The Parker Trilogy

by Tony Faggioli

  “You have a mass soon, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “I’ve got a few things to check on, but I’ll be back. It was nice to meet you, Bernardino.”

  Then, without waiting for a reply, Mr. Villa simply blinked away.

  The bird on the fountain was animated once more, and the leaves in the tree suddenly shifted with the breeze. The bubble was gone. The rain fell softly on Father Soltera’s head, and he let it.

  The Smiling Midget had tumbled his small little body over the front seat and was now buckled into the passenger seat next to Hector as they drove down Wilshire, following David Fonseca’s black Camaro. So far, they’d left Marisol’s house, drove down Fourth Street, made a right on Indiana Street and then caught the 60 Freeway east.

  Hector had guessed right. David was a college boy, but not full legit yet. Not any four-year school. Just junior college. The morning traffic was heavy, but Hector stayed at a safe distance, four or five cars behind.

  How many times you think they did it last night? The Smiling Midget asked as he looked out the passenger window.

  “Oh, man. Give me a break,” Hector replied bitterly.

  Do you think she does things for him that she never did for you? Ya know, like—

  Hector rolled his eyes. “I said. Shut. Up!”

  The Smiling Midget shrugged. Okay. But, ya know, you’re making a guy feel really under-appreciated right about now. Just sayin’.

  The Camaro made its way through traffic, eventually exiting on Atlantic Avenue and turning left. Hector had to make his way quickly around a cement truck in the slow lane to catch up, but was able to do so, happy to catch the green light on Atlantic and keep pace. He needed to learn all he could about this fool. Where he parked his car and how long he stayed on campus was a good start.

  As Hector watched an old lady push a shopping cart loaded with cardboard boxes unevenly up the sidewalk, he thought of an idea; maybe he could catch David making time with another girl on campus, take a few pics and text them to Marisol.

  You’re a sad specimen, boy. Even now, with him having his way with her, you’re trying to get her back? Tsk, tsk, tsk.

  Closing his eyes, Hector sighed heavily, feeling the pain coming back. “That’s not true.”

  You’re so p-whipped, man. I thought I brought you further than this!

  “Brought me how?”

  Oh. The. Inhumanity! Brought you, HOW? Did you really just ask me that? You mean, like brought you up through prison, when that vato, Boxer, drew a bead on you? You mean, like that?

  “Look. Yeah. That helped, but—”

  We made a deal, buddy boy. You and I. He backed you down and you were seething for revenge. And, well, revenge is what I do. What I DID. Or are you now going to say that he actually died in his sleep?

  The inside of the car grew small. Despite the heater being on full blast, a chill filled the air.

  You shoulda seen his face when he woke up to find me sitting on his chest. Pure. Terror. That kinda look . . . on a human? For my kind, buddy boy? Better than anything. His eyes were all buggy and I let him see my fangs, ’cause, ya know, that’s always a great added effect, and he tried screaming but it was too late. I’d been sitting on his chest for nearly an hour by then, squeezing the air outta his lungs, little by little.

  The Camaro drove to Avenida Cesar Chavez and made another left. Hector followed, The Smiling Midget’s voice digging into his eardrums, making it hard to concentrate.

  So, he wakes up and opens his mouth and I jam his pillow over it. He’s trying to scream, see, but I don’t cover his eyes. I need him to look into mine, so I can show him all the ways he’s hurt people, the two he murdered, the one he raped in high school. I mean, it’s a damn shame. He’s actually done such a good job. Hard to lose a good soldier like that. But my side, we’re always thinking of the bigger picture, ya know?

  “The bigger picture?”

  Well, hell, yeah—pun intended. See what I did there? Pretty good, huh? But the bigger picture, of course, is you and the crew. You guys ain’t one-offin’ people. You got a regular Corporation of Hurt goin’ full swing, with you as the lead dog. So, Boxer, he wakes up and I gotta tell him he’s outranked on this one. Time to buck up and go visit that other place now.

  David had pulled his Camaro into a parking lot and was circling, looking for a space. When he finally found one, Hector pulled past him and to the curb just off a large lawn where he imagined students would normally sit around and do their studying. Today, with the grass still wet from the storm and the skies still gray, they’d been chased inside somewhere. Maybe to a library on campus or a study hall of some kind. Having never been here, Hector could only guess.

  Poor Boxer. Man. He was so frozen with fear, he barely put up a fight. But that last breath that rattled outta him? Sweet as nectar. As for his eyes? I just did that for show. For the fear it caused in the guards and all the inmates.

  “I don’t need to be hearing this.”

  Oh. But you do. It shows how special you are to my master.

  Hector blinked. “What?”

  Yeah. I mean . . . do you know how rare that is? My kind, getting to act that overtly on this plane? Shit. You guys make movies about it, but it’s so damned rare, The Smiling Midget said with frustration in his voice. That pun was intended too, by the way.

  Incredibly, David got out of his car, slung a backpack over his shoulder and marched right past the hood of Hector’s car. Up close, Hector could see he had a stud in his ear and was unshaven.

  He’s a good lookin’ guy, Hector.

  Up close, he was also larger. Bigger than Bennie. It’d be a tough fight, one-on-one.

  Yeah. He’s a big dude. Must make Marisol feel all safe and stuff.

  Hector watched David disappear onto campus, into all the bodies crisscrossing in the distance. He turned to look at The Smiling Midget. “Why you riding me with all these bad thoughts, you little shit?”

  The Smiling Midget shrugged sheepishly, like a ten-year-old, and said, Why? Well. Because it’s my job.

  A campus cop car was pulling down the driveway. The curb was mostly red, so Hector pulled away from it, intent on leaving.

  Where you going? The Smiling Midget asked, irritation in his voice.

  “I don’t know. Back to the crib, maybe?”

  No, no, no. Man. I gotta lead you by the hand on everything. Circle back to his car.

  “Why?”

  So I can get his license plate number.

  “What for?”

  Once we have that, we gonna call Guillermo again, your meter maid homie, and have him run it. He helped us track down Bat Boy, so . . .

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” Hector whispered with a nod.

  Because you’re losing your edge, buddy boy. And me? The Smiling Midget’s smile grew until it took up almost half his entire face. I’m here to keep you sharp . . . as a Ginsu-mother-fucking knife.

  The Smiling Midget laughed, a high-pitched sort of squeal that was so full of hate and menace that it instantly made you want to run in every direction at once.

  Chapter Fifteen

  With Eric Yi’s murder, things went from “wait and see how things unfold” to “let’s start turning things over and see what scampers out from underneath.” Though they protested half-heartedly, once the cap showed up and approved it, Murillo and Klink agreed to head over to Alice Kim’s flat in the Arts District, an area that everyone noticed was only a few miles from the murder scene.

  The plan was to catch her at home. If that still came up empty, they’d go to the Fashion Institute, get her class schedule and, if they got lucky, yank her ass out of one of her classes.

  “We’ll keep you guys posted,” Murillo said.

  “Yeah. And while you’re at it, buy this guy a copy of GQ or some shit, will ya, Klink?” Campos said with a snigger.

  “Why me?” Klink asked.

  “You’re the only other white boy here, that’s why.”
r />   “What’re you guys talking about?” Parker asked, genuinely perplexed.

  Campos waved his hand up and down Parker’s frame like a photographer on a modeling shoot. “Gray shirt? Gray slacks? Gray tie? Really? You watch an ’80s movie marathon last night or something, Parker?”

  Klink smiled. Murillo smiled. Parker got offended. “Screw you, man.”

  “I mean, that’s some Matthew Broderick fashion bullshit right there. I don’t stand a chance of getting any digits from any chicks today with you standing within ten feet of my ass.”

  Murillo burst out laughing, which caused Campos to break into his Muttley the Dog laugh, which Parker was beginning to figure out he was completely defenseless to. He began to laugh as well.

  As Klink and Murillo made their way up the long cement wall to the railway yard above, the metro sped by, its horn shrieking into the air, bringing back the reality of where they were, and why, almost instantly.

  This left Parker and Campos to wrap up the murder scene. As they watched the coroner’s bus drive the body away, they discussed how to proceed next.

  “I’m thinking we switch it up,” Campos said flatly.

  “Yeah?”

  “We don’t know the exact whereabouts of Mondo or Jin just yet. We’ll let the Gang Unit jump in and take the lead on those two assholes. In the meantime, our best bet is to wait on Murillo and Klink to get us a firm handle on Alice Kim, which will then help us draw a bead on Tic Toc. I’m not wasting any more time driving all over the city looking for him.”

  “Makes sense. But what’s that leave for us to do?”

  “My gut says we gotta pull at that other string: Hector Villarosa.”

  “Okay. Fair enough. We gonna wait on the Korean gang angle and work—”

  “The crossover angles. Correct.”

  Parker looked once more at the graffiti all around. “Both ends against the middle, right?”

  “Yes. Because one way or another, Hector’s wrapped up in this. He may not know exactly who it was that took out his cousin, but he was the one who sent Hymie there that night.”

  “Yeah, but with Yi dead, we just lost our one source to prove that.”

  “But Hector doesn’t know that.”

  “What? That Yi’s dead?”

  “Maybe. He might know. Shit. He coulda been the one here last night pulling the trigger, some more gang favor trade-off bullshit. But even if he was, he has no way of knowing that Yi was our only source.”

  “Got it. Okay, then. Let’s start digging around.”

  “Already spoke with GU. Hector leads the Fresno Street Vatos. They have a warehouse over on Winston Street that they operate out of. Unlike these Korean guys, who are like phantoms, at least with him we have a place to start.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “First, though, let’s head over to the station and get a car. I ain’t putting any more miles on my ride for company business.”

  They both drove to the station house, and while Campos took a leak, Parker snagged them a couple cups of coffee and, yes, a few glazed donuts. A half hour later they pulled down Winston Street and took up residence across from the address the GU had given them.

  It was an old, run-down building with gray paint and white trim, the words “Gene’s Body Shop” stenciled in fading red print on the wall facing the street. At the top of a short driveway there was a huge rollaway security gate, with razor wire stretched menacingly across the top of it. Out front, what used to be a small yard was now pretty much just dirt with scattered patches of crabgrass and dandelions. The sidewalk was broken and uneven, the victim of the roots of a large oak tree on city property. The main entrance was a large metal door, spray painted gray.

  “Do we know what we’re in for?” Parker asked.

  Campos chuckled. “Of course not.”

  “Do we want to?”

  “What’d be the excitement in that?”

  They both got out of the car and made a measured walk up the driveway to the door. Campos rapped his knuckles on the metal and they waited. He did it a second time. Still nothing.

  “Man. I’m getting tired of getting nowhere, Parker.”

  “No shit,” Parker said in agreement before walking over to the security gate. He saw motion and called out. “Hey! Police. Open up!”

  Campos jumped and walked over to the gate. “What the hell was that, the Don Johnson copper shout to go with the outfit, Parker?”

  Through a slat in the fence, three cholos appeared, two of them wearing sunglasses. Parker noticed immediately that one of them was wearing a Raiders cap. Like the guy at Evergreen Park, that fateful day not all that long ago. It didn’t matter that that guy was dead now, or died not thirty feet from where Napoleon did. To this day, a Raiders cap was a symbol of tragedy to Parker. He forced himself to set it aside. He was tired of all the triggers to the memory. They were everywhere, it seemed, and when they weren’t, he found a way to imagine them.

  “Afternoon, fellas.”

  “Where yo badges?” the cholo with the Raider cap asked. He was wearing a blue t-shirt, smeared with grease over tan Dickies, equally stained.

  Parker and Campos flashed their shields. “Open up,” Campos said firmly.

  “Fure fing, offifers,” the cholo with the sunglasses said. He was the biggest of the three by far, and evidently had a speech impediment of some kind.

  But instead of opening the rollaway gate, all three went into the office door on their side. Having them out of sight was not a comforting feeling, but Campos didn’t get jumpy so neither did Parker.

  The front door opened a minute too long later, as if they’d been up to something on the inside. Parker noticed that Campos wasted no time trying to find out what it was. “You guys mind if we come in?”

  The cholo with the Raiders cap deflected the question. “Nah. That’s cool. We’ll come out. We need some fresh air.”

  The slightest of smirks came over Campos’ face. “Fresh air, huh? Okay. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Alex. This is Chico,” he said, pointing to the other cholo that was wearing sunglasses. He was tall and rail thin. “This homie over here that talks funny? His name is Bennie.”

  “I’m Detective Campos. This is Detective Parker. Out of Hollenbeck Station.”

  Alex smiled. “We know where that is.”

  And of course they did, because no doubt each one of them had been arrested, probably more than once in their young lives, and the station was only a few miles away.

  It was muted chuckles all around until Campos spoke next. “We’re looking for Hector Villarosa.”

  No more chuckles, but no looks. No giveaways. Just a few nervous shuffles. If not for the body language cues, you’d have thought Campos had just asked to speak with Frank Sinatra.

  “He ain’t around,” Chico said with a shrug.

  “You seen him since he got out?” Campos pressed.

  “Outta where?”

  Campos looked long and hard at Chico. “You know where.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Last night. For a quick minute or two. Then he was splitsville.”

  “You know where we can find him?” Parker chimed in.

  “Naaah, officer,” Alex said, his voice coated with contempt. “No idea at all.”

  The conversation, short as it was, had already reached an impasse.

  Campos had obviously not appreciated Alex’s tone with Parker. “What you guys do here?” he asked, his voice now tinged with contempt as well.

  “Regular mechanical repair,” Alex said with a smile. “Occasional body work.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “It’s a good livin’.”

  “Quick turnaround times too, I imagine.”

  “Excellent customer service, officer,” Alex answered. But the smile was gone now.

  “Forry we couldn’t be more help,” Bennie said, his mouth barely moving. Parker realized he didn’t have a speech impediment at all. Instead, his jaw was wired shut.

  “Well.
We’d appreciate you telling Hector to contact us when he comes by.” Campos reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his business cards. He was just about to hand it to Alex when a tricked-out Chevy Impala came around the corner and began driving down the street towards them.

  Bennie looked at Chico, Chico looked at Alex, then all three of them looked nervously at the Impala.

  There was no question whatsoever in Parker’s mind that the guy behind the wheel was Hector Villarosa.

  After mass, Father Soltera met with Rosa Mendez, who six months earlier had buried her husband of eighteen years. Father Soltera had been there to issue the last rights in the hospital, read the homily on the day of his funeral and said the final graveside prayer a short time later, with three handfuls of dirt amid a sea of tears and not a little bit of wailing.

  Every third Wednesday since then, she came by the church before work to ask Father Soltera to ask God for the strength to overcome her grief and raise her four children. And Father Soltera did. He didn’t tell Rosa that he also prayed for her to find love again, once her healing was complete. She was a good woman, who deserved it.

  When he walked her out the front doors afterwards, he was not the least bit surprised to see that the rain had returned. He was surprised, however, to see that so had Guero Martinez.

  He was standing on the sidewalk at the bottom of the stairs in front of a black Cadillac Escalade, holding an umbrella over his head. Two henchmen, each with their backs to the church and facing the street, were looking side to side, as if they were with the Secret Service.

  He smiled. “Hello. Father.”

  More than a little put off, Father Soltera bid goodbye to Rosa as she looked nervously at Guero. He had a way about him, evidently, that made everyone nervous.

  Evil can do that, Father Soltera thought. Then he reminded himself that he was no longer alone in this. He didn’t know where, but the man named Napoleon was nearby. He could feel him.

  “Mr. Martinez. I’m surprised to see you again.”

  “Oh? And why is that?”

  “You mean, you make it a habit to visit people that you threaten?”