L.A. Boneyard (34 page)

“David...” Chris breathed. But he had seen David only seconds ago. So what was happening? Who was hurt? “What’s going on?”

“They’re not saying,” Des said. “But David’s there and it looks like he was in a cat fight.”

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289

“USC.” Chris stabbed the TV remote off and jumped to his feet. “I need to get out there. I’ll talk to you later, hon.”

“Let me know—” But before he could finish the sentence, Chris had hung up. He paused only long enough to grab his jacket, and rental car keys, and bolted out the door, telling Sergeant to stay. He broke a few speed limits on his way to the hospital.

The emergency waiting room was the usual controlled chaos. Chris spotted a couple of LAPD uniformed cops he didn’t recognize, and thought of approaching them. But he knew cops tended to band together when things like this happened, and they didn’t take kindly to strangers sticking their civilian noses in police affairs. He sidled closer to them, to overhear their conversations.

“Guy went out without backup. No one knows what he was thinking, but Jesus, I wouldn’t be caught dead down there without my partner and backup. Heard this one didn’t even tell his partner what was up.”

“Rookies,” one of the cops muttered under his breath. “Get their asses shot off and one of us has to clean up the mess.”

The griping turned to concern. “He going to be okay?”

“No one will say. He’s still in surgery. At least one bullet in him. Whoever it was messed him up pretty good before the shoot.”

Chris drifted away, and was just wandering around, when he spotted David emerging from a room, with a Latino woman he had never seen before, who had obviously been crying. She held a tattered Kleenex in her fist, and would occasionally dab her wet eyes and nose with the useless tissue. David was clearly trying to soothe her.

Chris could see David’s suit jacket and wool pants were caked in blood and gore. Had he been shot too? But no, he wouldn’t be out here if he was injured. So where had the blood come from? He hurried over to where David and the woman stood. David looked up when he got nearer and his face fell.

“Oh, Chris. I should have called, but it’s been crazy—”

290 P.A. Brown

“What happened?”

“Jairo got shot.”

Chris fell back a step. Jairo? He threw a look at the teary woman. But hadn’t David said he was ending that partnership?

But then David wouldn’t turn his back on any cop who was hurt in the line of duty.

He nodded at the woman who must be Jairo’s wife. “I’m sorry,
Señora
...” He looked helplessly at David, who quickly provided the name. “
Señora
Adele Hernandez.”

“
Señora
Hernandez,” Chris said. “This must be a terrible time for you.”

“He did not tell me what he was doing,” Mrs. Hernandez’s thickly accented voice was choked with grief. “He not tell me anything. I knew something bad would happen. I tell him this morning to be careful. Something bad will happen.” She sobbed into her Kleenex. “He never listen.”

“He’s going to be okay,
Señora
Hernandez,” David said.

“The doctors here are top-notch. They’ll take care of him.”

“I must see him—”

The hysterical woman tried to charge through the swinging doors into ICU, and the surgical section. David caught her arm hard enough to leave a mark.

“No,
Señora
Hernandez. You have to leave it to the doctors.

They’re doing everything possible.”

So Jairo wasn’t entirely out of danger. Chris had nothing but sympathy for the wives and partners of cops. You never knew when you were going to get that phone call, or the visit from a detective, who would fulfill your worst nightmare. Chris was tempted to speak, to echo David’s sentiments, but in the end he bit his lip, and said nothing.

Two other uniformed cops approached David and the woman. Chris heard their soft, deferential voices. “We knew Jairo from his patrol days. We used to ride together on more than one occasion. He was a damn good cop.”

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291

“Is a damned good cop,” David snapped. No one took offense.

“Sure, sorry, Detective. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

David turned away and caught sight of Chris again. His face twisted up in anguish and Chris thought he was going to leave.

He caught up with him near the entrance to ICU.

“I heard about what happened on the news. Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“David—”

“Not now, Chris.”

“Please, David. You’re just upset. I can imagine what it must have been like—”

“No, you can’t.” David was still staring off into the distance, like he had been earlier on the news. Like he was reliving the shooting again and again. “He’s here because of me. Because I didn’t do my job.”

“You feel guilty. That’s natural—”

“I am guilty,” David said softly. “I don’t think this is a good place to be having this conversation. Why don’t you go home.

I’ll call you later.”

“What about us? Are you just going to kill us because you made one stupid mistake?”

“Hardly stupid. Because of me, and my refusal to do my job, a man is in there. He may be dying. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.” He jerked his arm away from Chris. “I even lied to you about getting rid of him as a partner because you were so upset over it. Even when I knew it was a lie. He is my partner. Was...” his voice trailed off into a whisper. “I messed everything up.”

“I...” Chris stepped away from David, studying his rough, pockmarked face. He didn’t know what to say. “I guess I was wrong.”

292 P.A. Brown

Saturday, 9:55 PM USC County General, North State Street, East Los
Angeles

David watched Chris leave. He knew he should stop him.

That this wasn’t the way this should end, but he was too enervated to care right now. Later he would sit down with Chris and they would decide if their relationship was worth saving.

He had seen the signs that Chris had spent most of the afternoon getting ready for their date. He had polished himself into a perfection David couldn’t approach. He didn’t deserve someone so perfect. Why couldn’t Chris see that?

The last few hours had proved one thing. He didn’t deserve Chris, period. He should have known that from the beginning, but sometimes he guessed he was slow. It would probably take him a while, too, but Chris would eventually see it was for the best. He’d find someone easily enough, who would be better for him. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands at the thought of Chris with another man, then roughly shoved the thought aside. He had to let him go. For both their sakes.

A surgically garbed doctor hurried out of the locked door, and conferred briefly with Mrs. Hernandez. She was earning her stripes tonight. After today, she would be a true cop’s wife. He saw her face grow pale, and he hurried over to her.

“What’s the news?”

“He is out of surgery. For now. He must undergo more surgery. There is damage...” She wept. “He is going to die—”

“Please,
Señora
Hernandez
.
You must be strong...” He gripped her arm. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. He’s young. He’ll pull through.”

“He thinks he is
invencible
,” she hissed. “He will not give up the police work. Not even for a bullet. He loves it too much.

You are not married, I know this. Jairo told me so. You do not know how bad it is for a wife.”

David didn’t dispute the accusation. There was a hell of a lot he didn’t know anymore. More people began to crowd into the waiting room. Latinos all, they gathered around Jairo’s wife, and L.A. BONEYARD
293

David realized they must be members of Jairo’s vast family. The one he used to joke about.

Konstatinov came up and stood deferentially off to the side.

He didn’t speak until David looked at him.

“The Captain is on his way. He wants a report when he arrives.”

David glanced over at Jairo’s family. The room was filled with their soft voices and quiet fear.

Fredericks arrived and conferred with the family, offering his sympathy, and encouragement, following department protocol. Finally he approached David and Konstatinov.

“You want to tell me what the hell happened here, Laine?”

“Detective Hernandez developed a contact on Drew Street—”

“He had a CI down there? Where’s the paperwork on it?”

“I don’t believe he’d formalized the relationship—”

“So he was down there on his own? Did you sanction this foolishness, Laine?”

“No, I—”

“So a rookie D was down there on his own?”

Any answer was going to get someone in trouble. David thought of Jairo in there fighting for his life. If he survived, did David want to put a black mark on his jacket? Face it, Jairo had been down there because he had neglected his duties as senior officer. His mistake. His bad. Not Jairo’s.

“No sir. I thought he’d be safe. He was just checking on some sources for me.”

“So you authorized this venture?”

“Yes, sir.”

Fredericks disapproval was palpable. “I want you to return to the station. I expect a full report on my desk by the time I get back there.”

David didn’t want to leave. Not until they knew if Jairo would be all right. “But sir, Detective Hernandez—”

294 P.A. Brown

“You’ll be kept apprised of his condition. Take Konstatinov with you. Interview the shooter. I want a full confession on tape when I get back.”

“Yes, sir.” David signaled Konstatinov to follow him.

David first step was to secure an interview with the banger who had set Jairo up and shot him. He had Konstatinov stand on the other side of the two-way to observe and listen. As much as he would have liked to plow his fist into the smug banger’s sneering face, this was going to be by the book. No fubars allowed. No chance the guy would walk on this because of something he did.

Garza now wore the red jumpsuit of a K10 inmate, on keep away status. The two deputies, who would escort him everywhere he went, until he was returned to the Men’s Central and held over for trial, led him to the table and took up position by the door. He still wore his travel jewelry—arm and leg irons attached to a metal band around his waist. David Mirandized him again, and slid the banger’s multi page rap sheet across the table at the bored looking man, before pulling a chair out to sit down. David wanted to leap across the table and wrap his hands around the punk’s throat. Instead he deliberately put his notebook on the table and tapped the scarred surface with his pen. “Well, Mr. Celeo Perez Garza, you’re in a fine pickle here.”

“What you mean by that,
Güey
?”

“It means third strike and you’re out, cuz.”

“
Lerzo.
You ain’t my cuz.”

“You’re screwed,” David said softly, aware the banger was watching him with the intensity of a hawk eying a mouse. “Say hello to hard time, for a long time.”

“Ha, you don’t scare me, low rent.”

“No?” David leaned over the table. He had changed his jacket for a spare he kept in his locker, but there hadn’t been a shirt and Jairo’s blood was still on it. It felt tacky and hard against his skin. He saw Garza’ eyes flick over the stains then look away, pretending indifference. “It means you shot a cop, asshole, and if he dies you’re going to fry. I’ll personally see to L.A. BONEYARD
295

it. I foresee the green room at Quentin in your future. You think you’ll like it there?”

“
No sé
. Ain’t gonna happen. I’m made.”

Interesting. “You claiming to be
carnale
? You little pissant loser? You think the
Eme
is going to back your play? What do you think the
mesero
are going to do when I let them know you green-lighted a cop like you’re some kind of shot-caller? Think that’s going to go over well? Or maybe you figure your little Ukrainian friend is going to save your punk ass? Think Degrasses will be there for you?”

Garza looked startled but recovered quickly. “Don’t know the dude.”

“How did you meet him? I hardly think he’d come down to the ‘hood to run a recruitment drive. So how did he find a loser like you to do his dirty work?”

Garza bristled. “I’m clean. Guy never told me he was a cop.”

“You really think that’s going to mean shit? You’re going down for attempted murder of a police officer, receiving stolen property, possession of illegal and unregistered weapons, and probably trespassing, since I doubt if you actually got a lease on that house. Probably tack on a few more weapons charges, and maybe a couple of others. Those years can add up pretty fast if you start counting. And if Detective Hernandez dies... Your ass is mine. Now tell me about Degrasses.”

Garza was silent.

“Or go down for him,” David said. “I’m sure he’ll reward you handsomely. Maybe as well as he rewarded Mikalenko, give you hard candy like he gave Mikalenko. You think the guy cares about you? You’re a rat’s ass to him. He’ll exterminate you just like a fat rodent and never lose a minute’s sleep.”

“You can’t talk to me like that. I want my Cochrane.”

David stood up and shut off the recorder. “Okay, have it your way. I’m done trying to talk sense into you.” He signaled the deputies lounging near the door. “Take him back. I guess I’ll see you in court—”

296 P.A. Brown

The taller of the two deputies stepped forward. Garza spoke quickly. “Wait. What kinda deal you talking?”

“You’ll have to talk to the DA about that. Dropout and we’ll see you get PC. If your information is solid, I think it could keep you out of the chair and off the
listas
.”

“No time? Probation?”

“Keep dreaming, Garza. No way you’re skating on this.

You’ll get protective custody, and avoid a shit-covered shiv in your gut the next time you walk the yard. They say you smell it before it hits you. You think that’s true?”

Garza looked sick.

“You want to talk?”

“I’ll talk,” Garza said sullenly. “What you want?”

David sat back down again. He reactivated the recorder, and ran through the introduction again. Once more he advised the banger of his rights, and got him to verbally agree to waive them. He also had him sign a copy of the Miranda card he always carried. “How did you meet Degrasses? What have you done for him? Give me dates, times and locations for your meetings. Did you involve anyone else and in what capacity?