Shaker

by Scott Frank

  The mayor was just glad people had moved on from his own, not quite so heroic, video. It was bad enough that Savannah had stopped returning his calls, texts, or emails, her assistant claiming that she was either “unavailable” or “traveling.” The worst part is that his name had suddenly become a punch line. All the power he once felt in its silent recitation vanished overnight.

  It had taken less than twenty-four hours for the myriad musical GIFs and YouTube videos to go viral. The image of the mayor diving under the desk at the nurses’ station had become the most popular wallpaper in America, second only to his peeking out from under said desk like an overgrown third grader. But come on, wasn’t he doing exactly what every elementary school kid in the state had been taught to do in that situation? Except for the shoving-the-nurse-out-of-the-way part? Although, as Evan optimistically pointed out, one could watch the video and think that he was trying to help her, you know, pull her under there with him. But then, Joy Levine, in a rare moment of nerve, said, “No offense, Evan, but one would have to be a fucking idiot to think that.”

  Since The Desking, as it was now referred to, the mayor avoided the press like typhoid, the L.A. Times venting their impatience on the front page with the headline Where in the World Is Miguel Santiago?

  Joy felt that no good could come from the mayor talking to anyone just now. She believed that it would all blow over eventually and then Miguel Santiago could show his face again. Somewhere the press wouldn’t bother him. Like at, say, a ribbon cutting at a day-care center in Compton.

  But the next thing anyone knew, the mysterious Roy Cooper went all Charles Bronson on the boyz in the hood and the mayor could no longer hide. So this morning, feeling more out of his depth than usual, he had summoned his inner circle to try to figure out how to deal with this latest development. The public, of course, loved what they saw. This was way better than the video Alonzo Zarate shot of Peres getting whacked. For one thing, this one was much clearer and, as the day wore on and more videos were posted, one could watch it from any number of different angles.

  Gordy Savage, in uniform for that afternoon’s press conference where he would stand alongside the mayor while he mumbled some shit Evan wrote about why vigilantism is bad, marveled at the sheer number of people who caught the action on their phones.

  “This time, we’ll certainly be able to ID everybody on the street that night.”

  Leila said, “Yet you still haven’t been able to ID this Roy Cooper.”

  “We know who he is,” Gordy said. “And we know where he lives.”

  “You know where he says he lives.” Leila then looked right at the chief and added, “From what I’m hearing, you don’t know the first thing about him.”

  The mayor stepped in, still fascinated by the footage he’d been watching, and said, “I’m sure all of these people are going to try to follow in Alonzo Zarate’s footsteps and sell their footage?”

  Joy said, “They’re too late. If they wanted to sell any of it, they shouldn’t have posted it all on Facebook.”

  “Forget selling it,” Leila said. “I’m worried about how these images are going to stir up the community.”

  Gordy took the bait. “How so?”

  “You don’t think that people applauding this white man shooting and beating the shit out of these black youngsters will have some effect out there?”

  “What youngsters? The twins are both in their fucking twenties. Their late twenties. And the other two look like teenagers to me.”

  Leila said, “Are you trying to fuck with me or are you really that stupid?”

  The temperature in the room dropped another few degrees and for the moment Gordy seemed to have lost all power of speech.

  “Let’s not quibble,” Leila said. “They’re four young black men and one white asshole turned on by the fact that he has an excuse to kill them.”

  Gordy somehow found his voice and said, “In self-defense.”

  “What was he doing there in the first place?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Context is everything.”

  “Not to me, it isn’t. Especially not if one or maybe two of those young black men had something to do with the Peres execu—” He looked at the mayor, who waved him on with an I give up gesture. “With the murder of Frank Peres.”

  Leila said, “We don’t know that for sure. What we do know is that the media is now covering this Roy Cooper like he’s our own, homegrown George Zimmerman. Like he got mugged once, so now he’s out there on some kind of vendetta.”

  The mayor stared at the two younger boys on the screen. One particular angle was closer and brighter. He would even call it well composed, pleasing. Their faces were familiar. Especially the pretty one. Where had he seen him before? The mayor was certain he’d seen that kid recently, maybe even met him. But, again, where? The walk through Watts last week? He shook a lot of black hands. No. Maybe that group of kids from South Central he spoke to in the lobby here at City Hall a few days ago. No, these two didn’t look like they go on many school field trips.

  He looked up and saw Evan staring at him. Evan gave him that subtle head shake, the way he did whenever he was trying to stop the mayor from saying something stupid.

  And then it hit him.

  Oh, fuck.

  The hospital. The elevator.

  Fuckity fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

  The kid said his mom had cancer. He took a fucking picture with him!

  The mayor looked at Joy. He had to tell her. They had to get in front of this. But, now, Evan was vigorously shaking his head. Do not say a word.

  What could Evan be thinking? That maybe no one will catch it? Maybe they won’t. Maybe no one will make the connection that these two thugs who quite possibly gunned down Frank Peres took a selfie with the mayor at Valley Presbyterian while they were there to…what? Clearly, the story about the kid’s sick mother was just that, a story.

  Roy Cooper was a witness to the murder of Frank Peres. That’s why they were there.

  But Roy Cooper split before they could get to him. And somehow ended up going after them. Why? Suddenly, the mayor didn’t want to think this through any further. He worried that the answers would only lead to more humiliation.

  While the mayor definitely had a problem, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, Roy Cooper would take care of it for him. After all, he already got one of them. Maybe the best thing is to leave him out there on the streets.

  That’s when Leila said to Gordy, “You need to get these kids into custody before they’re gunned down on the streets by this Roy Cooper.”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “I mean, God forbid, they get killed in any way that makes them look helpless.”

  “Except they’re not helpless.”

  “Then God forbid,” she said, “some vigilante does what the police couldn’t do, and this Roy Cooper becomes an even bigger hero. First he tries to stop Peres’s killing and then he goes after the killers himself.”

  The mayor heard himself say, “Wow.”

  She turned to him. “A white man hunting down and killing two young black men. Can you imagine that?”

  The mayor certainly could. Even without the earthquake and the subsequent frustration in some of these neighborhoods, that would surely be the match Leila loved to talk about.

  Gordy nodded. “Of course, I know that you’re right.”

  “Thank you, Chief.”

  “So untie my hands.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. You just said that the best thing for everyone is to get these young men in custody, so let me put a cop on it who can catch them.”

  Leila shook her head. “Not her.”

  “No one knows that neighborhood better.”

  “Were you not listening to what I just said?”

  “Give Kelly Maguire this footage and I promise you that within twenty-four hours we’ll have the kid in the video as well as the other two th
at are still out there somewhere.”

  Leila smiled and said, “I just need to be sure that I’m understanding you correctly. You want to put the most famously racist LAPD cop since the eighties on the case and set her loose?”

  Joy jumped in. “Leila, you do know that Maguire is actually Hispanic herself? That her father was at one time an illegal immigrant?”

  “Bless her heart.”

  Gordy said, “She made a shit terrible mistake. I’ll be the first to say I was disgusted by her behavior. But she’s too valuable to lose, not if you want to get these kids yesterday.”

  Encouraged that Leila was nodding, Gordy went on. “We could do it very quietly. She doesn’t have to be the face of the investigation. She’d just be in the background. What would you think of a scenario like that?”

  Leila stood and said, “I think that you might as well just go out and start the riot yourself.”

  The mayor jumped in, smiling as he said, “Leila, come on, there must be some way to make this work?”

  Leila looked at him. “I’m very sorry, Miguel, but I can’t be a part of this.” She shook her heads at all of them, adjusted her silk scarf, and walked out of the office.

  They all sat there in silence for a moment. Waiting for the mayor to say something.

  But it was Evan who was the first one to speak. He said, “Leila’s right.”

  He turned to the mayor. “Maguire’s a problem. And it’s not just about the media and how they play it. People on the street know what she looks like. So what happens if she makes another mistake in the middle of an official investigation? That comes back to us.”

  Bless his little dark heart, the mayor thought. He’s more worried about everybody in the room keeping their jobs than what might happen out there on the streets. Well, not everybody in the room. Just the mayor and, of course, Evan.

  “As I recall,” Evan went on, “Maguire’s ex-partner, Detective Bell, is African American. If memory serves, he caught a lot of grief for defending her. I suggest Detective Bell lead the investigation.”

  Gordy said, “He is leading it.”

  Evan held up his hand, “I suggest he continue to lead the investigation. But…that he very privately…consult with Sergeant Maguire.”

  “How’s that any different than what I was suggesting?” Gordy asked.

  “It’s different,” Evan said, “in that in my scenario, she’s not actually on the case.”

  “Then how the hell does she help him?”

  Evan looked at the mayor, who understood. But Evan couldn’t say it aloud.

  “What he’s saying, Gordy,” the mayor said, “is that you can do whatever the fuck you want. But we don’t want to know about it.”

  After buzzing Kelly’s condo from the security gate for ten minutes without any response, Rudy badged a mailman as he was getting out of his truck and had the guy let him in. She didn’t answer the door either, so he went back outside, crossed the small courtyard with a fountain featuring what, to Rudy, looked like two angels pissing on each other, and climbed over the patio wall, shredding a wool blend pocket on the rough stucco in the process. There Rudy discovered that the sliding glass door had not only been left unlocked, it was ajar, a piece of the curtain blowing out through the small opening. Rudy pushed it aside and walked right on in.

  “Kelly?”

  He took in the bong and the empty wine bottles, the overstuffed ashtrays and the clothes strewn all over the floor and hoped to Christ that she hadn’t OD’d. He called her name again, was starting down the hall when Kelly, in an open bathrobe, came out of the bedroom, her Beretta down at her side, and nearly ran into him.

  “Rudy? What the fuck?”

  He put up his hands. “Don’t shoot.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You don’t answer your phone. You don’t answer your door. I thought maybe you shot yourself.”

  She looked at the gun in her hand. “That how you think I’d do it?”

  He said, “It’s how I’d do it,” and then, “We need to talk.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Not about you.”

  To Rudy’s mild surprise, a woman now came out of the bedroom. She was petite, in her underwear and what Rudy was pretty sure was one of Kelly’s shirts, now unbuttoned to the navel. The woman smiled at the two of them and said, “Party in the hallway.”

  Rudy said, “My lucky day.”

  “Okay, fatso,” Kelly said, shoving Rudy toward the living room, “give us a minute.”

  He wandered back into the living room and started to pick up the mess, Kelly’s house guest whispering something about her ex dropping her son off in an hour. He could hear the bedroom door close and went in search of a garbage bag.

  Kelly came out twenty minutes later, showered, dressed in jeans and a UCSB sweatshirt, and caught him picking up the last of the trash.

  “You don’t have to do that, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I’m almost done.”

  She grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the now spotless coffee table, fell back on the couch, and lit one.

  Rudy asked, “Who’s your friend?”

  “That’s Erin. She’s down the hall.”

  “How convenient.”

  “Rudy. Seriously. Stop cleaning.”

  He stood up as Erin now came into the room, dressed in shorts, a T-shirt, and work boots. She smiled and said to Kelly, “I’ll come by later on.”

  Kelly smiled back, a bit forced Rudy thought, and said, “Be great.”

  Erin then extended her hand to Rudy and said, “Nice meeting you,” even though they hadn’t actually met, and then she was gone.

  “So,” he said, “what’s Erin’s story?”

  “She’s a lactation consultant. Or a doula. Or both. Or she used to be. Now I think she runs, or maybe just works at some nursery in Ocean Park.”

  “She likes babies.”

  “Not that kind of nursery. She’s into plants. You should see the lovely little felony garden she’s got growing in her bathroom.” Kelly blew out a long line of smoke and then added, “Little girl’s got quite the green thumb.”

  “What about her other fingers?”

  “Funny. Will you sit down already? You’re making me nervous.”

  He grabbed a kitchen chair and sat down and gave her a long look.

  “So, what, are you gay now?”

  “Erin’s just a friend.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since the other night.”

  “This some way for you to get back at Steven?”

  “I don’t know what it is. I just wanted to feel good.”

  “And do you?”

  She said, “Yeah,” and then nodded. “I feel really good.”

  She saw that he was sulking and said, “Don’t be jealous, it’s gross.”

  “She’s not the only one, you know, could make you feel good.”

  “You’re married.”

  “At the moment.”

  “You’re also an idiot,” she said and got up from the couch. “You want some coffee?”

  “No thanks, but I made you a pot.”

  “How thoughtful.”

  “I figured you could use it.”

  She went into the kitchen, poured herself a cup, and looked at him over the top of it. “Why are you bothering me?”

  “Where’s your laptop?”

  Rudy showed Kelly enough of the footage of Roy Cooper making short work of the four members of the Vineland Boyz to know things were now officially upside down. The guy, despite the holes in his body, could move, that was for sure, he’d clearly been trained. But for what?

  Rudy said, “Interesting that he let the other kid go.”

  “Looked like the kid said something to him.”

  “I was thinking that when you find him, maybe you can ask him what he said.”

  Kelly looked up from the computer.

  “If you’re not too busy being a lesbian.”

  “They cut me l
oose. You were there, remember?”

  “They want you back.”

  Kelly wondered who they were.

  “You’d have to behave, of course.”

  She sat back down and said, “I’m sure you got lots of people can help you.”

  “Not enough, as you well know.”

  “The kid in the video, not one of the Marcus twins, but the one he put down with the fucked-up face? Goes by Truck. I don’t know his real name.”

  “Kenny Meadows.” Rudy smiled at her. “See? You can’t help yourself.”

  She sat back down on the couch with her coffee and folded her legs under her and said, “I’m quitting.”

  “Bullshit.”

  She looked out the window and said, “I don’t give a shit anymore. And that’s not a good place to be.”

  “No, it’s not. But before you decide what you do or don’t wanna do, let me tell you where we’re at.”

  “You’re nowhere. You got everybody in the wind.”

  “I’ve got a gun that did both Peres and Shine.”

  “You have ballistics, not the gun.”

  “You know what we found among the trash at Dehougne?”

  “A signed confession.”

  “Something better,” he said. “We got a map from Payless Car Rental with Martin Shine’s address written on it.”

  “Map?”

  “The little slip of paper you found was torn off one of those maps they give you.”

  “They still do that?”

  “If you’re old or you ask.”

  “You’ve got footage of him at the counter?”

  “As well as a statement from the clerk who showed him the route. But that’s not the best part.” He gave her a big grin.

  “Look at you, all aquiver.”

  “On the security footage, you can clearly see he’s got a small duffel with him.”

  “So?”

  “So it got me thinking, what happened to it?”

  “Stolen out of the car along with the radio and the other shit.”

  “Probably, but it does make me wonder how he gets a gun on the plane. He can’t carry it on, and they screen the checked bags. Or at least they’re supposed to.”

  “He picked it up. Somebody gave it to him. What difference does it make?”