“So how did it end?”
“Eventually, Leo had to leave for Italy to help with rewrites on a show filming in Milan. I was relieved not to have to see Javier anymore. He kinda creeped me out. Leo was gone for three months, shooting and traveling in Europe. Javier called a bunch of times, then he just vanished. Leo never brought him up again. Then after the movie came out we started getting these angry calls.”
“From Javier?”
“Yes,” Miriam said. “He accused Leo of stealing ideas from his script, but I knew it wasn't true. Leo had never read the script. He'd left it at the house. The maid found it in his room and brought it to the office one day when she was cleaning. Besides, by the time Javier met Leo the movie was already in development. The script had been done for over two months.”
“Did he ever threaten Leo?”
“Every single day for months on end,” Miriam said. “Leo said the guy was just angry that he couldn't weasel his way into Hollywood. I remember he said ‘if he wanted to make it in Hollywood so bad he should have at least let me suck his dick when he had the chance.’ He also tried to come up to the house twice, but Leo had his security guys chase him off.”
“Did you file a police report?”
“No,” Miriam admitted. “Leo was concerned about getting the authorities involved, because of the coke.”
“I thought you said people in the industry don't consider drugs to be a big deal,” Sandra interjected.
“They don't. He didn't want it on TMZ, you know? He said it would go away if we just ignored it. He was right, too. Eventually Javier just stopped calling. I haven't thought about him since.”
“Specifically, what kinds of threats did he make? Do you recall?”
“He said he would cut Leo's throat for stealing from him,” Miriam said. “He said he would bleed the faggot dry like a stuck pig to teach him a lesson. Awful stuff. It was scary. I kept recordings of some of the messages he left for Leo.”
Gary closed his notebook. They had their guy. He was sure of it now.
“We're going to need those recordings along with the name of the party planner and anything else you can give us.”
“Of course, detectives,” she said. “I’ll get to work on it right away.”
“And we’ll need to take a full statement from you down at the station,” Gary said.
“Can I come in Monday morning? It's my anniversary. My fiancé is taking me to Mastro's Steakhouse tonight.”
“Taylors is better,” Gary replied without thinking, then added, “That'd be fine as long as we get the rest before you leave. How long do you think it will take?”
“Less than thirty minutes,” Miriam answered.
“My partner and I are going to step outside and talk while you work.”
*** *** ***
Gary paced in the driveway as he checked his messages. He'd had his phone shut off during the interview to keep from being interrupted, but it didn't matter much. His reception up in the hills was pretty bad. He didn't understand how Los Angeles could have so many cell phone towers, but still produce dropped calls. Towers practically dotted the landscape all along the freeways, obscenely sticking out despite being camouflaged to look like trees.
He had two calls from his contact at Visa letting him know that Leo's card had been used to purchase gas and cigarettes, and then again to buy a flat screen television at Best Buy.
“That didn't take long,” he said to himself. Sandra began to ask him what he was talking about, but he held up his hand to silence her. Her phone rang and she walked away to take the call in private.
Gary also had a call from Officer Wright. They'd located the blood-drenched hooded sweatshirt in a trashcan just three blocks from the porn theater. It had been bagged and left at the Wilcox station for him to pick up. Gary didn't welcome the idea of walking into his old station to pick up the evidence. He decided he would pick it up as his last duty of the day, hoping to lessen his chances of running into anyone that might recognize him.
He hung up and dialed the station to let them know he was coming in later. The watch commander was a new guy named Hutchinson who acted like he was unfamiliar with Gary's past around the station. He was friendly and helpful, two things Gary wasn't used to from anyone at Wilcox since he'd been transferred.
“No problem, Detective,” he said with a pleasant tone. “It's not going anywhere. This guy has a huge jacket going back to when he was a kid in Van Nuys.”
“You know him then?”
“Oh sure,” Hutchinson laughed. “Javier Price. He's been in here a half a dozen times this year already, and it's only September. Small stuff. Shoplifting, fighting, possession. The guy is a regular. We've got a pretty thick file on him. He spends most of his time hanging out at a tattoo studio over on Vine and Hollywood, when he's not in our lock up or court that is.”
“Do you think you could run me off a copy of his highlights?”
“I'm typing his name into the system right now,” Hutchinson replied. It was quiet a minute. “That's lucky.”
“What?”
“Looks like he was picked up about an hour ago downtown trying to ditch a stolen SUV near the Staples Center. Suspect was covered in dried blood and had no identification on him according to the report. They ID'd him by his fingerprints and booked him in Twin Towers.”
“Looks like today is my lucky day,” Gary said. He thanked Hutchinson again and told him he'd be by before end of watch to grab his evidence. He hung up and called his lieutenant.
“Detective Wendell,” Jack said, “Where are we on the theater killing?”
“Looking good, LT,” Gary replied. He loved having good news to report to his boss. “Looks like we got our guy. He's in lock up now in the Towers. We're going to head down now and pull him for questioning.”
“I'm not sure I want you going down right now,” Peterson hesitantly said. “We might want to let him stew the weekend and then have him shipped back up to Van Nuys, depending on how things turn out. It's not looking good at the moment.”
“Sir?”
“Oh shit I forgot,” his lieutenant said, sounding bone tired. “It's been a crazy morning.”
“If this is about what happened with Sharkie sir,” Gary started but Jack cut him off.
“No. It's nothing like that. We've got a situation developing down here and to be honest I don't know how far it’s going to go before we get it resolved.”
“What's going on?”
“We're not entirely sure,” Jack said. “It might be a new wave of Occupy protestors but we've never seen tactics like this. There’s open looting, fighting in the streets, even reports of murder and cannibalism. It's bad, Detective. Real bad.”
“When did it begin?”
“In the last few hours since I talked to you,” Jack explained. “We think it started right down in Tent City and spread from there like cancer. It's like someone sprayed the soup kitchens with angel dust.”
“Jesus,” Gary said. He felt the urge to light up a cigarette even though he hadn't smoked in nearly ten years.
“It's a real mess. Do yourself a favor and don't come down here. Word came down from the glass house to put boots on the streets pronto. Guys are coming in from as far away as Ventura to volunteer. The 10th floor wants quick and immediate response. They’re going to beat into submission anything that moves. The last thing I need is one of my detectives caught up in this mess, especially one that might already be facing media scrutiny. I'm trying to look out for you. We're already going to be cleaning up their mess for weeks.”
“Think about your clearance rate, Jack,” Gary pleaded. “It's the first 48 and he hasn't been charged. I'm close to nailing this cocksucker, sir.”
He could almost hear Jack Shit fighting himself. Above and beyond everything, his lieutenant was about closing cases. Sometimes Gary thought the numbers meant more to him than the people behind them. It would be hard to let go of an easy close, no matter what the situation on the ground. Hell co
uld be boiling over into the bloody streets of Los Angeles, and Jack would go for the save.
“Okay, but nothing else. You're in and you're out as fast as possible with no detours and no side work. I want you out of the Downtown before the crackdown comes. The last thing we need is the media tying you to anything else, at least until this overdose in custody beef is cleared up. I want your word on this, Wendell.”
“You have my word, LT.”
Gary turned to share the good news with his partner, but her face looked pale. She was holding her phone up to her ear and from the look of shock in her eyes whatever she was hearing wasn't good.
“I'm on my way now,” she said, hanging up. “What happened? Did we get our guy?”
“Javier's in lock down in Twin Towers,” Gary said. “Jack Shit gave us clearance to head down. He said the Chief is about to drop the hammer on rioters down there and not to mess around. What's going on? Who was that on the phone?”
“My father's in the hospital,” Sandra said, her lips trembling. “He was attacked outside of City Hall. He's in a coma now and it looks like he might have brain damage.”
“What? Shit. I am sorry to hear that. What the hell happened? What’s going on down there?”
“They don't know,” Sandra said, visibly fighting back tears. “They’re taking him by airship to Cedar Sinai right now. I was going to go there next.”
“Of course,” Gary said. “Hop in and I’ll take you back to your car.”
“What about the recordings?”
“It doesn't matter,” he assured her. “We got this guy. We can come back for them later. I'll call Miriam and explain it on the way.”
She got in and he fired up the engine, practically burning out. The gate opened and he moved down the hill as fast as he could without causing the Town Car to careen over the side and kill them both. Sandra didn't say a word. When they got into the city it took him fifteen minutes to get back to Swingers and her car. He thought about how much had changed since they'd had lunch less than two hours before. It was like they were living in a different world now.
They sat in the car next to the curb and Sandra looked in a state of shock. Gary put his hand on hers to bring her out of her catatonic state.
“Do you want me to go with you?” He hoped she would say no. Hospitals freaked him out and he wanted to get to Javier and get a confession as quickly as he could.
“No,” she said. “Call me when you get him to talk though. I want to hear all about it.”
“You got it, partner,” he said. She got out and he drove off quickly, watching her slouch toward her BMW. He felt bad for her situation, but he knew there was nothing he could do. They would deal with it later, maybe over some beers.
*** *** ***
The drive to downtown Los Angeles had been like something out of a disaster movie. Snarls of traffic slowed him down while helicopters shot over his roof, flocking toward the dark smoke on the horizon ahead. Black and white police cars, 'slickbacks' as the gang bangers called them, flew past the rest of them with their lights on. It reminded him of the last riots in Los Angeles.
At that time, years ago, he'd had the day off and was hanging with a lady friend down in Santa Barbara. He'd gotten a call that things were getting out of control and had to leave before his lobster lunch special had come up. The girl was Brazilian, a former beauty queen, a total knock out. He'd been hoping to spend more intimate time with her that week and things looked to be going well until the call came in. He never saw her again after that. She'd moved on and he'd missed his chance thanks to Rodney fucking King. He'd been antsy the whole way back, hoping things would blow over quickly so he could visit her again. That day, a steady stream of cop cars had passed him with their lights on doing over a hundred, the entire drive up the 101 Freeway through Ventura – just like today.
I wonder where she is now? Gary thought to himself as a police Suburban sped by so fast it shook his car as it passed.
Eventually he got tired of waiting in the mess and pulled out the bubble, plugging the flashing red light into his cigarette lighter and working his way into the carpool lane while nearly getting rear-ended for his trouble. The exit was blocked off the freeway, but he flashed his badge and was waved through by some pimple-faced rookie kid.
Arriving at the county jail, he’d found that visitation was also shut down for the day due to a stabbing that had taken place in the mess hall just after breakfast. To make matters worse, it looked like nearly all of the inmates were sick and had come down with similar symptoms. Yet the deputy who led Gary to the visitation area assured him it wasn’t contagious. Over the years, County Jail had played host to a series of bugs and colds, including MRSA and some of the older staph infections. A new inmate would get booked in with the sniffles and by the end of the week everybody had it, including the guards. They'd learned to take as many precautions as they could over the years, including isolating sick prisoners in solitary in some cases.
“We're thinking at this point, it's most likely food poisoning,” the deputy informed Gary. “You're lucky that your guy doesn't have it yet.”
“How'd he manage to avoid getting sick?”
“He broke another inmates nose the minute we put him in General Population,” the deputy shrugged. “Guy asked him if he was Sureños or Paisa. The gang sends over an ambassador to help sort out the new arrivals. Everybody sticks to his or her own in here. Turns out he doesn't like being told he looks like a native-born Mexican. He's lucky, too. The guy he busted up is in here for knifing a guy over an unpaid debt. We're pretty sure it was protection money the guy was late on. He carved him up like a bird on Thanksgiving. They still don't know if the vic is gonna make it.”
“Beautiful,” Gary said. “Let's hope I can use that for leverage. We're looking at him for premeditated murder. A confession is always better than having to put it all together from scratch.”
“How strong is the case on him?”
“Strong,” Gary assured him. “When they picked him up and brought him here, Javier still had the guy's blood on him. Still, you never know with these cocksucking lawyers these days.”
“I hear you,” the deputy agreed. “He'll be right in.”
By the time Javier was sitting in front of him nearly a half hour had passed. Javier looked a little green around the gills.
“You know why you're here?”
“Yeah, man. I know. This is about Leo right?”
“That's right,” Gary said, feeling surprised by how forthright Javier was being. Usually suspects acted like they were brain dead when you asked them about anything crime related. They didn't offer up names, not in Gary's experience. “We've got the hoodie you threw out on Santa Monica, but I think that's the least of your worries now, considering that the blood samples they took off of you when they brought you in are a match to his blood. We've got recordings of you threatening to cut his throat. As far as I can see we've got you dead to rights, man.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That's what I figured.”
“So how do you wanna play this?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean do you want to lawyer-up before you talk to me or do you want to play Let's Make a Deal?”
“I wanna deal,” he said, biting his fingernails while he talked. His eyes danced around like he was on drugs. “Just get me out of here, man. I'll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“I'm going to need you to sign something for me that says you understand your rights,” Gary said, ignoring his request. He wanted to get as much down as he could before Javier changed his mind. He took out the form waiving his rights to an attorney and slid it over to him along with a pen.
“Yeah, man. Sure. Whatever,” Javier said nervously. He signed it without reading it. Gary put it away, taking back the pen as well. In the hands of a killer like Javier a pen was a fine weapon just waiting for a new target. “I just need to get out of here before they put me back in a cell. It's not safe here, man. You shouldn't
even be here. The sooner we bail, the better. Take me into your custody and get me out of here. I'll tell you anything you want to know.”
“What's the hurry? You scared of the gang member whose nose you broke?”
“What?” Javier looked up and laughed. “No, man. That's the least of my worries. That guy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time is all. Shit's about to go down, man.”
“What do you mean?”
“It's the sickness, man,” Javier said. “It's spreading.”
“It's just food poisoning,” Gary said dismissively. He couldn't believe Javier was willing to sign over all his rights and possibly face the death penalty over fear of catching the stomach flu. It just didn't add up.
“Is that what they told you? They're wrong, man. This ain't no rot gut. It's a helluva lot worse than that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Food poisoning doesn't make guys go crazy and bite each other. It doesn't make guys bleed tears from their eyes and nose. This is the fucking plague, man. They brought in a homeless guy for attacking a cop. He brought it with him. Ask anyone.”
“Hold up a second,” Gary said, growing annoyed.
“No, man,” Javier said. “Get me out of here right now and I’ll cop to everything and tell you how I did it or we're both going to die. End of story.”
“And where exactly am I supposed to take you?”
“I don't know, man. That's your problem. Hollywood. Van Nuys. Hell, if you can take me to Bakersfield that would be perfect. The farther we get away from here the better, but we've got to move fast. I'm not going back in there.”
“I'm sure you know by now that it doesn't work like that,” Gary began, but Javier cut him off.
“I'm serious, man. That's the deal.”
“You're not really in any position to bargain,” Gary reminded him.
“Leo's not my first,” Javier said, biting his lip. “There was a girl, up in the hills, near the Hollywood sign. I'll give you her as well.”
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