Earth Angels (30 page)

"Neither of you had anything to do with getting the apartment. I handled that."

Black wiped a streak of moisture from his cocktail glass. "Even a shithead like Houlihan will be able to find out it was Brenda who rented the place."

"Maybe, but Brenda has serviced a lot of Department brass. He'll press her, but I don't think he'll want to press too far."

Sullivan brought drinks to the table. "Everyone will be avoiding you while you're under investigation," he said, setting the drinks on the table. "The moment you're cleared of charges, they'll all want to buy you drinks. That's the way cops are these days."

"Tell us how it was in the old days," Black said.

"You making fun of me?"

Black shook his head. "Of course not," he said wryly.

Sullivan sat down and slid the cocktail glasses to their proper places at the table. "Houlihan phoned me this morning. He wanted to know if the three of you were in here at about eleven night before last."

Nothing was said at the table. Black fumbled for a cigarette.

"Ain't you cowboys gonna ask me what I told him?"

"What'd you say?" Stepanovich replied.

"I told him I'd have to think on it. That way I knew I'd have time to talk to you boys and find out what I should say,"

"Thanks, Sully," Stepanovich said.

"No need to get all sloppy. Just give me the word and I go. That's the wonderful thing about being retired. I can lie like a motherfucker and there's not a thing Houlihan or anybody else can do about it. Lying is part of the Bill of Rights as long as you aren't in front of a grand jury."

"We were sitting right at this table. All night."

Sullivan snapped his fingers. "Now I remember. You were sitting right at this table all night."

"We never left," Arredondo said.

Sullivan winked. "The three of you closed the bar. That's what I'll tell him. By the way, in case you don't know, Houlihan is Ratliff's right hand man, and Ratliff and Harger are both gunning for the deputy chief slot." He turned and shuffled back to the bar.

Stepanovich sipped his drink. By the hushed tones around the bar, it became obvious to him everyone was talking about the shooting.

It was after midnight when Stepanovich left the bar. Though his senses were dulled by alcohol and he was exhausted, the shooting, a vivid technicolor nightmare, was still at the forefront of his consciousness. On the way to Gloria's apartment, he relived it a few times in what he estimated was real time: a minute perhaps for the entire shootout. As he well knew, violence always happened quickly. It was something to get over with as soon as possible. It had an objective.

****

TWENTY-TWO

The sound of helicopters clacked overhead.

Payaso, exhausted and unable to run full speed because he still hadn't fully recovered from his wounds suffered at the Queen of Angels Church, jogged rather than ran along Third Street.

A police car with red fights flashing turned the corner.

Payaso ducked and scooted behind some bushes, and the police car sped past. At the end of the block the car skidded to a halt and two officers, a man and a woman, climbed out. They activated flares and dropped to either side of the car in order to block the street. Because he knew from experience that when someone escaped from the scene of a crime, the police always tried to trap him by blocking the streets, he knew he was safely out of the perimeter, With his T shirt soaked with perspiration from running, he lay there in the bushes trying to catch his breath.

Finally he came to his feet and, staying in the shadows so the policemen at the end of the block wouldn't notice him, resumed jogging. Though the street was illuminated intermittently by the powerful searchlight from one of the police helicopters flying overhead, he made his way another two blocks to Evergreen Cemetery. He climbed a six-foot chain-link fence and dropped onto the cemetery grounds.

Keeping an eye out for the powerful helicopter searchlight, he dodged sprinklers and made his way past crypts and tombstones all the way to the guard booth at the front gate. Through the gate he could see that Fourth Street was deserted. Still hyperventilating, he looked about on the ground. There was a loose brick lying near a sprinkler that was waving a powerful stream of water into the darkness. Picking up the brick and stepping to the guard booth, he smashed out the window glass just above the door handle and reached inside to open the door.

Inside, there was a telephone on the small desk. He picked up the receiver and, leaning close to read the dial, he touched numbers. The phone rang three times. Sleepy answered.

"It's me, baby."

"Parrot just called. She said Smokey and "

"Listen to me," he interrupted. "I'm running and I need to do something."

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I ain't hurt, but everyone else is dead. The pigs were waiting."

She broke into tears.

"I'm at Evergreen Cemetery. Get my car at Smokey's and pick me up at the front gate. If there's
la chota
on the street, just drive past and come back in an hour. If you get pulled over, tell them you are on your way to work. Do what I tell you, homegirl."

Payaso set the receiver down and stepped out of the booth. Lifting his T-shirt, he pulled his .38 revolver from his belt holster. He reloaded with the six rounds in his right pocket and dropped the empty rounds on the grass.

From the left pocket he took a tiny paper packet and unwrapped it. There were four white pills. Though his mouth was dry and he knew it was going to be difficult to swallow, he tilted his head back and dropped the pills back in his throat. He swallowed three times, but the pills wouldn't go down. He knelt at the sprinkler and, cupping his hands, took water into his mouth. He swallowed until the whites went down, then stood and moved near the fence so he could keep an eye on the street.

He felt renewed energy almost immediately. The first sign was the warmth of surging blood starting at his temples and spreading across this face and into his extremities, including his cock and balls. Closing his eyes for a moment, he saw himself, gun in hand, shooting it out with the cops in front of his house and the cops falling.

By the time Sleepy arrived, he was supercharged.

He climbed over the fence, hurried to the driver's side of the car, and climbed in. Sleepy was wearing a tight sweater and skirt. She threw her arms around him.

He shoved the car into gear and accelerated.

Frightened, she pulled away from him. "How did they know you were "

"It had to be the one who told you. She set us up for the cops."

"Gloria? She would never "

"Gloria
este la rata
. "

"No. She would never do anything to hurt anyone. It's not her way."

"Her boyfriend is a pig."

Sleepy cried quietly. "She's in love, but she wouldn't."

Sensing the full effect of the whites, Payaso leaned back in the seat. If he wanted, it seemed, he could bend the steering wheel into a knot or shove his hands through the windshield or even fly through it without suffering injury. His gun felt warm and alive as if it were part of his body.

He turned left into a dead end street and pulled to the curb directly under a streetlight. Killing the engine, he cupped Sleepy's chin. There were tears streaming down her face.

He lifted her skirt.

"People can see," she whispered.

He pulled down her panties and massaged her fuzzy softness.

"Not now, Payaso," she whispered. "Payaso. Payaso."

Leaving his trousers and revolver in place, he slid his zipper down and exposed his erect cock. He pushed her down on the seat. Arching into her, he grasped her breasts tightly. She held his shoulders and moaned deeply as he pounded into her.

"Please, not so hard, baby," she said, her voice shaking.

At that moment he came powerfully into her, then sat up immediately. He arranged himself quickly and secured his zipper.

Sleepy sat up. Staring at him, she pulled down her dress. "Are you high?"

Payaso grabbed the steering wheel and started the engine.

She slid next to him. "Payaso?"

He made a U turn, and headed south on Fourth Street.

"That's a red light!" she screamed as he drove through a four-way intersection. "Please be careful."

"Everybody is dead," he said.

"Where are we going?"

"White Fence
rifamos
. "

Stepanovich drove down City Terrace Avenue to the Tahitian Arms apartments. As he pulled into the parking lot, he mulled over what he was going to say to Gloria. Hell, he regretted not having come directly to the apartment from the station rather than stopping at the Rumor Control Bar.

As he climbed out of his car, he noticed a blue customized Chevrolet parked at the curb across the street the kind of car Payaso owned.

Stepanovich's breath caught in his throat and his muscles tightened. He looked up at Gloria's apartment. The lights were on.

Payaso, with his hand on the butt of his revolver, stood back from the doorway. Sleepy, standing in front of the door, was shaking with fear. "Do it," he whispered.

"Please. Don't make me "

"Do it, homegirl."

Sleepy wiped her eyes and, with her hand shaking, knocked on the door lightly. After a moment the door opened. "Gloria."

"Dora. What's wrong?" Gloria said.

Payaso stepped in front of Sleepy and shoved Gloria to the floor. He pulled Sleepy inside. He grabbed Gloria by the hair and put his gun in her face.

"You set us up, bitch."

"Dora. What is this?"

Sleepy broke into an uncontrollable bout of tears. "I told him what you said about Eighteenth coming to his house."

"The cops were waiting," Payaso said. "They killed the homeboys "

"I'm sorry," Gloria cried, coming to her feet. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

Payaso slapped Gloria with an open hand. Her head snapped back and she cried out. He aimed his revolver at her.

"No! Please don't hurt her!" Dora cried.

Payaso's face was tingling with heat. He felt light on his feet, potent, and invincible as he cocked his revolver. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted movement at the open door and whirled about.

Stepanovich grabbed Dora from behind and held his gun to her head. "Let Gloria go, Payaso." Payaso considered firing at Stepanovich, but hesitated because Dora would certainly be shot. Payaso kept his gun aimed at Gloria. "Your bitch is dead, pig," he said.

"She has nothing to do with what happened. Drop your gun."

"Fuck you, pig."

"Payaso, you pull the trigger and your woman is dead."

Suddenly Payaso realized with a start that although Stepanovich was using Dora for a shield, he himself was exposed. He tried to pull Gloria in front of him, but she resisted.

There was the sharp crack of gunfire.

Payaso felt himself being ripped backward and down as Stepanovich came at him firing. Though he knew he was getting killed, he restrained the urge to fire back because he might hit Sleepy, his
ruka
. With the sound of Sleepy shrieking and the gunshots and the cop screaming, "Drop the gun!" he was exploded over and over again. Lying there breathless, he. watched Stepanovich kick him in the ribs to roll him over. His arms were pulled behind him, and handcuffs clamped his wrists for the hundredth time in his life. As blackness took him, Payaso's last thought before lapsing into unconsciousness was that he was thankful for dope. Because of the pills he'd taken, there was little pain.

And to die without pain was good.

Stepanovich picked up Payaso's gun from the carpet and came to his feet.

"You killed him!" the woman screamed. She seemed stunned as Stepanovich frisked her. Sobbing loudly, she dropped to her knees next to Payaso.

Gloria, her hands doubled under her chin and eyes wide with fear, was standing with her back to the wall, staring at Payaso. Stepanovich walked over to her and reached to take her in his arms. She pulled away.

"Everything's OK now," he said, feeling his pulse in his mouth.

"Deeeeeeaaaaaaadddd!" Dora wailed.

From outside came the sound of sirens and rushing footsteps on the stairs. He pulled his badge from his belt and held it up as two young Hispanic officers burst through the doorway with revolvers held in the two handed combat stance.

"Everything's code four," Stepanovich said.

The officers lowered their weapons.

"Call an ambulance and notify the watch commander by land line. Tell him there's been an officer involved shooting."

"What do we have?" the taller officer said.

Stepanovich turned. Payaso's eyes were open and white foam was bubbling from his mouth. "Gang retaliation. He had a piece and I did him." Stepanovich nodded at the woman. "Take her in for murder."