L.A. Boneyard (35 page)

That’ll do for a start.”

Garza started cursing David, who ignored the tirade, and waited until the banger got tired of spewing filth.

“You ready to go on, or do I arrange transport back to Men’s Central?”

“I’ll take it all back if I don’t get a sweet deal. Deny everything.”

David didn’t bother mentioning the running tape. If Garza wanted to forget it, then David wasn’t going to remind him.

And he neglected to mention that Konstatinov was watching on the other side of the two-way, taking his own notes.

“How did you meet Degrasses?”

“Through that other dude, the Russian guy.”

“What was his name?”

“Mickey. That’s all he ever said, like that was his real name.”

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297

“You’re sure he was Russian?” The last thing the DA would need was a sharp defense lawyer to say he couldn’t have possibly meant Mikalenko, since Mikalenko was not Russian.

David also didn’t mention that Mikalenko was dead.

“How the fuck I know. He talked funny. Sounded Russian to me. Them damn commies all sound alike.”

“So you met Mr. Mikalenko first, then he introduced you to Degrasses. Did he ever say where he met Degrasses?”

“Nah, he don’t say. Who cares, right? His green’s good. His MAC’s sweet too.”

“You mean the Mk 46s?”

“Whatever they are, they sweet. He tell us he got lots more where those come from. He arm us up good, do some serious set-tripping. Last time we met up, he says we got some major business to tend to. He bringing in some more girls, ‘replenish his stable’ he says.” Garza snorted with laughter. “He got some fine
señoritas
, I gotta tell you. Sure would have liked a piece of that, know what I mean? I tell him I good for business. I already helped him once, when that white dog mess up his girls.”

“What white dog?”

“That pasty Russian dude. He call Degrasses up all in a panic, cause all his bitches got dead. Man, Degrasses was pissed on that, I tell you.”

David thought fast. “You mean Mikalenko called Degrasses about his girls dying?”

“Deader ‘n shit. That blond bitch clocked them. Who’d a thought she had it in her? Degrasses sure didn’t.”

“So they called you to... what?” Had they been wrong? Had Garza killed Halyna?

“He needed help getting rid of them whores. It was me thought of taking them up to the park and putting them in the ground. That Russian pussy couldn’t think straight to save his own ass, less alone Degrasses’.”

298 P.A. Brown

“And you don’t mind getting your hands dirty, do you, Garza?” David said.

Garza preened. “
Podrido
know how to take care of things.”

Suddenly he frowned. “What you mean about Degrasses taking care of Mickey?”

“What do you think I mean,
cuate
?” David leaned forward.

“He had him shanked in lockdown, the same place you’re going, when you leave here. Think he’s already got a blade with your name on it? Maybe you’ll get lucky, and they’ll keep you in ad seg for your bit.”

For the first time Garza looked frightened. “You gotta protect me, right? That freak show Degrasses gets me, you got no case.”

Something in Garza’s tone alerted David. “Why’s he a freak?

He do something to make you think he’s a freak?”

Through his fear, impatience. Like David was slow to catch on to what was obvious. “He sells women, right? Ho’s his thing for making dough, but it’s not what turns his crank, you get my drift.”

“No I don’t. What does turn his crank?”

“He likes kids, real young ones. I always thought that was sicko. Where’s the fun in dipping your wank in a kiddie butt?”

“You saw him do this?”

“Nah, man, you think I watch that shit? I ain’t sick. I like slit. But I seen him with a little kid once, in his fancy hotel room. I don’t think I was supposed to see it, but this kid come out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes like he just woke up.

Degrasses got real pissed at the brat and sent him back.

Thought sure the kid was gonna piss hisself. After that we met elsewhere, you get my drift.”

“How do you know he wasn’t just looking after his nephew or someone’s kid?”

“Shit, my nephew walk like that kid and I’d know someone’s been shoving something bigger than a pinkie up his grunt hole.”

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299

David felt sick. He had to get Degrasses off the street.

Permanently.

“Who gave you your orders? Mikalenko or Degrasses? Who did you soldier for?”

“Degrasses
el mero chingon
. I never heard Mickey say boo to him any time they were together. He keep it moving, sure, but I know they come from Degrasses.”

“How’d you know? Why couldn’t Mikalenko have been the top dog?”

Garza gave a harsh laugh. “That fool? Couldn’t hardly find his asshole wit’ a flashlight. Not surprised Degrasses wasted him.
Petiso de mierda.
Some
perros
don’t deserve to live.”

“Who greenlighted him?
Eme
order the hit?”

“Not them. I do my own business. What you take me for?”

David leaned over the table, his face in Garza’s. “What do I take you for? A fool, with more balls than brains. Garden slugs got a higher IQ than you. You want me to go on?”

“I don’t gotta take this shit.”

“No, you don’t. I can arrange a bus to take you down to county right now, if you want. You can be there in time for a breakfast burrito. Now let’s continue this dance, or let’s call it quits. I’m too tired for this shit.”

Sunday, 12:40 AM, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles
Chris had no idea how or when he got home. He stripped off his carefully selected outfit, and dropped everything on the bedroom floor, kicking it aside as he grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Barefoot he descended the stairs and wandered through the house, touching things as memories played havoc with his mind. The phone rang before he made it into the living room. He nearly tripped trying to get to it, but when he looked at the call display, he saw it was only Des. He let it go to voicemail, not capable of dealing with his friend, and his well-meaning verbal hugs.

He stopped in front of the window, and stared down at the reservoir at the bottom of the hill. Lights flared and flickered in the placid water. A low mist crept off the water, dimming the lights. Sergeant came up and pushed his damp nose against Chris’s hand.

The phone rang again. He ignored it and the dog.

It was really over. His mind still couldn’t wrap itself around the knowledge he carried deep in his gut. David didn’t want him anymore. He was willing to lie to placate him. To fool him into thinking he would be faithful, when all the time he was playing Chris for a fool.

But some small spark in him kept the hope alive. Was that how it really was? Maybe David had another reason for the lies.

How was that possible? He leaned into the picture window, hands splayed on the glass, face inches from the smooth surface. His breath fogged it up, then cleared, then fogged again, as he inhaled, then exhaled. All without conscious thought. Like bugs mindlessly throwing themselves against a lantern’s flame, unaware it would scorch the skin off their bodies, leaving them empty husks.

302 P.A. Brown

David had always been very protective of Chris. From the first time they had shared a bed, David had shielded him, first from the Carpet Killer, then from any knowledge of what David’s world encompassed. Chris hadn’t always liked it, but he also hadn’t wanted to know the ugliness David lived with day in and out. He just wanted to be there to lick David’s wounds when a case went south. Was this just another example of David trying to keep the world away from him? And all he could do was be a shrill bitch, and doubt David’s integrity.

The phone rang a third time. He turned to stare at it.

Knowing it wasn’t David. It kept ringing, and eventually he gave in and answered it. It was Des, as he expected.

“Jesus, hon. I’ve been calling all night. Where have you been?”

“Nowhere.”

“Did you see David?”

“What? Oh yeah, I saw him.”

“Well, is he okay? What’s happening? The news did nothing but repeat the same story again and again until I thought I’d scream. They still haven’t even released the name of the cop--”

“It was David’s partner.”

“Oh, geez, that’s terrible. How’s David taking it?”

“How does David take anything?”

“Whoa, man. I think I need to come over there. You’re scaring me, Chris.”

“I’m okay. I’m going to bed soon. Don’t bother coming by.

I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before Des could say anything else, Chris hung up and went back to staring out the window. The phone rang again. He ignored it. Eventually he went back upstairs, turned off the phone, and went to bed. Sergeant leapt into bed beside him, occupying David’s space.

L.A. BONEYARD
303

Sunday, 5:45 AM USC County General, North State Street, East Los
Angeles

Jairo was out of surgery and in ICU. David found a sympathetic nurse who led him down to Jairo’s glassed in cubicle, leaving when he had slipped through the half opened door.

Jairo was still unconscious. A bandage covered most of his head, and there were stitches marring his chiseled face, now lumpy with cuts and swollen bruises. Even his mouth looked puffy. Both eyes were black and shut. But his breathing was even, and his chest rose and fell in a shallow, but steady, rhythm. Drool stained his pillow. His eyes darted around behind closed eyes, and David wondered what dark dreams plagued his sleep.

Jairo’s wife, and three men he took to be Jairo’s brothers, clustered around the foot of the bed. She looked as though she had aged a decade since he had first seen her the evening before. David didn’t intrude. He really didn’t want to make small talk with anyone.

Finally, he had to say something, or leave. Like a supplicant, he approached her, and ducked his head when she looked at him. “How is he,
Señora
Hernandez?”

“No one will tell me. The doctor’s say he will need more surgery. They cannot stop his bleeding.”

David glanced over at the comatose man, looking so unlike his usual vibrant self. He looked back at the woman. He had to speak, to say something, even if he didn’t believe his reassurances, “I’m sure he’ll be okay. He’s a fine detective. It’s been a pleasure to train him.”

David could see the censure in her eyes.
Didn’t train him very
well, did you?
David gripped her hand briefly, then beat a hasty retreat, before he could blurt out that it was all his fault. She didn’t need him laying his guilt all over them.

David fled back to the waiting room. Fredericks returned, and McKee came in, too. Other cops, uniformed and
304 P.A. Brown

plainclothes, drifted in, the worry in the waiting room was palpable.

When the family came back from Jairo’s room, the tension notched up twofold.

Jairo had been rushed back into surgery. It didn’t look good.

David began to hear muttered prayers, some in soft Spanish, others in English; all heartfelt. He was silent. He didn’t know how to pray, or who to pray to.

Around them, the normal activities of a busy hospital increased as the day unfolded. Hospital staff bustled around, breakfast trays gave way to lunch. Visitors came and went, many unnerved by the presence of so many silent uniformed cops.

Newly arrived cops brought coffee and donuts around.

David grew jittery with a caffeine jag. His stomach roiled with nausea as he watched doctors come, and go, and consult in whispers with the family, who looked grimmer and grimmer as the day dragged on.

Early in the afternoon, an exhausted looking man in stained surgical gear entered the waiting room, and went straight to Jairo’s wife. He put his hand on the woman’s arm, and spoke quietly to her.

Her reaction was swift and incontestable. Her scream echoed through the crowded waiting room, and all eyes locked on her. She collapsed, and would have fallen if Jairo’s brothers hadn’t caught her and led her after the medical staff into another room. The door closed behind them.

David’s shoulders slumped. He rubbed his grainy, swollen eyes, and blinked owlishly around him. Everyone traded sorrowful glances, and slowly conversation started again. There were murmurs of shock and disbelief. No one would look at David.

Fredericks came up to him.

“Go back to the station, Laine. It’s over.”

“No sir,” David said softly. “It’s not over. Not yet.”

Sunday, 5:30 PM, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando
Road, Los Angeles

At the station, he began drawing up the warrant to arrest Degrasses, and search his residence for ties to Mikalenko, all four women, and kiddie porn. When he thought he had built a pretty good case for each item he wanted to search for—

including computers and all external storage devices, written and printed documentation, and images and anything that pointed to familiarity with the four Ukrainian women, their doctor, Mikalenko, or the Avenues, he sent the document to the nearest printer. He had to keep dragging his mind back to the task at hand, when his thoughts kept going back to unwanted memories of Jairo. He then called DeSoto only to find she was up in Santa Barbara, visiting family. She wasn’t expected back until Monday. “Serves you right,” he muttered. “Thinking everyone else is a workaholic like you. Most people enjoy a life outside their cubicle walls.”

He grew restless as the day crawled by. The mood in the station house was black, a perfect match for the black armbands everyone in the building had put on. Silence ruled, no one felt like engaging in idle chatter. David desperately wished he could call Chris, but knew he had well and truly screwed that dog.

Chris would never speak to him again, and rightly so. He was so wrong for Chris, on so many levels. Loving him had nothing to do with anything anymore. The best thing he could do for Chris was to stay as far away as he could. Except... he didn’t want to.

He wanted more than anything to climb into his car, and go over there, and make Chris listen. To beg his forgiveness.