The Heartless

by David Putnam

  If the judge called the chief and insisted, this whole mess could blow up and the thing with Nicky and me might come out department-wide.

  “Department politics, huh? That kind of crap could gum up a good sidewalk and make it black as tar. I’ll make the call and fix this, you wait and see if I don’t.”

  When he wasn’t on the bench, he tried real hard to talk the street lingo, and sometimes he missed the mark by several hundred miles.

  “They’re just reallocating resources, that’s all it is, Your Honor. They’re putting me on a protection detail for Nicky Rivers.”

  “Oh. Oh, well I can’t argue against that kind of logic. If I had to make that choice of letting you run and gun after these guys or the safety of little Nicky, I’d agree with them. I’m sorry, Bruno, I can’t call the chief. That’s probably the right choice.

  “You know the chief wanted to put someone on me for protection and you know what I told him?”

  “Knowing you, I bet you said something like, ‘Let him come, I’ll blow him right out of his shoes.’”

  He chuckled with the early morning rasp of a smoker. “Damn straight I would. You know where I’m at right now?”

  “Yep, you’re out on your back porch havin’ that first cigarette and drinking that black stuff you call coffee.”

  “But today I added something different to the routine. That’s right, today I’m cradling an Ithaca Deer Slayer twelve-gauge shotgun with an eighteen-inch barrel, and it’s loaded with deer slugs.”

  “You’re better off with double-ought buck; number-four buck would even be better. You’d have a wider target acquisition.”

  “So you’re not going to scold me for sitting here in the dark with a 12-gauge? You’re not going to agree with your brass that I should have my own protection detail?”

  “No, sir. I hope that dumbass Borkow does come sniffin’ around and you do blow his ass right out of his designer kicks. It’d save everyone a lot of heartache.”

  “God damn, I miss talking with you, Bruno. Why’d you call?”

  “I don’t have Nicky Rivers’ new address.”

  “I can get that for you in a jiffy. I’ll just call Esther for it. Give me something harder.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “You know damn well I’m serious. After what he did to Gloria, I’m up for anything. You just name it.”

  Mentioning Gloria had sparked the ugly memory of what Borkow had done to her not too many hours ago. I again saw the look on her face, her tented eyes, the depressed forehead, and that tongue that lolled out swollen, purple, and pink. Right then I knew I wasn’t going to sit idle while others went into harm’s way to grab this guy who’d brutally killed a friend.

  “You want to catch him fast, put up a ten-thousand-dollar reward for Borkow so we can try and flip some of these people who know him. It’s the only thing they understand: money.”

  “Make it fifty. I’ll throw in twenty of my own and I know some of Jean Anne’s people I can put the bite on. But, Bruno, I can’t have my name anywhere around the money. The presiding judge will have my ass in a sling for sure. I know how to get it done on the down-low and I’ll have it for you pronto.”

  “Thanks, Your Honor. With a reward that big, your involvement will be what ultimately takes this guy down.”

  There came a long pause. “Thanks for saying that, Bruno. Now hang up and call me back in ten minutes. I’ll have that address for you.”

  After a thirty-minute drive, I pulled up to the quiet apartment complex in Lakewood. The place wasn’t chosen for security; it didn’t even have a fence around it. In Hollywood, Borkow got past a six-foot wrought-iron fence and a heavy security gate that had a double-key dead bolt, security cameras, and a roving patrol without anyone seeing him to get at Gloria. This place would be a cakewalk for him. No way could Nicky stay a minute longer than it took to pack a small bag and get out.

  I knocked on the door of her recently rented apartment at five minutes to five as the anger began to return in how she’d played me for such a fool and lied about being separated from her husband. How she hid the truth that her husband was a cop. She knew the rule better than anyone and what it meant to violate it. I raised my knuckles to knock again when the door swung open. At first, she looked miffed. Surprise took over, then slowly seduction as her expression softened and she smiled, misinterpreting my presence.

  I didn’t know how women did this thing with their eyes, a sort of illegal tractor beam that should need a license from the Department of Fish and Game for hunting lovelorn males.

  She wore a terry cloth robe and her right hand was out of view. “Well, hello, cowboy. What a pleasant surprise.” She reached out, took hold of my khaki truck driver shirt, and pulled me inside. I closed the door without thinking about it. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. “You shouldn’t open the door like that, it’s dangerous.”

  “Not that dangerous.” She lifted her right hand, which held a Walther PPK .380, the James Bond gun, perfect for a woman’s grip. Of course, she would be armed and know how to use it; she was married to a SWAT commander. There it was again, still married, and to a fellow deputy on the department.

  “It’s one thing to have a gun at the right time,” I said. “It’s an entirely different proposition when you have to look someone in the eye and pull the trigger. If you hesitate making that decision, it will be too late. He’ll be all over you and take it right out of your hand. So please, don’t ever answer the door without looking.”

  She moved in close, raised her face just under my chin, and lowered her voice. “I promise. I won’t ever do it again.” She reached out and slid the gun onto the dining room table and then put that hand up on my shoulder. She waited. I waited and didn’t know what to do. I knew what I wanted to do: kiss her.

  “Bruno, we’re two consenting adults.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.” I kissed her. The kiss went on and on.

  Eventually, I put my hands on her shoulders and gently eased her away.

  Her eyes shifted and her robe fell open as she stepped in close again. I put my hand on her naked hip, let out a long groan, and closed my eyes. I was going to cave, for sure. I’d no longer be able to reassure Wicks, if he ever asked me again, “Have you two done the ugly?”

  My words came out in a croak. “I didn’t come here for this. I’m sorry. This is business.”

  “What?” She grabbed her robe, yanked it closed, and took a step back, her expression one of concern. “Bruno, what’s happened? Did something happen to John? Did someone kill John?”

  John? Her concern for her husband—whom she said she didn’t love anymore—made me a little jealous, an emotion I had no right to own.

  “No, no. But you’d better sit down.” I guided her over to the couch that must’ve come with the furnished one-bedroom apartment. No one in his or her right mind would buy a plaid thing like that, not on purpose. There were no knickknacks of residency, no pictures of family, no souvenirs from trips, nothing that spoke of home or familiarity. It did feel like she’d just moved in and had only been there a day or two and not six months.

  “Bruno, what’s going on?”

  “I’m here because I’ve been assigned to protect you.”

  “You what? Why? What’s happened?”

  I didn’t know how to say it. When I hesitated, she said, “Bruno, come on, just tell me straight.”

  “Louis Borkow killed Gloria Bleeker.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “OH MY GOD, that poor woman.” She hesitated. Her eyes looked past me. “Wait. You said you’re here to give me protection? Does that mean Borkow is coming after me?”

  “It’s just a theory, and I’m here as a precaution. Get dressed. We’re moving you.”

  She took a deep breath. “Give me a minute. You just scared the hell out of me.”

  Still under the influene of that intimate kiss, I wanted to take her in my arms, console her, let her know she was safe.

  Wh
en she saw my eyes wander to her lips, she moved to face me, her body just inches away.

  “Don’t do this,” I said. My words came out in a hoarse whisper. They lacked conviction. Death had a way of diminishing inhibitions. Putting formalities aside and getting right to the heart of the matter.

  I knew what was coming. She dipped one shoulder and then the other. The robe slipped off. I could feel the seductive heat radiate off her naked body.

  I stood on weak knees.

  Her eyes didn’t leave mine and she said nothing. She didn’t need to, she knew she had control.

  I reached out and lifted her in my arms. She tucked her head in my neck and her lips grazed my skin.

  I knew what I had to do next. At the threshold to her room, I set her down, turned her toward the room, and slapped her hard on the ass. “Get your clothes together. And hurry.”

  She spun around. “What? Wait.”

  I gently pushed her into the room and closed the door. Just in time. I couldn’t have held out another second. I hurried to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The only thing that had saved me from certain doom were Dad’s words whispering in my ear.

  I waited in the hall. When she came out of her room, she was tucking a loose-fitting blouse into a tight-fitting pair of denim pants over black cowboy boots. “Where we going?”

  “I’m setting you up in an out-of-the-way motel. Then I’m finishing this thing before anyone else gets hurt. Where’s your bag?”

  She stopped tucking. “No, you’re not, Bruno Johnson. You’re not dumping me off like I’m some kind of problem you need to hide away.”

  I couldn’t stay with her in a motel and maintain what little integrity I had left. “Then what do you suggest?”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Oh, no you’re not.”

  “Why not? You don’t think I’d be safer with you than dumped off at some fleabag by myself?”

  “Quit saying it like that. I’m not just dumping you off. It’ll be a nice enough place. Wicks will have my ass if he finds out I took you with me on the street when my job was to keep you out of harm’s way.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and set her jaw. “Well, you’re not dumping me off. Either you stay with me or you take me with you. Those are your only two options.”

  “No.”

  She started to untuck her blouse. “Then I’m going to change and go into work.”

  “Why are you doing this? Why do you have to be so obstinate?”

  She took a step closer, put her hand on my chest, and lowered her voice. “I can’t sit in a motel room waiting to see what’s going to happen. Please take me with you. I promise I won’t get in the way.”

  “Oh, man. Okay, but if I do, you duck when I say duck and don’t stop to ask why. You’ll do exactly as I say. You understand?”

  “Yes. Anything you say goes. I promise.”

  “All right, come on then. I know I’m going to regret this.”

  She did a little hop to keep up going down the short hall into the living room. “I promise you won’t regret this.” She picked up the Walther PPK from the kitchen table where she’d left it and started to put it in her back pocket.

  I held out my hand. “No guns. You’ll not be put in a position where you’ll need one. If I have to go knock on a door, you will be sitting in the car waiting.”

  Her eyes turned hard. She was trying to figure how far she could push the issue. She decided and slapped the gun into my hand. “Fine.” She turned and headed for the door. I stuck the gun in my back pocket and followed.

  We got in my truck and took off.

  “Where we going first?”

  “I’m going to try and find a woman that’s wrapped up in all this mess.”

  “That’s all you’re going to tell me? You’re just going to try and find this woman? Come on, Bruno, don’t treat me like I don’t know what’s going on. Who do you think tries your cases and reads all your reports.”

  I took my eyes off the road to look at her. “Believe me when I tell you that what you see on paper doesn’t have the slightest resemblance to what really happens out here on the street.”

  “Maybe I’ll see something from a different perspective that could help.”

  I downshifted and stopped at a red signal. “All right. A couple of years ago, we were hunting a murder suspect. We tracked him to one of Borkow’s massage parlors over at the border of Torrance and Hawthorne, a place called the Willow Tree. There was a woman inside named Lizzette who I think was tight with Borkow. The violent crimes team can’t find her. They have her apartment in Santa Monica staked out waiting for her to show.”

  “Okay, not to throw a wet blanket on this whole idea of yours, but what makes you think you can find this woman when a team of guys can’t?”

  “Because I’m not going to be looking for her directly. I’m going after a friend of hers named Twyla, another woman who was working at the Willow Tree who was there at the same time.”

  “I get it. So you’re going to move down the chain of associates until you find one of them and then work your way back up hoping someone in the end will give up Borkow?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I like it. How do you know where this Twyla lives?”

  “I don’t. But I ran into her again on another investigation while looking for someone else. Most of these crooks on the street are loosely related with no more than three degrees of separation. When I ran into her, I pretended that I’d never seen her before and filed away the information for a later date.”

  “Like for today.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Nice. How much farther?”

  “As I recall, she was staying over off Greenleaf and Atlantic in East Compton.”

  “Good, that’s not too far.” She went silent for a while and looked out the window to watch the early morning traffic pass through the intersection. I watched her with stolen glimpses. She suddenly lost her smile.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “I was just thinking about poor Gloria.” She still wouldn’t look at me and continued to watch the cars filled with people on their way to work. “Are you going to tell me what happened to her?”

  “Not if I don’t have to. I don’t think you want to know.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  The signal changed. I clutched, shifted, and took off without answering her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  DRIVING DOWN GREENLEAF, I realized I’d made a mistake. None of the houses were familiar; no landmarks sparked my memory. I wove in and around the blocks, continually moving north searching for something recognizable.

  Nicky caught on to my dilemma. “Bruno, are we lost?”

  I didn’t answer and made the turn from Atlantic Avenue onto Atlantic Drive. On the left, a large broken-down estate had a deeply set-back front yard that had gone to seed. The one I was looking for. I made one pass and picked a spot down the street to sit and watch. I shut the truck off and scrunched down. Nicky tried to do the same, but the cab of the Ford Ranger wasn’t large enough so I put my arm around her and pulled her in tight. Her hair smelled of fresh shampoo and filled a deep yearning. We stayed that way, not speaking, no words necessary.

  Two junker cars with thick yellow dirt caked on their windshields sat in front of the target location. From the looks of them, they hadn’t been driven in months, maybe years. There was no way to tell if anyone was in the house. No one moved on the street—the type I was looking for wouldn’t come out until sunset.

  Four or five decades earlier, this part of East Compton, a rural, semi-farm area with huge houses on large lots, had been “the gateway” to Los Angeles. The neighborhood had gone bad. Money fled, and squatters moved in. Shrubs and trees, weeds and tall grass, had long ago taken over houses left to molder into nonexistence. Roofs sagged. Windows were boarded up, and here and there was even a burned-out skeleton.

  Nicky said, “Can I ask you s
omething?”

  I cringed. “Depends.”

  She swiveled around to face me. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Can we please just concentrate on the surveillance?” I didn’t want to talk. Words could only mean pain.

  She sighed. “Are you going to tell me what I did wrong? I thought we had something good going. I thought you felt the same way. What changed?”

  “Bringing personal issues out on the street can distract from the focus of the operation. That’s dangerous.”

  She faced me with brown, angry eyes. “There is something wrong. I’m asking nicely. You owe me that.”

  “Look, I—”

  “It’s that damn unwritten rule again, isn’t it? The one where cops don’t mess around with another cop’s woman even if they’re separated. That’s totally not fair.”

  I didn’t want to discuss an issue that couldn’t be logically resolved, especially not with a trained prosecutor. I’d seen her eviscerate people in court. I didn’t stand a chance.

  “Well, are you going to say something?”

  I stared at her.

  She slid over, her back to the car door.

  “Bruno, say something.”

  “That unwritten rule is there for a reason. Cops working the street need one thing more than anything else, and that’s to be able to trust one another. To have your partner’s back is everything in law enforcement. Without it, the whole system breaks down. If your partner can’t trust you because you’re stealing his woman or someone else’s woman, then how can you be trusted to back him in a time of dire need?”

  “I understand that but this isn’t … it isn’t like that. It’s not.”

  “Wicks knows.”

  Her mouth sagged open and then shut. “I figured as much after he saw me in front of your apartment. He’s not a fool. I’m sorry it happened. I am. Let me talk to him. I’ll make him understand.”

  “He’s a friend of your husband’s. Wicks is also my friend.”

  Was my friend, anyway.

  “So Wicks has talked to you about this? Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? That guy is a hound when it comes to women.”