“Yeah?”
“He spent the night before Evans died here, with your daughter, and then left before dawn. Were you aware of that?”
“Sure. Reesie’s a grown woman, she wants to have a man in her room to keep her warm at night, that’s her business. I guess that makes me a bad mother.”
“Not particularly.”
“That’s what you were thinking.”
“Actually, I wasn’t. I was thinking about my next question.”
“And what’s that?”
“Were you here all that night yourself?”
“Mostly. I ran out to see a friend for a while, but I was back a couple hours later.”
“Then you know Ty had more company that night than just Harper.”
“Are you talking about that little bitch friend of his, Eric?”
“Eric Woods and Roxanne, yes.”
He’d struck a nerve; Laticia Abbott actually twitched in her chair. “Roxanne?”
“Then I guess you didn’t know. Remind me what her last name is again?”
“Niles.” The name was like poison in her mouth. “Roxanne was here that night? Says who?”
“Harper and Eric both. Tyrecee, I guess, forgot to mention. You have a problem with this Roxanne?”
“You could say that.”
“And the problem is?”
“Reesie can do better, that’s the problem. She only comes here to eat and sleep, like this is her second home or somethin’.”
“Sleep?”
“Personally, I think Reesie found her on the street. If she’s got a home of her own, I’ve never heard about it. I don’t want my daughter associating with people like Roxanne. Or Eric, for that matter.”
“And what are your issues with him? Aside from the fact he’s a little bitch?”
“He’s two-faced. Harper thinks he’s his friend, but Eric’s only friend is himself.”
“Why do you say that?”
“’Cause I’ve seen how he acts with Reesie when Harper’s around, and I’ve seen how he acts when he’s not. That’s why.”
Gunner could not have been less surprised. “You mean he’s got a thing for Ty.”
“She thinks it’s funny, but not me. Only a dog sniffs around another man’s girlfriend the way he does with Reesie.”
“Is that why you tossed him out that night?”
A secret she would have preferred had remained as such. “He told you about that, huh?”
“He admitted it. But it had to come from Harper first. And his version of things was a little different from yours.”
“Is that right?”
“The way he tells it, Ty has a thing for him, and he was putting her in check when you intervened.”
Laticia Abbott threw back her head and laughed, the feckless joke that was Eric Woods too funny to be believed. “Ain’t that some shit!” When she was done, she pushed herself up from the table and said, “I’ve gotta go. Come on.”
“Hold on a minute. About Roxanne—”
“No, I’m done. Let’s go.”
Gunner followed her outside and watched her lock the front door, purse in hand. “Roxanne. Where could I find her?”
“No idea. Sorry.” She started off toward the parking garage and her car. Gunner scurried after her.
“Guess I’ll have to come back and ask Tyrecee, then.”
Tyrecee’s mother slammed on the brakes, spun on her heels. “No. Leave Reesie alone. Leave us both alone!”
“Where can I find Roxanne?”
She jingled the keys in her hand, trying to decide how badly she wanted to throw them in his face.
“She works in the mall sometimes. Sellin’ cell phone accessories at one of them little booths.”
“Which mall?”
“The Westfield in Sherman Oaks. All right? Are we done?”
When she marched off this time, Gunner just let her go.
The game was called Slaughterhouse Alley 2, and as near as Gunner could tell, its object was to kill as many olive-skinned, flesh-eating, undead “terrorists” as you could before your thumbs went numb. Gallons of blood spilled did not appear to be a factor in scoring, but Gunner could only imagine that this had been an oversight, because the game’s developers had clearly devoted hundreds of man-hours to building a constant flow of 3-D crimson into every minute of play.
Befitting his status as a man who held a video game controller in his hands about as often as he rode a horse, Gunner was getting trounced by the bespectacled preteen boy standing beside him in front of the giant flatscreen TV, when the Mega Buy salesman he’d come here to see finally turned up.
“Were you looking for me?” Glenn Hopp asked.
He was a young black man in his mid-to-late twenties, his voice as smooth as a polished gemstone and his body too finely chiseled to waste on the Mega Buy uniform of green polo shirt and tan slacks he was wearing. His face was that of a male fashion model who’d done all his early posing in the joint.
“Some say all this pretend killing is cathartic,” Gunner said, continuing to blast away at the steady onslaught of slavering, bloodthirsty pseudo-Islamists on the screen, “but all it does for me is make me nostalgic for the days of Pong.”
“Pardon me?” Hopp glanced behind him, confused. “My manager said—”
“Aaron Gunner.” He finally set the game controller aside and held out his hand for Hopp to shake. “Viola Gates told me where to find you.” Though she’d acted on the phone as if she would have preferred to chew glass. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“No. I mean….” Hopp went through the motions of shaking his hand.”You look a little familiar, I guess, but…. Remind me.”
“You and Viola both used to work for my cousin. Del Curry. We met once or twice at the office, I think.”
“Oh. Yeah, yeah. Okay.” He started to grin, but then it hit him: Del. “Fucked up—I mean, real sorry to hear about what happened to Del, man. It’s a shame.”
“Yeah, it is. You been by the hospital to see Zina yet?”
“Zina? No. But I’ve been prayin’ for her. How’s she doing?”
Christ, Gunner thought. This boy’s good.
“It was touch and go there for a while, but things are looking up. She regained consciousness this morning and the doctors say the worst is probably over.”
Now Hopp let the smile come as he nodded his head. “Good, good. I’m happy to hear that.”
“Are you?”
“Of course. What do you think?”
“I think you were doing the boss’s daughter and that’s how you ended up here. When was the last time you saw Zina, Glenn?”
“Whoa there, old man. Take it easy. I wasn’t doin’ Zina, and if she told you that, she’s lyin’.”
Gunner let the “old man” crack pass and said, “We should probably find someplace else to talk about this. Unless you’re down with all these people going home with the idea you’re a suspect in a murder investigation.”
“Murder? Hold on.” He threw his hands up, sufficiently cowered. He measured Gunner’s face for mercy but saw nothing coming back but a blank stare. “Okay, okay. This way.”
They ended up outside in the back of the store, where employees drifted off to smoke and eat lunch. Having the space all to themselves, they sat at a patio table beneath a darkening sky and a red-and-white metal umbrella cocked to one side on its pole like an old hat.
“You a cop?” Hopp asked.
“No. But I know a few.”
“What do you want? I didn’t have nothin’ to do with no murder, man.”
“But you were doing Zina.”
“I was. Not anymore. I partied with her a few times a while back, that’s all.”
“So when was the last time you partied with her?”
“Three, four weeks ago, maybe more. She got me fired, just like you said, and I ain’t had nothin’ to do with her since.”
“That’s not the info I was given, Glenn. I was told you were seeing her
even after Del fired you.”
“Who told you that? Viola?”
“Viola?” Gunner was thrown, finding the accusation an odd one. “No. But it doesn’t matter who told me. What matters is whether it’s true or not.”
“Did I see Z after I got fired? Yeah, man, I seen her. But I didn’t do nothin’ with her. Can I help it if she kept comin’ around?”
“She’s got a jones for you, is that it?”
“Damn straight that’s it. You think I went lookin’ to do Del’s daughter? You think I wanted that kind of trouble? I had a good thing goin’ with Del. He liked me and I liked him, but Zina’s been sniffin’ my leg since day one, and I just finally gave in. Bad mistake. I’m a man, what can I say?”
“You can say where you were Monday between 10 and 11 a.m.”
“What?” He caught on. “Ah, hell no. I already told you—”
“If Zina’s feeling you as much you say she is, it hasn’t been weeks since she last tried you. I’m thinking the last time might’ve been Monday morning at her crib, either before all the shooting started or during it.”
“No. Fuck that. I wasn’t nowhere near Zina’s crib Monday!”
They were no longer alone in the break area, and a couple of Hopp’s fellow employees, standing nearby, set their cell phones aside to turn their way. Hopp paid them no mind.
“Can you prove it?” Gunner asked.
“Can I—?” He thought about it, took things down a notch. Being careful now. “Yeah, I can prove it. If I have to.”
“I’m guessing you’re gonna say you were with a woman.”
“That’s right. And if the cops wanna know the lady’s name, I’ll give it up. But I ain’t givin’ it up to you.” He stood up from the table. “Like I said—I’m sorry about what happened to Del and his family. But I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it.”
He hustled back into the store, leaving Gunner where he was. Something he’d just said had a trigger in it, and it took Gunner a few seconds to nail it down. Give up the “lady’s” name, Hopp had said, when “girl’s” would have been more in line with his vernacular. Perhaps implying his friend was older and more deserving of respect than a mere “girl.”
Gunner raced off after Hopp, scanning the aisles until he spotted and caught up with him.
“Viola. You weren’t just doing the boss’s daughter, but his office clerk, too.”
Hopp tried to play it off, twisting his face up as if simply incredulous, but he wasn’t fooling anybody. “Say what?”
“She grew horns at my suggestion your firing might have been for cause, and you assumed she was the one who had to have told me you were still seeing Zina afterwards. If anybody’s got a jones for you, it sounds like it’s her.”
Hopp just stood there burning, until the initial shock of being found out wore off and he could find his swagger again. “So what?”
“So if she’s your alibi for Monday morning, she’s about to get tested. Better pray she’s up to the task.”
Hopp had no answer to that and it was just as well, because Gunner was all done listening.
16
NOT MUCH HAD CHANGED in the six hours plus since Gunner had last seen Zina at the hospital. She’d spent most of the day drifting in and out of sleep, her grandfather said when Gunner called to check in, and she’d done little in the way of talking to anyone, especially to Detectives Luckman and Yee of the LAPD, who had paid her a second visit upon learning from her doctors that she’d regained consciousness.
“Did she tell them what she told us? That her mother did all the shooting?” Gunner asked.
“Yes. But they didn’t believe her any more than we did.”
“Of course they didn’t. It’s a lie, Uncle. It’s impossible.”
“The girl’s still heavily sedated. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. What reason does she give Noelle for shooting both her and Del? Even if they didn’t believe her, the police would have asked her for a motive.”
“She said her mother was angry, that’s all. That Noelle was a—I won’t use the word she used—an evil so-and-so who hated her and wanted her dead.”
“And Del?”
“He got shot trying to stop her from shooting Zina.”
“It’s bullshit. All of it. She’s either trying to protect herself or somebody else.”
“Yes, but who?”
“Did she say anything else? Has she asked for anyone by name?”
“No. She asked for her cell phone once and got up set when we told her the police have it. We asked who she wanted to call, but she wouldn’t say. Who do you think she’s trying to protect, Aaron?”
Gunner knew he was asking for trouble, putting this bug in his uncle’s ear, but he couldn’t see his way around it. “Glenn Hopp. Del’s old assistant. Zina’s the reason he lost his job.”
“Zina? I don’t—” But then he did. “You don’t mean he was seeing my granddaughter?”
“Apparently so. Noelle learned about it before Del did, but once he found out, Del fired him immediately.”
“And that’s why he killed my son? Because he got fired?”
“Hold on, Uncle. You’re jumping the gun again.”
“I’m doing nothing of the kind!”
“Having a motive to kill Del doesn’t magically place Hopp in Zina’s house Monday morning. Nor does it explain why he would want to kill Zina and Noelle, as well.”
“That’s for the police to decide. Have you told them about this man yet?”
Here it was: the headache he’d brought upon himself. “No. Not yet.”
“Why in God’s name not?”
“Because there’s somebody I want to talk to first. Somebody who might be able to give Hopp an alibi for the time of the shooting. There’s no point dragging him into this if his involvement was a physical impossibility.”
“Who is this person you’re referring to? I want a name.”
“I’ll give you her name after I’ve spoken to her. And if she can’t prove Hopp was elsewhere when Del and Noelle died, I’ll turn Hopp over to the police myself. Personally.” In the space of his uncle’s hesitation, he sealed the deal: “You have my word.”
Another moment of silence. “The funeral will be held Monday,” Daniel Curry finally said. “Holy Cross Cemetery at 11 a.m. Corinne will want your help with the invite list.”
“Of course. Anything I can do.”
Johnny Rivera’s first question was the one people always asked Gunner, under similar circumstances: “How’d you get this number?” Like that wasn’t how private investigators spent half their time, figuring out how to reach people who didn’t particularly want to be reached.
Rivera had sounded annoyed. Gunner told him he’d gotten the number from Rivera’s new employer, Samuel Evans. “If it makes you feel any better, I had to ask more than once.”
It didn’t make Rivera feel any better at all. Over the last three hours, Gunner had called his cell twice and sent him a garbled, all-thumbs text, and Rivera had every right to assume the barrage would continue until he broke down and hit Gunner back. Having Gunner insist on a face-to-face, rather than simply ask his questions over the phone, only nudged Rivera’s petulance closer to the edge.
“This can’t wait until tomorrow at the shop?”
“It could, but I’d rather it didn’t.”
“All right. But you’re gonna have to come to me. Wife’s got the car right now.”
Gunner drove out to his home, a little two-bedroom cottage in Highland Park that sat behind a low cobblestone wall, at the crest of a tall berm of well-tended grass. Night had fallen as he drove and he took the winding steps up to the front door with care, nothing but a single light in one front window to show him the way. The porch was dark and inhospitable. Gunner pushed the doorbell button once, twice, and heard only silence on the other side of the door each time. He knocked instead.
“Yeah?”
It sounded like Rivera, but Gun
ner couldn’t be sure. He gave his name and the deadbolt was tripped, the door pulled open.
“Come on in,” Rivera said. He had slippers on his stockinged feet and a can of Coors in his hand.
He led Gunner back to the source of the only light on in the house, a ceiling lamp hanging over a dining room table strewn with playing cards and cash. Two other middle-aged Latinos sat at the table, cards in hand and beers at the ready, watching Gunner enter the room like something that had slithered in on its belly. They were different physical types—the bald one was built like a lifelong gym rat, and the man with the goatee cast the same rotund shadow as a snowman—but either could have made a good living playing members of the Mexican Mafia in the movies. Perhaps, Gunner thought, because that was exactly what they were.
“I didn’t know I was interrupting poker night,” Gunner said.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Rivera said. “We were just fucking around. Hector, Joe, this is the guy I was telling you about. The detective who’s working for Harper.”
Hector and Joe mumbled equally apathetic greetings.
“You want a beer?” Rivera asked.
“No, thanks. Look, if this is a bad time—”
“You said it was important. That it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” Rivera retook his own seat at the head of the table. “So let’s hear it.”
“It might be better if we spoke in private.” He addressed Rivera’s friends. “No offense.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide and these are my boys. Whatever you want to ask me, ask.”
Gunner didn’t like it, but the man who owned the house made the rules. “I saw Harper today. He says there was a gun in Darlene’s office and that you knew about it.”
Rivera tossed a bill into the kitty, picking up the game as if he’d never left it. “Raise.” To Gunner: “Is that right?”
“He said you threatened a man with it once. Pete Burdzecki.”
The game went on, cards and money crossing the table in their turn, Rivera and his boys mumbling their plays. It was as if Gunner had never come to the front door. “Pete? Why would I want to threaten Pete?”
“That’s a good question, but not the one I came here to ask. What I want to know is, why did you lie about the gun?”
Good Man Gone Bad Page 14
