by Tami Hoag
He swiped a hand across his face to brush away the tears that panic had brought to his eyes.
One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight . . .
What if he didn’t hear them coming? His pulse was pounding in his ears.
Ninety-seven, ninety-six, ninety-five . . .
Could they hold him as a material witness? In jail?
Ninety-four, ninety-three . . .
Would they call Children and Family Services right away?
Ninety-two . . .
If they took his walkie-talkie, he wouldn’t be able to reach Jace.
Ninety-one.
If CFS took him, Jace would never be able to find him. Ever.
The tears beginning to come faster, Tyler scrambled back from the edge of the roof, ran to the other side of the building, and started down the fire escape. The iron was rusted. Some of the connections to the building were loose, the old bolts sheared off. It could hold Tyler’s weight because he was small, but it rattled and shook, and he hoped no one could hear it.
His feet moved as fast as they could. He was quick, but he was scared, and fear caused mistakes. He stubbed the thick rubber toe of his sneaker and stumbled once, grabbing at the railing as he fell, scraping his knuckles, banging his elbow, then catching hold.
The last part of the escape was a ladder pulled up a dozen feet from the ground to stop people from climbing the stairs from below. Tyler grabbed hold with both hands and tried to force it down, but he wasn’t strong enough, and it didn’t move.
Without stopping to think about the danger, he climbed like a monkey to the other side of the ladder, the ground a long way below him. He would have been scared if he’d had time to look. Hanging on above his head with both hands, he jumped up and down on the rung below him. The ladder dropped a couple of inches, a couple of inches, then shot downward to its full length so fast, it took his breath away, then stopped so abruptly that Tyler kept falling, his momentum yanking his hands away from the ladder.
He fell the last five feet and hit the ground with a thud on his backside, his breath leaving him in one big huff.
Rolling over onto his hands and knees, Tyler pushed to his feet and braced himself against the brick wall until the earth stopped tilting beneath him.
The cops had gone inside. The alley was the only way to go. If he turned to the right, he would be on the street quickly, but he didn’t trust that there wouldn’t be a police car waiting. That was the direction the black-and-white cop car had come from earlier. If he turned left, he would have to dash past the lot. If Detective Kyle had come back outside . . . or Chi . . .
He turned left and crept along the back of the building, peering carefully around when he reached the corner. The lot and the loading dock were empty except for Boo Zhu, still lost in his misery. Tyler took three deep breaths and ran across the opening as fast as he could. He ducked behind the stack of wooden pallets where the other detective had found him. Detective Parker.
Tyler wondered why Kyle and Roddick had come and asked the same questions all over again. They hadn’t even known the Mini Cooper had been taken away. Maybe they weren’t real cops. Maybe they were bad guys. Maybe they had killed the guy Jace had been accused of killing.
Whoever they were, Tyler didn’t like them. Parker had seemed like a nice guy, even if he was a cop. Kyle was just what Madame Chen had called him—a bully.
Sticking against the buildings like a tick, Tyler moved down the alley to the parking lot where Parker had caught him. He retraced his route down the narrow space between the two buildings, where Parker had lost him. His backpack scraped against the sides here and there.
At the opening to the sidewalk, Tyler crouched down and looked back toward the fish market. People were walking up and down the street. No one noticed him in the narrow opening, half hidden by a chalkboard sign advertising the specials of the day at the dim sum shop.
He saw Kyle and Roddick step out onto the sidewalk, making the people flow around them like a stream around boulders. They were discussing something, arms gesticulating. Kyle pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and started a conversation with someone on the other end. Roddick planted his hands on his hips, turned and looked down the street, directly—it seemed—at Tyler.
Tyler held his breath. A thin woman with long dark hair and movie-star sunglasses was coming down the sidewalk walking a roly-poly pug dog. The dog’s bug eyes spotted Tyler and bulged even larger. His nails scraped the sidewalk as he strained at the end of his leash, barking, trying to pull his owner closer to the dim sum sign.
The woman frowned and tugged at the leash. “Orson, no!”
Roddick was still staring down the street.
Orson the Pug kept barking. Tyler tried to shush him. The thin woman spotted him then, and hopped back, startled. Tyler stared up at her with imploring eyes and a finger pressed to his lips.
Roddick took a couple of steps, then Kyle said something and stuck the phone back in the pocket of his suit coat. They went to a car parked in front of a fire hydrant and got in.
The woman with Orson the Pug dismissed Tyler as unimportant, and kept walking. Orson tried to linger, but had to give in to the leash and move on. The detectives pulled into traffic and drove past without looking.
Tyler let his breath out in one big puff. His head swam and big spots swirled before his eyes. He leaned sideways against the building to his right and wondered how long it would take for his heart to stop going a hundred miles an hour.
He pulled his backpack off and dug around in the front pocket for the walkie-talkie.
“Scout to Ranger. Scout to Ranger. Do you read me?”
Nothing.
“Scout to Ranger. Are you out there, Ranger?”
Silence.
Tyler pressed the radio against his cheek and closed his eyes. The rush of urgency and excitement had bottomed out, and now a dark, oily kind of fear crept in to take its place. A kind of fear that made his stomach hurt and made him wish he weren’t too big to crawl into a warm lap and feel strong, protecting arms around him.
The safety he had felt with the Chens was gone. Just like that, his home, his only family, had been found out and threatened. The only other safety he had ever known in his life was with his brother. Suddenly he had neither.
He had never felt so alone in his life.
He stared out at the street, where everyone else was going on with their day, unaware that he was alone and afraid, and maybe nothing in his life would ever be the same.
Why am I me, instead of that guy delivering packages across the street? Why am I me, instead of that woman pushing the shopping cart? Why am I me, instead of that man getting out of his car?
He drove Jace crazy when he asked questions like that. Why am I me, instead of someone else? Why was this his life? No mother, no father. Why was the family he knew someone else’s family? Jace told him there was no sense wondering things like that, but Tyler wondered anyway. Some questions didn’t have answers, Jace said. Life was what it was, and all they could do was live it the best way they could.
Tyler wiped his nose on his sleeve and blinked back the threatening tears. He believed in his brother. He would try his best to do what Jace would do. No time for crying now. He had to clear his head to use his brain. There was no sense having an IQ of 168 if he wasn’t going to use it when he needed it most.
So he closed his eyes and imagined locking all his fears in a box, and burying the box deep inside him. He needed to think like a hero now instead of waiting for one that might never come along.
37
I got the info on Davis,” Ruiz said as Parker sat down at his desk. “Besides a few minor drug charges, he’s got a history of assaults, with two convictions.”
“Working off his drug debt by beating money out of the rest of the pipeheads who haven’t paid,” Parker speculated.
“He’s been out of prison for about two years,” Ruiz went on. “And his attorney of record for his last trial was Leonard Lowell.”
Parker nodded. “Last known address?”
“He recently purchased a house in the Hollywood hills. He had to report the move to his parole officer.”
“And if I go up there to check it out,” Parker said, “will Bradley Kyle be there to greet me?”
He stared at his partner, waiting for an answer. Ruiz sighed and looked away.
“What do you want me to say, Parker? Robbery-Homicide can take anything they want—”
“Including my partner?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I think your agenda and my agenda are not one and the same here.”
Parker got out of his chair to pace, to try to burn off some of the anger.
“I’m not going to lie for you to Robbery-Homicide,” Ruiz said. “What have you ever done for me? I’ve got to consider my own career.”
“And which career is that?”
She stared at him, appearing confused and frustrated, with maybe a little bit of fear in her eyes.
“You want to work Homicide?” Parker asked, pacing back and forth, hands jammed at his waist, shoulders tense. “Or is this just a field trip for you?”
A couple of detectives on the other side of the room had turned to watch the escalating argument. Ruiz’s eyes darted toward them.
“If you have something to say to me, Parker, I think we should take it into one of the interview rooms.”
“Why the sudden modesty? You’ll flash your cleavage in front of anyone, but you don’t want them to know to whom they owe the pleasure?”
“You’re fucking crazy!” she said, pushing to her feet. “Are you on crack?”
“Do you know Alex Navarro?”
Silence.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Parker said. “Alex Navarro is The Man working Latin gangs.”
“Oh, yeah,” she stammered. “I was too far down the food chain to have any contact with him.”
“Alex Navarro can name every set of every gang in LA. If you asked him who got killed on June first five years ago, not only would he be able to answer that question, he would tell you every single detail of the case right down to what brand of underwear the vic had on when he went down. Navarro has absolutely no recollection of Officer Renee Ruiz working with the Gang Unit.”
“So?” she challenged. He had to give her credit for cojones. “So I didn’t work with him. What’s the big deal?”
“You, Ms. Ravenous Ambition, who misses no opportunity to rub up against the nearest authority figure. You never made a move on the boss of bosses of your undercover task force?”
“Are you calling me a whore?” she said.
“That’d be a compliment,” Parker snapped. “I’m calling you a liar.”
“Fuck you, Parker!”
“I’m calling you a rat! Who put you here?” Parker shouted.
“What’s the matter with you? Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’m pissed off,” he said, getting in her face. To her credit, she didn’t back down. “I don’t like being played. What did you give Bradley Kyle when he came in here?”
“You fucking asshole. Why should I tell you anything?”
“What did you give him?”
“Everything you didn’t take with you,” she admitted.
“You told them about Davis, gave them his address?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice, Ruiz. You could have told them I had everything with me. You could have left out the information about Davis’s house.”
“They’re taking the case!” she said, frustrated. “Don’t you get that? It’s not yours anymore, Parker. What’s the difference if I gave them the information now instead of later? They still end up with the information.”
Fuentes stuck his head out of his office. “What the hell is going on here?”
“He’s crazy!” Ruiz said, then spouted off the Spanish version in case Fuentes hadn’t gotten it the first time.
“In my office,” Fuentes said. “Both of you. Now.”
“I’ve got to go,” Parker said, starting to walk away. “I’ve got a job to do.”
“In here, Kev. I mean it.”
Parker stopped and weighed his pros and cons. Fuentes wouldn’t do anything if he walked. But if he walked, Ruiz would have time to regroup. He wanted this over. Now.
They went into Fuentes’ office, Ruiz going to one side of the room, Parker staying near the door. He didn’t wait for Fuentes to set the tone. He faced the captain and said, “Where did she come from? Who assigned her here?”
“Don’t be so paranoid,” Fuentes said.
“He’s out of his freaking mind,” Ruiz said, crossing her arms tightly beneath her breasts.
Parker threw his hands up and turned around in a little circle. “Why will no one answer the damn question?”
“She came from the Gang—”
“Don’t bullshit me!” Parker shouted. “I know she didn’t come out of the Latin gangs task force.”
“If you don’t like the answers to your questions, stop asking them,” Fuentes said, a little too calm. “It is what it is, Kev.”
“Right. It is what it is,” he said, nodding. “I know she’s lying, therefore I can assume you’re lying too.”
Fuentes didn’t bother to object. “She’s your trainee. What difference does it make where she comes from? Your job is to train her.”
“It matters if that’s not the reason she’s here,” Parker said. “What are you, Ruiz? A Robbery-Homicide mole? An Internal Affairs rat? Take your pick of rodents.”
Once again no one answered him. Ruiz and Fuentes exchanged looks that said they clearly knew something Parker didn’t. He watched them, marveling at the fact that he could still expect something from someone, from Fuentes at least. He should have learned that lesson long ago. He thought he had. Maybe he had simply resigned himself, and now that he finally had a case where he could prove himself, the numbness was wearing off.
“Fuck this,” he said, and turned to the door.
“Parker, where do you think you’re going?”
“I’ve got a job to do.”
“You’re off Lowell,” Fuentes said. “You have to hand everything over to Robbery-Homicide before they get really pissed off and decide to charge you with obstruction.”
“They can do whatever they want,” Parker said. “I don’t know what their reasons are for taking this, but I’m starting to put the pieces together and I don’t like the picture I’m coming up with. I’m not just going to hand them the reins and walk off into the sunset.”
“You could lose your career over this, Kev,” Fuentes said. “Stay out of their way.”
“I don’t care,” Parker said, resting his hand on the doorknob. “Fire me if you want to, if you don’t want to take the heat. You can take my job, but this case is mine, and I’m seeing it through, even if I have to do it as a private citizen.”
“Kev—”
“You know, here’s what you should do,” Parker said. “Tell the brass I’ve finally flipped my lid. I’ll spend the next six months getting my head examined by one of the department shrinks. You can shrug it off. There’s no impact on you if I’m just bat-shit crazy.”
Fuentes looked at him and sighed. “I’m not your enemy, Kev,” he said at last. “You have to know when to walk away from something.”
Parker turned to Ruiz. “Don’t you have some wiseass remark? Aren’t you going to tell me this will go on my permanent record? Whoever you’re working for is going to be grossly disappointed in you.”
She had nothing to say to that, which was easily the most telling moment he had ever spent with her.
“Good act, by the way,” Parker said. “You turned me completely around. I never would have pegged you for a rat.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ruiz said impatiently.
“On the contrary,” Parker said. “I’m the authority on the subject of how to f
uck over Kev Parker. I have years of experience.
“I’m leaving,” he told them. “If there’s no job for me when I come back, c’est la vie. God knows, I don’t do this for the money.”
“What do you do it for?” Ruiz asked pointedly.
“Is that what this is about?” Parker asked. He laughed, though it held no humor. “How does Parker afford a Jag? How does Parker buy a loft in Chinatown? How can Parker wear designer suits?”
“How do you?” she asked, blunt and unapologetic. “How do you afford your lifestyle on a detective’s salary?”
“I don’t,” he said. “And the rest of that answer is no one’s damn business.”
“It is if you’re getting that money—”
“You people are fucking amazing.” He stared at her, incredulous, shaking his head. “I’ve never been anything less than a damn fine cop for more than half my life. I come here every day, work my cases a hundred and ten percent, train little pissant shits like you to work your way up to where I should have been for the last half a decade. And you have the gall to investigate me because I don’t buy my suits at JC Penney?”
“I’m not apologizing to you for doing my job,” Ruiz said, getting in his face. “In the last three years you’ve paid off two mortgages—yours and your parents’; you’ve purchased a loft in a luxury building in Chinatown; you’ve started wearing designer labels; you drive a Jaguar on your days off.
“You’re not doing these things on what the LAPD pays you,” she said. “How could you not think Internal Affairs would be interested in you?”
Parker felt his face getting hotter and hotter. “Do you have one complaint against me? Do you have anything on file against me?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” she said. “We have you screwing up a murder trial where a wealthy defendant walked away without so much as a slap on the wrist. Your income seems to have increased every year since. Do you need a pencil to connect those dots, Parker?”
“This is un-fucking-believable,” Parker muttered. “IA has been watching me with their hairy eyeball all this time. Giradello couldn’t get rid of me outright, couldn’t make me quit, so you people are slithering in the back door for him?
