A Forest of Corpses (8 page)

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 judge 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?"

"Pre law," he said stiffly.

"Going to be a lawyer?" When he nodded I asked, "What changed your mind?"

"Other lawyers."

"Yes, they can have that affect on you. The Lieutenant was pre law, too. I think she had the same epiphany."

He grunted, never taking his eyes off the road.

"Let's check out this Momo sighting," I said. "We can round up a judge later to go over this for us."

We rolled onto Por la Mar Drive, about a block from the beach proper. I spotted the black and white pulled up in front of a small, grassy park. Two uniformed officers stood on either side of a stoop-shouldered black woman who dragged a 79

A Forest of Corpses

by P. A. Brown

ratty, tag-along piece of luggage in one hand and a small, round white and tan long-haired dog on a tartan-colored leash in the other. She appeared to be arguing with them.

When Miguel and I drew nearer, the older of the two unis touched his hand to the brim of his hat and murmured,

"Ma'am, here are the detectives to talk to you. You just tell them what you told us, and everything will be all right."

She turned shrewd eyes toward us. Her face was a mass of wrinkles and seams with patches of wiry hair sticking out of her head at odd angles. She had a mouthful of broken and rotting teeth. "You two goin' to stop them boys what done Sly?"

"Sly? Do you mean Issac Simpson?"

"That was his slave name. His God name was Sly."

She tugged on the dog's leash and the pair headed toward the beach. Miguel and I fell in step with her. "What can you tell us, ma'am?" I asked. "We want to catch these boys and make them pay for what they did to Mr. Simps—Sly. Can you help us?"

"Don't know what you think I can do." She kept walking, and for a woman who had to be at least in her late sixties, she was agile. Even her dog had to trot to keep up with her.

"They come around ev'ry day, no one do a thing. Not then, not now."

"We're here to do something, ma'am," Miguel said gently.

"You have fought a good fight, you have finished the course and kept the faith. Now you must tell us what you know, and find peace."