by Steve Garcia
“Hey, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He took the chair next to Kahn, then stuck his hand out. “Hi, Brian Mangan, vice. Let me buy you a drink to celebrate our friend Cresner’s return.” He nudged the ten-spot back toward Kahn and laid a twenty down. “Take our drinks out of this.”
“You got it,” Willy said.
“Well, that’s damn nice of you, except I’m not exactly a friend of Cresner’s. I work with a guy who was his partner years ago. Ray Brooks.”
“I know Ray. He’s all right.”
“My name’s Donald Kahn—Hollywood.” He raised his glass in salute and took a deep draw of the foamy brew.
A stocky guy with a full mustache sidled up to Mangan. “Captain, I have to run.”
“Already?” Mangan said.
“’Fraid so. It’s nearly nine.”
“Okay, Sarge. See you tomorrow.”
The man turned to leave, paused, and took a second look at Kahn. “Hey, you look familiar.”
“Don Kahn. I’m Harlen Wagner’s partner. You’re Krajcek right? From the Super Bowl party.”
He stared at Kahn. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you get wounded a while back?”
“Yeah. Got shot in the afternoon and engaged that night. I’m pretty much recovered from the former, not so much from the latter.”
“Ha! Good to hear it. Well, I have to run. See you guys later.” Krajcek headed for the door.
“Would you excuse me, Captain?” said Kahn. “I’ve got some friends sitting back here.”
“Absolutely. You go ahead.”
Kahn hopped off the stool and headed to the table where the other detectives from the squad were seated. He nodded to the others and took a seat.
“I’m not impressed with this whole arrangement,” Siley said. “You say you tried to call him?”
“I called his house,” Brooks said. “His wife said a patrol car picked him up about ten minutes before I called. That was about forty minutes ago. It’s about a thirty-minute drive from his house to here. Lord knows I made the drive enough times. He has to take the oh-two all the way in. Maybe they got stuck in traffic.”
Willy T. had handed the bar off to a kid named Aaron. He seemed too young but, according to Willy T., he knew how to whip up virtually any drink you could name.
Two waitresses had replaced one. Danica and Yvette began moving through the bar. They were both college kids from UCLA working part time. Danica was a white girl with dark-black hair. Yvette was a light-skinned black girl with red hair. Both were beauties that Wagner wanted to talk into a three-way. Kahn couldn’t blame him.
“How’s your fiancée?” Coombs asked.
“Angie’s fine, thanks.” Kahn glanced around for Wagner and spotted him talking to Kelly Tripucka—one of the female cops he wanted to bang.
“You guys pick a wedding date yet?”
“I don’t know. I mean, no. Shit. I just smile and nod. I have no idea what’s going on. Angie sort of had things planned out. Then her mom got involved and everything changed. The last I heard, we’re looking at spring or fall or one of the other seasons. After much debate, the primary color will be peach, mint-green, or maybe ivory. We’re renting a hall somewhere unless we hold the wedding outside. We’re having cacti instead of flowers.”
“Cacti?”
“Angie’s mom wants colored cacti at the church and as centerpieces at the reception. I’m trying to imagine my drunken friends doing a conga in a room full of sharp cactus plants.”
“Maybe I’ll just send a gift.”
There was a sudden surge of noise by the entrance. Spontaneous applause filled the room as everyone stood. The word spread: “Cresner’s here.”
Kahn was tall enough to see over most of the heads and saw an old man hobbling down a channel that had opened up in the crowd. So this was the legendary Jerry Cresner. He looked like a scarecrow. His face was gaunt, and his short, dark-brown hair had streaks of gray. Although he tried to smile and wave as he passed through the room, each step he took brought the flicker of a grimace as pain cut the deep wrinkles of his face. Before he was shot, the story was that Cresner could run down any suspect. Now he struggled to cross twenty feet of barroom floor.
Cresner leaned heavily on a sturdy wooden cane. A small replica of a police badge had been embedded near the top. Walking to the chair had apparently drained him of all his strength. He dropped into the seat, took a deep breath, then waved to everyone in the room. “Thank you all for coming out. I’m glad to be back.”
“You were gone?” someone called out.
Everyone laughed. As some of his closer friends gathered around Cresner’s table, he slowly disappeared from Kahn’s view.
Kahn turned to Brooks. “What do you think?”
“He looks like shit.” Brooks scooted his chair away from the table. “I’m going to go say hello.”
Siley stood as well. “I’ll go with you. You know, I bet he lost fifty pounds.”
Captain LaSalle, Cresner’s superior officer, had reached his table and officially welcomed him back to duty. “Jerry, on behalf of all of your friends, we’re glad you’re back. Your doctor told me that you need to take it easy. I told him you were always good at taking things easy.”
There was applause and a lot of laughing. Kahn stood on his tiptoes. He couldn’t see Cresner but LaSalle’s face was visible.
“Seriously, we know that you can’t do everything yet, but your wife told us that there is one thing you can still do very well.”
The bar filled with appropriate laughter. Captain LaSalle looked around, feigning ignorance. “What?” he smiled. “I don’t know what they’re laughing at, Jerry. All I know is that Mary said you’ve been practicing a lot for the last three months.”
More laughter.
“Somebody had to help him exercise those hips,” the same joker as before shouted out.
Even more laughs.
“Come on, people,” Captain LaSalle said. “I was talking about watching TV. Mary said Jerry’s been doing a lot of that. Since football season is upon us,” he said, “what better way to relax than to sit in that recliner of yours, eating a slice of Mary’s world-famous orange-apple pie, and watching the games on…”
One of the officers pushed a cart into the circle near the table where Cresner sat, a blanket covering something on top. With everyone’s eyes on the prize, Captain LaSalle finished his statement “…your brand-new plasma TV.” Simultaneously, the officer pulled the blanket.
Kahn couldn’t see him but he heard the surprise in Cresner’s voice. “Are you kidding me? Damn. That’s really great.”
A chant of “Speech! Speech!” filled the room.
With help, Cresner rose and turned slightly, first one way, then another. “I didn’t plan a speech. I guess if I had known that getting laid up for three months would get me a new TV, I’d have done it years ago!” he said. “Seriously, guys, thanks for all the cards and calls. Your support proves once again the camaraderie of the boys in blue. Thanks, everyone.”
He sat to a round of applause. Danica pushed another cart with a welcome-back cake on it. She led the singing of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”
“Cresner’s not going back on the street, is he?” Coombs asked. “The man can barely stand, let alone walk or run.”
“Captain Siley said that he’ll be doing nothing but desk duty until the doctors clear him,” said Albanese. “From the looks of him, that won’t be for a long time.”
Brooks and Siley returned to the table. Brooks gulped his gin and tonic. “Whew. That was rough, seeing him in that shape.”
“I still don’t know who approved his return.” Captain Siley poked at the slice of lime in his glass with the swizzle stick. “Guys, I have to get going. Margie and some of the neighbors play cards every other week. There’s a widower from two doors along makes passes at my wife. If I don’t get there by nine thirty, I think she may go off with him.”
Kahn bought another round. Brooks raised his glass. “Here’s to old friends and their hopes and dreams.”
“Wait for me,” Coombs said. She grabbed her drink. Everyone clinked glasses. “To old friends.”
Brooks stood up, drink in hand. “Time for me to go home. I’m going to say good-bye to Cresner. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
“I think I’ve had enough, too,” Coombs said. “By the way, Sal called. He and Wallace have an arson and a homicide.”
“Long night for them,” Albanese said. “But not for me. How about you, Don?”
“Angie has parent–teacher meetings tonight. I think I’ll hang out here for a little while.”
Kahn checked the room, looking for Wagner. It didn’t surprise him to see his partner pressing close to Kelly Tripucka again, the rookie from Sergeant Blaylock’s group. Kahn hoped for Wagner’s sake that the attraction was mutual.
It wasn’t that long ago that he and Wagner would have been tag-teaming, trying to get girls like Danica and Yvette to meet them after work. Now, with Angie in his life, his partner was left to his own devices. The poor bastard would probably have to pick between one of the numerous gorgeous girls here tonight.
Tripucka suddenly shouted out, “Who do you think you are?”
Blaylock immediately stepped in. “What the hell is going on here?”
Wagner was gesturing wildly, but Kahn couldn’t hear what he was saying. Most likely he was whipping out the standard excuses. No harm, no foul. She misunderstood me. I didn’t know that she was married, engaged, spoken for, your daughter, a nun…
Kahn laughed. Angie looked better all the time. Cresner got up. He lost his balance momentarily as the cane slipped, and then he hobbled slowly toward the door to the men’s room.
Kahn watched him make his way across the bar. He remembered being shot and how scared he was and how he was afraid his insides wouldn’t heal. He had been very lucky, unlike poor Cresner, who was obviously still having problems. Still, at least he got a TV out of it.
4
Reyes let Johnny Jin Moon circle around the outer perimeter of the site. He’d explained their initial suspicions about the homicide and arson.
“That’s crazy talk. Why would someone burn down my building?”
Jesus, thought Reyes. This guy needs to look at his priorities.
“We were hoping you could answer that. And maybe give us an idea about who the body might be.”
“None of my employees should have been in there. The contractor was going to be painting and I told everyone to go home. Too many fumes.”
“Can you account for all of your people?”
“No. I’ll check on them right away.”
“We’d appreciate it if you could let us have a list of their names and addresses as soon as possible, so we can carry out our own checks.”
“Sure, sure.”
“We have a lot of questions as well, Mr. Moon,” Reyes said. “Can you tell us where you were this afternoon?”
“I had a late lunch meeting with the producer, director, and one of the money men behind Saturnsaurus.” He winced. “All their equipment was in there. I hope to hell it was insured.”
“Whose equipment are you referring to?”
“The people who are filming Saturnsaurus—The Invasion.”
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Mr. Moon,” Wallace said. “It’s nearly ten now. Did you meet with these people all afternoon?”
Moon glanced at Wallace, then Reyes. “Sort of.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“I was helping select cast members. You know, select?”
“We’re going to need names of the people you met with today.” Reyes tapped his tablet. “For the record.”
“You’ll have to talk to the casting agent for the names. And, uh, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell my wife where I was. You know?”
“Uh-huh. Do you know anyone who might have a reason to burn down your place?” Reyes glanced over and waved as the last firefighters packed up. “Do you owe anybody money?”
“Everybody has a man to pay, detective,” said Moon. “But the answer to your real question is no. I don’t have any problem debts.”
“Maybe you did something that pissed somebody off?” Wallace asked. “Your local gangbangers perhaps?”
“I haven’t had trouble with anybody around here.” His hand suddenly shot into his pocket. Reyes tensed, but Moon whipped out his business card holder. “Here,” he said. “Here’s my card. I have to go, gentlemen. I have to call my employees and my insurance agent. And the folks at TerrorTory Productions. God, maybe the man in there is one of their people. Or the construction company’s. Shit. I had better call them as well.”
“TerrorTory Productions?” Wallace said. “Who are they?
“They’re a small independent—aren’t they all—specializing in space horror movies. The owner is a lady named Tory Moa.”
“And who is your construction company?” Reyes asked.
“Pearl. Hold on.” Moon pulled the number up on his cell phone screen and gave it to Reyes. They took the number for Tory Moa also.
“Remember to call us when you finish checking on your employees,” said Reyes.
Moon nodded and headed for his car. “I hope you find the bastards who did this.”
“We’ll do our best,” Reyes said, but Moon didn’t wait to hear any more. He closed the door and was already making a call as he pulled away.
Good night, Moon. Reyes smiled. Nando had loved that story at bedtime.
He turned to Wallace. “What do you think?”
“I don’t think he had anything to do with either the fire or the killing. The body bothered him only because he thought that it might have been someone working on his building. All of his other concerns seemed to be about his staff, getting the film back on track, and getting his business up and running.”
“It could be that he burned it down for the insurance.”
“Yeah, I suppose, but it’s not unusual to make a call to your insurance company after something like this. If we’re not out of here within the next hour, I fully expect we’ll see his agent down here taking pictures, nosing around, trying to figure out a way that they don’t have to pay Moon off.”
“Hey, guys,” Hastings said. “The meat wagon is here. They’ve got the body loaded. Doc wants to know if you need anything before he leaves.”
“No,” Wallace said. “Tell them if they get anything important in the next hour or so, we’ll be at the station. Otherwise one of us will call in the morning. We’ll need a patrol to keep an eye on this overnight. We may be back tomorrow if we have some more to go on.”
“Gotcha,” Hastings said. His thumb depressed the button on his radio. “Hey, Marcell. Wrap it with a bow. Tell the boys in the back that they can go.”
Reyes checked his watch. “Let’s go back and file our report.”
“You seem in a hurry.”
“I kind of had plans tonight.”
“Your job getting in the way of your life again?”
“Sure does seem to happen a lot, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it does. Times two in my case.”
Reyes was surprised by the answer but before he could say another word, a titanium-colored Dodge Charger screeched to a halt next to Hasting’s police car. A pudgy man who, in the right outfit, could pass for a fat Elvis impersonator stepped out of the car. He slammed his palm on the hood of his car over and over again while screaming at the top of his lungs. “Goddamn that motherfucking son of a bitch. I’ll kill the bastard.”
“I guess I don’t have to ask him if he speaks English,” Reyes said.
“Who’s in charge here?” the man yelled. “I need to talk to the man in charge.”
“I’m the woman in charge,” said Wallace. “My name’s Detective Wallace. This is Detective Reyes.”
“My name is Sonny Giordano wi
th Pearl Construction. This is…was…my build.”
“So, you’re Moon’s contractor? What can we do for you?”
“Not a damn thing, but I can tell you who the prick is who burned this building down. It was that scum-sucking Sam Davey, that’s who.”
Reyes jotted down the name. “You think this fire was intentionally started?”
“Hell yes, I do.”
“Who is this Sam Davey and why would he want to burn down your building?”
“He’s a competitor, you know? Sphinx Construction. He was really pissed when he didn’t get this job. He called me a crook.”
“So he torched the place? That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
“Extreme? The son of a bitch threatened me. As soon as he found out that I was awarded phase two of the job, he said he’d get me and my brother-in-law.”
“Mr. Giordano,” Wallace said, “calm down. Are you saying this is about business?”
Reyes noticed that she hadn’t mentioned the more pressing concern of the body.
“Yeah, pretty much. Our bids for the film build were almost identical. Since I was already on site with the expansion project, it was more efficient to let me finish both jobs.”
“So,” Reyes said, “that would piss him off so much that he’d burn the place down?”
“I’d say that was for him to answer. I’ll tell you what I do know, though. The only reason he has the balls to do this shit is because my brother-in-law isn’t around.”
“Why wouldn’t he—you know—burn down the building if your brother-in-law was around?”
“Because my brother-in-law would kick his ass.”
“I see. We may need to talk to your brother-in-law later. Can you give me his name?”
“Bart Pearl. He owns the company.”
“I think I should let you know that we found a body in the fire.”
“What?” Giordano sputtered, his face drained, a sick ashen color replacing the pink in his cheeks.
“Who was it? I mean…it couldn’t have been Bart. He’s in jail. Incarcerated.”
“We don’t have any identification on the victim yet other than it was a male. Do you have any guesses who the deceased might be?” Reyes asked.
