A Forest of Corpses

by P. A. Brown

  No black Escalades in sight, though.

  67

  A Forest of Corpses

  by P. A. Brown

  We took up places on either side of the door. I rapped on the wood and announced ourselves. "Santa Barbara police.

  Open up."

  Nothing. I listened, then knocked again. Harder.

  " Es la policia, " Miguel called.

  Feet scuffled on the other side of the door. I felt Miguel tense, taking a step back, freeing his gun hand. I did the same and we were both rigid with watchful tension when the door cracked open enough to let a thin female face peer through.

  " Quien es? Que quiere? "

  " Es la policia, Senora," Miguel said. " Necesitamas hablar con usted por favor. "

  " No, por favor vallanse, no puedo hablar... "

  " Senora, tine que, no nos vamos a ir, hasta que hablemos. "

  " Dejenos! "

  When Miguel told her to come out and talk to us, she shouted to leave them alone. Not going to happen, lady.

  " Senora, no puedo hacer eso. " Miguel spoke softly. Only I could see the tension in him, his feet planted firmly, hands not on his service weapon, but ready to act in a split second decision.

  "You have to talk to us, Senora, " I added, as though saying it in English was going to make her more amenable.

  But without probable cause to enter the place, we needed her to come outside. We didn't even know if any one of the sons we were looking for was inside.

  Then the matter was solved for us.

  68

  A Forest of Corpses

  by P. A. Brown

  From inside the house a door slammed shut and the woman's eyes went wide and she darted a look behind her, her face blanching. " No, ese... "

  " Senora... "

  We all heard the commotion in the back of the house a minute later. A deep-throated barking was barely interrupted by a string of Spanish curses.

  Miguel beat me around to the backyard, arriving seconds before I got there. Definitely needed more exercise. We found a heavily tattooed Hispanic man halfway over a beaten down wooden fence. His legs dangled on the other side. He'd been trying to climb back. The hundred pound Rottweiler in the yard next door had foiled his escape. It clamped jaws the size of dinner plates around the guy's ankle and was dragging him over to the other side. He saw us and his curses grew more violent. When he fumbled in his belt I shouted and dropped into a shooter's stance.

  "Don't even think about it, asshole," I yelled.

  They never listen. He pulled a silver plated revolver out of his waistband, but instead of aiming it at us, he pointed the barrel down at the dog.

  "Don't!" I screamed seconds before a shot split the air. The dog yelped and Miguel dragged the shooter off the fence, laying him out on the ground where he kicked the gun out of his hand, and slapped cuffs on the still cursing man's wrists.

  He hauled him upright and slammed him against the fence that rocked under the combined weight of the two of them on one side and the hysterical dog on the other.

  69

  A Forest of Corpses

  by P. A. Brown

  Cursing and struggling, he wasn't giving up. Miguel shoved him again. "Shut up or I'll toss you over there, and let Fido finish the job."

  I had to admire my partner's quick wits. The cuffed guy subsided into sullen silence and glared at both of us under the dome of his tattooed, hairless head. Movement near the back door drew me around, Beretta still in hand, to find the woman we had talked to earlier standing in the doorway. There was a worried look on her lined face that already bore a lot of worrylines.

  "Don't hurt him, officers. He's a good boy—"

  We ignored her as we hauled the disarmed 'good boy' past her into the house we had tried to enter earlier. She trailed after us, wringing her hands. "Are you arresting him? You can't arrest him, he hasn't done anything."

  I made a quick study of the visible parts of the house.

  Nothing suggesting illegal activity, but we'd have to wait for the warrant to search deeper. In sharp contrast to what Miguel and I were there for, the house was inviting and homey. The rich smell of cooking meats and sharp spices filled the small space. The stovetop was covered with simmering pots and pans.

  Miguel shoved his arrestee down onto a sofa and began to list off the charges, first in Spanish, then in English,

  "Resisting, carrying a concealed weapon and if I'm guessing right, a non-registered weapon—if you're still on parole that compounds those charges—discharging a weapon, assault of a police officer, animal cruelty...that'll do for starters. I'm 70

  A Forest of Corpses

  by P. A. Brown

  sure we can add more as we go along. Where's Antonio, Ramiro?"

  "He not here," Ramiro said sullenly.

  I stepped up beside Miguel and leaned over, planting my arms on either side of Ramiro's head. He flinched back from me. "Where is he, cholo?"

  His sullenness grew. " No mames. Vete a la verga. "

  I was in his face. "You kiss your mother with that mouth, pendejo?"

  He tossed out a few more choice curses, leaving Miguel with a flaming face and an angry set to this mouth. We were marching him out to our vehicle for transportation back to the station for booking when a teenage boy appeared out of a back room.

  "Antonio," his mother cried. " Ese, vuelva a su cuarto.

  The younger son ignored her just like the older one had.

  He stared at us, his hostility ratcheting up until I knew he was going to do something stupid.

  "No lo haga, el nino," Miguel spoke softly, his hand tightening on Ramiro's cuffed wrists. I could see he was getting jumpy. "Stand down, ese."

  Antonio opened his mouth to tell both of us where to get off. This time his mother took direct action. She latched onto the kid's ear so hard I swear I heard cartilage pop. Antonio yelped and tried to pull away, but she hung on grimly. Ramiro started struggling again, and I was tempted to ask her to take him in hand, but he subsided after a couple of sharp tugs on his handcuffed hands.

  71

  A Forest of Corpses

  by P. A. Brown

  The old woman let loose with a string of epithets that had even my ears burning. I had to admit, I was curious. If these punks had this at home, how had they ended up getting jumped in by a bunch of losers like Eastside? I guess it just proved the sad truth that the lure of the street was stronger than a loving family could fight. I took over babysitting Ramiro and signaled my partner to take a crack at the much-subdued Antonio. The three of them headed into the kitchen where I caught a glimpse of the kid angrily slumping in a ladder back chair before his mother smacked him upside the head and clearly told him to sit up. He did, glaring at us as though we were to blame for his predicament.

  I turned my attention on the banger proned out at my feet. "Want to talk to me, ese?"

  " Chinga tu madre, " he growled.

  I tsked-tsked him. "And with su madre right there." I shook my head. "That's just plain nasty. You do know once we run ballistics on that little peashooter you tried to take Rover out with and we match it to the gun that killed Isaac Simpson, your ass will belong to the state for the rest of your life. No more sopas from momma." I sniffed the air pointedly.

  "No more bunuelos or good cervasa. You ready for that?"

  Miguel was coming back, looking smug. I jerked Ramiro to his feet. " Decir adios," I said softly for his ears only.

  We nearly made it to the front door when he pulled at my hold on his arm.

  " No se me. "

  "Then tell me who it was."

  " Consiga estos de mi."

  72

  A Forest of Corpses

  by P. A. Brown

  I ignored his demand to take the cuffs off. Instead I kept pulling him out of the house. His mother and brother followed, the former squeezing her hands under her breasts, the latter continuing to hold his sullen look. Through the open front door I watched a pair of black and whites pull up and
discharge four unis who swarmed the house. I went to hand my prisoner over to one.

  " Se Bala," Ramiro snapped doing his best to stay out of the other cop's grasp.

  "Who's he?"

  "Bala. Se Bala. Yo no se su nombre."

  Liar. Someone knew his name. I looked at Antonio, then at mom. Mom answered.

  "Fideo Esteban Gutierrez, el es malo. He is not a good man," she said with clear bitterness. "I tell my sons to stay away from him. Do they listen? Now you see? You see what this ladron has done to us . "

  "Where can we find this Bala, Fideo, whatever?" I knew exactly who Fideo was. The asshole who capped that kid and Gillespie. I'd love a second chance at slamming the scrote into Quentin. Maybe I was about to get it.

  With a little help from his mother, he finally told us.

  Fideo had put the green light out on Simpson when he refused to pay Fideo's crew his tax. Word down from the Eme was to clean mayates off the streets. Sadly, that meant I was right about why an African-American was targeted. Clean the

  'hood of the undesirables.

  The unis stuffed him into their car, secured our evidence and sped away. The second patrol unit stayed behind. We 73

  A Forest of Corpses

  by P. A. Brown

  would go and write up a warrant and search the place, then we would go and find Fideo. This time, I wanted to make sure the charges stuck. Fideo was going down on my watch.

  All in all, a good day's work.

  I always felt revved to another level when I was hot on the trail of a killer. It was beyond an adrenaline rush. It was colder, more determined. I could taste it. Ultimately much more satisfying.

  Given what we already had, I knew we'd have little trouble getting a warrant. I left Miguel in charge of writing it and I went in search of Thomas Paige to get his take. He'd grown up in South Central L.A., his mother an El Salvadorian refuge and his father a steel worker back in the days when that meant something. Then it hadn't meant anything, which apparently was why they ended up in one of the poorest, most gang-ridden areas of a city riddled with violent gangs.

  We'd talked on a few occasions over the years when I had gang-related issues. He was a brusque man, not given to much small talk, but even with his reticence I had learned he had spent eight years within the sphere of the Cuatro Flats crew as a young man, and my impression has always been that he escaped being jumped in by the proverbial skin of his teeth. It wasn't something he talked about to this day. But whatever his past, it had made him our best gang expert and with our growing problem in that area, he was a boon to our small police force.

  So the fact he was an abrasive asshole wasn't normally held against him. I'm sure there were a few of my fellow officers who would no doubt say the same thing about me.

  74

  A Forest of Corpses

  by P. A. Brown

  Once I left Miguel with instructions on what I wanted, along with the admonition that I would be double checking his work when I got back, I took my box of donuts and a Venti black Columbian and headed over to Paige's desk. He glanced up at my approach then went back to a binder opened on his desk. Once there I could see that he was working on the latest gang briefs. No doubt updating them for our use.

  "Got a minute?" I slid the donuts and coffee over the desk at him.

  Paige's dark face showed his Aztec roots, and his flat brown eyes never seemed to miss anything. He barely glanced at either me, or my offerings. He chewed on a toothpick. I remember seeing him with a cigarette in his mouth all the time before the laws cut out that vice.

  "Heard you broke the Simpson case."

  "Got a lead I think is solid. Got some loose ends to tie up.

  Who's the Eastside head OG?"

  His narrow lips pursed and his eyes vanished in a mass of wrinkles around his canvas rough face. I pegged the guy as at least fifty-five. Sometimes I wonder whether I envied him, or his presence horrified me. Would this be me in twenty-some years? And if it was, would that be a good thing or a living nightmare? I knew he was twice divorced, with kids he never saw.

  "Been a guard change lately. Chalo got sent up to Q and his homies are in a flux."

  Translation: an internal gang war to rearrange a new pecking order. "How far has it gone? Any top contenders yet?"

  75

  A Forest of Corpses

  by P. A. Brown

  "Couple come to mind." Paige dipped into the box and helped himself to a cinnamon dusted. I took out a honey glazed and chewed. Though Jason had sent me off with a stomach full of fresh vegetable omelet, I still indulged in more sweets than I'm sure were good for me. Jason had been making noises lately about starting his own backyard vegetable and herb garden, and I was torn between amusement at his domesticity and fear that this was one more irrevocable step in the road to a permanence I was still leery of embracing.

  I knew Jason didn't share my doubts. He was more than ready to go to whatever level I deemed acceptable. He would have married me in a heartbeat, but that was a big 'whoa'

  moment for me. I'm not sure I could ever take that final step again. Would that eventually drive us apart?

  Back to the moment. "Name the top two."

  "Castano deSilva, calls himself Random, and another cholo, Fideo Esteban Gutierrez, aka—"

  "Bala," I filled in. Now it was coming together.

  "You're familiar, then," Paige said.

  I nodded. "We made our re-acquaintance a couple of hours ago when I busted one of his soldiers at his mother's place. A Ramiro Jorge. He spilled Fideo's name. The mother filled me in on the rest. Needless to say she was not pleased with her son's affiliations. I almost nailed the bastard on that drive-by last month."

  "I heard about that. Pisser."

  "Tell me."

  76

  A Forest of Corpses

  by P. A. Brown

  "I'm hearing rumors there's a major cannabis influx from a new source coming to town. Fideo might be involved."

  "I've got one of his top soldiers in lockup. I'm going to bring younger brother in, too. Their mami is one pissed lady.

  She might be worth talking to. Get simpatico with her."

  Now I had his attention. He sat up, dusting cinnamon powder off his fingers. "What charge did you manage on him?

  Is it going to stick? What do you think his mother can tell us?"

  "I think she might surprise us all. Especially if she thinks it will help save the youngest." I went on to tell him about seeing Ramiro and his crew down at the East Beach rest stop soon after Simpson's death, how I had pegged it as an assassination. That got a nod from him and the sage, "Yeah, the mofos have decided to do Hitler's work for him and get rid of the undesirables. I'd heard the rumblings they were going to start extorting the beach side indigents, with a particular hard on for the African American ones. I think I know your victim, too. He was a mouthy dude, didn't back down."

  "Guess it got him cleansed," I muttered. "But maybe they were talking more than ethnic cleansing. Maybe they're talking about how to divvy up the dope, too."

  Then I told him how Miguel and I had found Ramiro trying to flee with an illegally concealed weapon and had gone on to shoot the dog next door. "I booked him and we're getting a warrant as we speak. With luck we'll scoop up some more juice to hold him on. You want to talk to him? Maybe you can turn him on this Fideo, and we can really have a good day's work. You know the players better than I do."

  77

  A Forest of Corpses

  by P. A. Brown

  He took out another donut, this one raisin studded, and chewed thoughtfully. "I just might take you up on that."

  I stood up, leaving the box of donuts on his desk. "Why don't you do that while my partner and I serve that warrant?

  If we come up with anything I can let you know while you're in there chatting him up. You come up with anything, you can let us know."

  "See if you can extend that warrant to include narcotics in your search."

  "I'll try. See if a j
udge will agree." I had my doubts about that. We had him on weapons possession, but hadn't found any sign of drugs or drug paraphernalia in our surface search of Ramero's crib. I fully expected any judge we approached to be reluctant to give us a blanket warrant to go on a fishing expedition.

  Paige nodded, seeming to share my doubt. "Give it your best shot."

  "You going to talk to him? Maybe you can persuade him to share."

  He extended his hand across the desk. "Be glad to. What room's he in?"

  "Interrogation room two." We shook. "Have fun."

  "Just another fine day on the force." He lumbered to his feet, jerked his belted pants up over a sizable paunch, then adjusted his crooked tie. Though his efforts didn't do much to improve his disheveled look, it did nothing to diminish the power he projected. The man was a legend and knew it. "I'll let you know however it goes."

  78

  A Forest of Corpses

  by P. A. Brown

  Before leaving Paige's desk, I phoned Miguel and told him how I wanted the warrant amended. He assured me he'd have it done ASAP.

  Back at my desk, I had barely stripped my jacket off when Miguel came over waving his warrant. "I just heard from a patrol unit down on Por la Mar, in the park down there. They spotted Momo."

  I took the warrant from him and grabbed my jacket.

  "Come on, you drive. I can look this over on the way."

  I had to say, I was impressed with his writing skills. Most rookie detectives didn't have a clue, nor did all the courses in the world seem to help them. I scanned through to the end of the document detailing everything we hoped to find at Ramiro Jorge's mother's house, in the kind of minute detail the legal system required. I folded the papers up and tapped my knee with them. "You have some kind of legal training?"