patrol car came on in the rearview at Mona Boulevard and Imperial Highway. For a brief second I thought, no, that can’t be for me, that if I just gingerly pull over, they’d go on by. It can’t be for me. Not now. It would ruin every damn thing. The next thought was to run. Push the accelerator to the floor. Hit it. Drive it like I’d stolen it. I’d been there before on the other side, and knew that I might be able to outrun the cop car. But not their radio, not their helicopter. I pulled over and hoped I could bullshit my way out of it. Time rolled by in long successive increments as I waited for the cops to approach. They were running a make on the car that was cold. I’d paid cash for it and made sure everything on it was in good working order before I’d laid it off in the back of the manse. The only thing they could’ve pulled me over for was DWB, driving while black. They say it didn’t ever happen. I knew better and had done it myself while on the prowl for crooks.
Finally, the strong spotlight beam broke, it shadowed as the cops approached, one on each side, standard procedure. The one on the passenger side knocked on the window. I leaned over and rolled it down. “License and registration.”
I opened the glove box and took out the registration. “Officer, I think I left my wallet at home. The car’s registered to me though.”
He looked at the registration with his powerful flashlight. “Mr. Norbert, could you please step out of your car?”
“Sure”.
I started to get out on the driver’s side.
“Hold it, get out on this side. Slide over.”
I did as I was told. When I got out, my eyes adjusted. They were blue bellies, LAPD, and not Sheriff’s deputies. I had a chance. He put me against the car and patted me down.
The officer had his notebook out, “What’s your full name and date of birth and if you know your driver’s license number?”
