Avenged (2 page)

Marina Access Way ended at the Catalina Shores parking structure and dock, a business that ferried people back and forth to Catalina, twenty-four miles across the channel. This was the only part of the renovation that had finished early.

Carly picked up the radio to announce that she and Joe were 10-97, on scene. Carly had seen no traffic or headlights anywhere. They reached the parking structure attached to the Catalina Shores pier, and again Joe slowed so they could listen. During business hours a parking arm would be down and drivers would have to pull a ticket to get in. At this time of night, the arm was up, and from what Carly could see, the lot empty. She knew that a section of the lot on top was marked off for long-term parking, for those people leaving
their cars to spend more than a day on Catalina and for Catalina residents who wanted to keep a car on the mainland. She couldn’t see up there at the moment.

Yellow fog lights illuminated a good deal of the area in spite of a lingering haze. Joe cruised slowly. Both he and Carly had their windows down, and heavy, foggy salt air swirled in. Joe brought the unit to a stop at the drop-off area as Carly advised dispatch they would be out of the car.

After sliding her nightstick into its ring, Carly waited for Joe to meet her on the passenger side of the car. They both carried flashlights but didn’t need to turn them on as they walked up the steps to the ticket offices. Then Carly saw the foot.

Hand out, she stopped Joe. “Here.” Sliding the flashlight into her sap pocket, she drew her weapon. The foot stuck out from behind a stone bench.

“Hello?” Carly called as she and Joe separated slightly to come at the person from different angles.

There was no response to her hails.

And as she made her way around the bench, she saw that there wouldn’t be.

Three bodies lay partially hidden behind the bench, facedown, hands secured behind their backs. They’d been shot execution style.

“JOE, THIS ONE ISN’T DEAD.”
Carly knelt beside the first body, which was twisted a bit sideways. The rise and fall of his chest, though shallow, was unmistakable. She’d seen a lot of death in her career. A dead body always took on a deflated, waxy appearance. Carly understood why the Bible called the earthly body a tent. When life vacated a body, it looked like something as void and empty as a flattened tent.

“What?” Joe knelt next to her. “That has to be reflex.” Even as he spoke, he had his radio out, telling dispatch they had three shooting victims and requesting an ambulance.

Carly shone her light on the victim’s head wound, emergency-aid training flooding her mind. He was definitely breathing, so no CPR was needed, but she wanted to be sure
he kept breathing. She found a weak pulse, and before she could ask, Joe leaped up to retrieve their first aid kit.

Pulling on disposable gloves, she did what she could to stop the victim’s bleeding and make certain his airway was not obstructed. She cut the plastic ties around the man’s wrists, knowing the medics would need access to his arms.

Man.
As she studied the face, she realized that the victim was barely a man . . . and she knew him. Hector Macias was just eighteen. She looked at the other two victims, and her breath caught in her throat as she realized she knew them all. Fighting emotion that would hinder her ability to think clearly, Carly bit her bottom lip and looked away from the faces. The hole in Hector’s head was obvious, and the amount of blood spreading on the ground beneath him made Carly flinch. She might be patching up the already dead. Still, she kept at it.

Assisting units arrived and began helping where Joe assigned them. The scene and Catalina launch were completely searched and secured. Carly knew that if the person or persons responsible were still here, they would have seen them. Marina Access Way was one lane in and one lane out. Yet only a few minutes had passed since they heard the shots.
We probably missed them by seconds,
she thought.

Fire Station 1 was close, and medics showed up quickly to relieve Carly. She stepped back to remove the gloves and collect her thoughts. By now, the assisting units were scouring inside the perimeter for any evidence or clues. Sergeant Barrett pulled up just after the medics.

“Your buddy is outside the tape, raising a ruckus because I won’t let him come closer,” Barrett told Carly as he walked up to survey the scene.

Carly shook her head and said nothing. Her “buddy” was Duncan Potter, the younger brother of a corrupt police officer Carly had been forced to shoot and kill in self-defense. A photographer by trade, Duncan carried a mobile scanner tuned to the local police frequency and had taken to following Carly and Joe to big calls, snapping photos. She’d confronted him once, and he’d told her that his sole mission in life was to document for the world that she was dishonest.

Since Potter was a stringer and had legitimate press credentials, he had a right to access as long as he didn’t interfere. Barrett justified keeping him away from this one because homicide wasn’t yet on scene.

“This is the first time I’ve seen such a blatant gang killing,” the sergeant said as he lit a cigarette.

Carly and Joe had made that same observation. Spray-painted all around the bodies was
9SN
crossed out with the numbers 187, the California Penal Code section for homicide. Above every crossed-out
9SN
were the letters
PAPZ
. The paint was still wet. Goose bumps rippled down Carly’s arms as she recalled the conversation she’d had with Londy Akins just last week. A former member of the Ninth Street Ninjas who’d turned his life around, Londy had landed his first job as a barista at Carly’s favorite coffee shop.

She and Joe responded to a vandalism call at Half Baked and Almost Grounded. Someone had thrown a metal
newspaper stand right through the front door. The shop had also been marked with graffiti, much like what she and Joe saw sprayed around the three shooting victims. Except there the Ninth Street Ninjas marked it up, and their markings were not crossed out.

“You have any idea why 9SN would tag this shop?” Carly had asked Londy.

“They say they didn’t,’’ he said. “I asked. But someone wanted us to think it was the Ninjas.”

Just like here, now, someone wanted to be certain the Playboyz were blamed for the shooting. Why?

Las Playas had two main downtown gangs: the Ninth Street Ninjas and the Pine Avenue Playboyz. The downtown commuter line neatly divided the two rival neighborhoods. When Carly first came on, before the rail line went in, there were two other gangs who claimed to control Las Playas—sects of the big LA gangs—and they were in the middle of a bloody gang war. But arrests and the rail line had calmed things down, and the violent LA influence had disappeared. The Ninjas and the Playboyz filled the void. Carly knew both gangs were heavy into drugs and auto theft. But with the exception of an occasional tagging war, things were quiet.

“It’s overkill,” Carly said almost to herself, pushing the interaction with Londy to the back of her mind and stepping a bit away to take in the grisly scene.

“Since when are gangsters subtle?” Barrett said with a puff of smoke. “Your beat takes in Ninth Street; did you recognize the victims?”

Carly nodded, the sting of knowing the kid she’d patched up returning. He’d just turned eighteen, and the last time she’d arrested him, she’d warned him that adult crimes would cost him a lot more time than juvenile crimes. He was a smart kid with an easy wit. The waste of it all weighed on Carly like a heavy load. What was he involved in that brought him here to be executed?

“We’ve arrested them all at one time or another.” She looked at Joe, who hiked a shoulder.

“It’s either auto theft or tagging with these guys,” he said. “They’re all Ninjas.”

“Hector, the one breathing, goes by the name Crusher,” Carly continued. “Martin Cruz uses the moniker Rojo, and the third is Diondre Baker, or D.”

The third one also gave Carly pause. She’d seen him two weeks ago away from work. He’d been at church. D. had attended an outreach put on by her church’s youth ministry. Londy helped organize many youth outreach events for the church, working tirelessly to get kids from his neighborhood out of gangs and into church. He had brought Diondre to the event. But what dug into Carly like a sharp spur was the impression she’d had that it hadn’t taken much to get Diondre to church. He’d wanted to change, to get away from the gangs.

So why was he here, two weeks later, with a bullet in his head?

“Why would they be here?” Joe asked, crossing his arms. “This is far from both gangs’ turf.”

“Who knows why these morons do anything,” Barrett hissed.

He’d been in a bad mood all night. Carly had noticed that during the squad meeting. She wasn’t going to ask what was wrong. Things had been frigid between them since Carly’s former roommate and best friend, Andrea, had broken up with Barrett. Carly was happy about the breakup; besides being married, Barrett was old enough to be Andrea’s father.

The medics rolled by with Hector, headed for their rig.

“You guys have anything to tell us?” Carly asked.

The senior medic shook her head. “Sorry; it’s a miracle he’s still breathing. That bullet went through and through.” She dragged her finger across the side of her head, from the back to the front. “I doubt he’ll wake up, but—” she shrugged as they pushed Hector to the rig—“who knows?”

“I made the necessary notifications,” Barrett said as the medics pulled away. To Carly that meant homicide was on the way. Barrett threw his cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it with the toe of his shoe. Abruptly he turned. “You guys sit tight. Corley is solo tonight; I’ll have him go to the hospital to get an update on the kid. Three units are assisting you down here; cut loose whoever you don’t think you’ll need. And I’ll tell that idiot Potter he has to sit tight until homicide gets here.” He strode to his car. “I’ll be at the station if you need anything.”

“He’ll be in a snit for a while, I bet,” Joe said as they watched the sergeant’s car drive away.

“Why? What’s he all bent about?”

Joe turned to her and said, “You haven’t heard?” When Carly shook her head, Joe continued. “His wife filed for divorce and suitcased him. I think he’s renting a room at some dive hotel on Seaside.”

Carly’s first thought was that Barrett had gotten what he deserved. Wincing at the mean-spirited idea, she mumbled, “Sorry, Lord,” under her breath and walked to where she could lean on the fender of their patrol car. She blew out a breath and pulled a roll of breath mints from her pocket. She really wanted coffee but knew that wouldn’t be possible for a while.

Joe stood next to her. She handed him the mints after she took one. For a minute they munched in silence.

“This will bring Nick out, won’t it?”

Joe’s voice shook Carly out of her brooding and she had to focus. He was talking about this triple shooting.

She nodded, thankful for the subject change. Nick had just been named the gang detail supervisor. It was an assignment he relished and for a time had thought he’d never get. He’d been shot in the hip in the line of duty a little over a year ago, during the mayor’s murder investigation. His rehabilitation had been long and hard, but finally, three months ago, he’d been cleared for full duty. Captain Jacobs had asked him to interview for the slot in gangs. The gang sergeant planned to retire and Jacobs said he wanted a squared-away sergeant to replace him. Flattered, Nick put his card in and got the job. He’d just spent a week at a gang school in San Luis Obispo and was as excited as Carly had ever seen him about his new assignment.

Folding her arms, Carly forced her thoughts back to the scene now encircled by yellow tape. “I just hope his first assignment as gang sergeant doesn’t put him right in the middle of a gang war.”

CARLY AND JOE WERE RELEASED
from the crime scene an hour after their EOW. While they’d waited through the early morning hours, Carly had realized that more often than not lately, the job itself did leave her feeling aggravated, not challenged. Like standing around a crime scene while everyone else worked, patrol work had become tedious. Was that just spillover from her worry about the trial or was it because thinking about the trial made her feel like working hard at this job didn’t guarantee success?

Detectives Peter Harris and Jorge Romo were the on-call homicide guys assigned to investigate the triple shooting. They’d called the gang detail out to assist at 4:30 a.m. Carly had grinned at the sight of her sleepy-eyed but focused husband arriving on scene, moving with the fluid grace of the athlete he was.

The look on his face still brought a smile to her lips—the excitement she was certain only she could see. For so long he’d been afraid that his injury would keep him from being a cop. Carly knew how much it had meant to him when the doctor cleared him for full duty. Passing the physical agility test and landing a job like gang supervisor was icing on the cake. Now his first big case was a double—most likely triple—homicide. Seeing Nick was the highlight of a shift spent mostly securing a scene.

Carly pulled into the driveway bathed in brilliant early-morning sunshine. It was a day made for a swim, and she felt as though she had enough energy for a crossing to Catalina. Turning off the motor, Carly gazed at the house she and Nick had purchased six years ago. She twirled her new wedding band with her thumb. It had been nine months since they’d remarried, and still Carly felt like she had on the honeymoon. In awe, amazed that things could be so fresh and new with a man she’d been married to, on and off, for nearly ten years, all she could do was thank the Lord.

She climbed out of the car, dragging her equipment kit across the seat as she did. Nick would likely be out all day. Even with his afternoon gang assignment, they usually made a point to have devotions together before she went to sleep. They wouldn’t be able to do that today, and the fact that he and his people would be turning over stones in a gang neighborhood to find a killer was a worry she tried to dismiss. Nick was a good and careful cop.

Once she opened the front door, an injection of dog
love chased away fatigue and anxiety. Maddie, their black Lab, was all wagging tail and happiness. As the dog weaved around her legs, Carly smiled, set her kit down, and knelt to scratch her. Hugging the warm, happy dog did a beautiful job of chasing the ugly images of murder from her mind.

“Okay, sweetheart, walk first and then bed.” Carly paused to set her handheld police radio in its charger and then grabbed a bottle of water before hooking Maddie to the leash. They were off.

They lived only two blocks from the Huntington Beach dog park. In the warm sunshine the walk relaxed Carly. She released Maddie to play as soon as they were inside the gate at the park, then found a place to sit in the sunshine.

The pleasant warmth acted like a sedative. She had almost dozed off in a sitting position when the chime of her phone jolted her awake. She pulled it out of her pocket and read the caller ID.

“Good morning, Mom.”

“Oh, I expected to leave a message. Glad you’re not asleep.”

Carly yawned. “I will be in a few. What’s up?”

“Londy called me, very upset. I turned on the news and saw what happened at Catalina Shores. Three shot. Are they all dead?”

Carly closed her eyes and brought a hand to her brow. She doubted that the coroner had notified the families this quickly, but it didn’t surprise her that Londy had already heard about the victims of the shooting. Word traveled fast on the streets,
especially if it was bad word. Odds were that the remaining Ninja gang members were already juicing up to retaliate.

“No, one of them is still alive—or was, when I logged out. But Londy’s friend Diondre didn’t make it.”

“Oh.” A moan of sorrow came through loud and clear. “Londy was afraid of that. Diondre was supposed to meet him this morning and didn’t show up. But one young man is still alive? Who?”

Carly thought a moment and then said, “Tell Londy it was Crusher. He went to Memorial Hospital.”

“I will. This is just so sad. Londy arranged for Diondre to get a job at Half Baked.”

Carly heard the distress in her mother’s voice. Her heart for troubled youth was breaking. Carly had told her more than once that she set herself up for disappointment with these kids. With Londy she’d been lucky. She stifled another yawn as Maddie bounded over, exhausted, tongue hanging out.

She hadn’t known that Erika and Ned Barton, the couple who owned and operated Half Baked and Almost Grounded, were going to hire Diondre, but she wasn’t surprised. They were good people. They’d given Londy a chance with a job and had not been disappointed. It made sense they’d trust Diondre.

You just can’t save them all,
she thought. “Tell Londy I’m sorry about D.”

•••

Carly woke with a headache around six, but Nick still wasn’t home. For a time she lay in bed and tried to force herself
back to sleep, successful only with dozing for a few minutes. What brought her fully to consciousness with a smile was her husband’s lips on her brow. She should have known he was in the house when she felt Maddie jump off the bed.

“Oh, hey,” she murmured, reaching up to hug him but pulling away as his scratchy face rubbed her cheek and the smell of cigarettes assaulted her nostrils. He’d been hanging around Mickey Tumanyan, a longtime gang officer who was also a chain smoker. She opened her eyes to Nick’s bloodshot blue ones. “And you look really tired.”

He smiled as she lay down again. “I’m whacked. I’d love to fall into bed and sleep for a week, but I’m starved. Came home for dinner.” He stifled a yawn. “And since I got called out, I didn’t get to do the shopping.”

“Shirking your responsibility because of work?” Carly teased. They’d divided household chores; Nick did the grocery shopping and yard work while Carly took care of housecleaning and bill paying. He’d teased her the other day about shirking her duties because Maddie had found a toy behind the couch with a huge dust bunny attached to it.

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “But I come bearing a peace offering. I brought home pizza.”

“Pizzamania?” She sat up, already salivating at the thought of their favorite local pizzeria.

He grinned. “Sausage and pineapple. Put together a salad while I shower?”

“You bet,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck, ignoring the beard and tobacco odor this time.

As Carly made her way to the kitchen, Maddie popped in through the dog door and shadowed her. Carly was wide-awake, and her headache faded as she fed the dog and inhaled the wonderful aroma of pizza. Her idea of heaven was a deep-dish pizza, a pitcher of Diet Coke, and a quiet corner with her husband. And knowing there was pizza kept her smiling even when she opened the nearly empty refrigerator. Salad wasn’t that important, she thought. Which was good, since they had no lettuce. All she found were two tomatoes and some Italian dressing. And no Diet Coke. They’d have to settle for iced tea.

By the time Nick joined her, she had the table set with sliced tomatoes, pizza, and tropical iced tea.

His hair was still wet, but when he hugged her from behind and rubbed his smooth cheek against hers, she could only smile and lean into his arms.

“Okay, I guess now
you
smell better than the pizza.”

“Hummph.” He kissed her, then sat, reaching out to grab a piece of sausage and pop it in his mouth.

“So how did it go? Tell me what’s happening with the shooting,” she said, sitting across from him.

Nick ran a hand down his face. “I’ll tell you everything after at least a few bites.” He said a quick blessing and they dug in.

“Crusher is still alive, and he might just stay that way.”

Carly swallowed and arched an eyebrow in surprise. “I didn’t think he really had a chance with a head wound like that.”

Nick reached for a second slice of pizza. “He was even conscious and talking in the ER.”

“Talking? Did he say who shot him?”

“No. According to Kyle, he was awake but confused. Kept asking for Rojo and D.”

“His dead friends.” Carly rubbed at gooseflesh on her arm.

Nick nodded. “He couldn’t answer direct questions. Doc told Kyle while the wound is serious, the bullet entered and exited without doing a lot of damage. Victims of head trauma have a better chance if only one side of the head is injured.” He bit into another slice of pizza and spoke with his mouth full. “’Course, only time will tell. His mom was there.”

“That must have been hard.”

“Yeah, but she’s a strong lady. You know Crusher had five brothers and sisters?”

“I knew he had a big family. He’s a fence kid, I think—not all bad. I arrested him a lot as a juvenile and always came away feeling like he didn’t have a hard-core attitude.”

Nick took another piece of pizza. “He just wants to belong to something. His mom said as much. She’s praying for Hector and asking the same thing of their priest, but she couldn’t stay at the hospital; she had other kids to care for. And she was praying they don’t end up like Hector.”

Carly sighed, understanding where the woman was coming from but still amazed.

“She told the doctor to let the police talk to Hector if he was able to and she also said she’d pray for us, that we’d find out who shot him.”

Carly smiled. “You will.”

Nick reached for his tea. “We served some search warrants on the Garnets, made some arrests, and confiscated some guns. But everyone denies shooting up the Ninjas.”

Carly cocked her head as she chewed. The Garnets were the known leaders of the Playboyz. Three brothers—Marcus, Harley, and German—alternated control, depending on who was in jail at any given time.

“Marcus Garnet is still in jail, isn’t he?”

“He’ll be out by the end of the summer,” Nick said. “German’s on parole, and he was minding his p’s and q’s. Claims he’s not feuding with anyone. Harley is the big gang boss right now and we couldn’t find him.” He frowned. “The thing is, this really doesn’t feel like their kind of gig. I mean, they are thugs and crooks, no doubt, but their MO has always been for cowardly drive-bys and intimidation. I can’t see any of the Playboyz having the guts to execute three guys point-blank like that. Besides that, this is so out of the blue. I haven’t been in gangs that long, but there was not the ghost of an inkling that something like this was brewing.”

“I agree. I thought the whole thing looked staged.”

“Staged to start a gang war?”

“Yep, for whatever reason.”

Nick tilted his head. “Mickey thinks that too. But who would gain from such a war? We’ve been through this before. Nobody wins.”

Carly could only shrug. She knew what he meant, and as the memory came alive in her mind, fear sliced through
her like a sharp claw. But the last thing she wanted was Nick worried or second-guessing himself because of her fear.

He closed the pizza box. “Want some coffee?”

“I’m meeting Andi at Half Baked before work.”

“Then I’ll just make a cup.”

She didn’t want to tell him she was afraid for him. Telling him that seemed so weak, so faithless. So clingy.

When she’d first been hired over ten years ago, there’d been a bloody gang war going on in Las Playas. Back then, crack cocaine was the product of choice for both gangs, and two main groups fought over turf. Carly remembered all too well the bloody toll the war extracted. Thankfully, no officers lost their lives, but over the course of the five-year war, four innocent people were killed. One family lost a three-year-old, caught in the cross fire during a family barbecue where five other people were wounded. She’d been in training when she’d been dispatched to the crime scene that resembled a war zone.

The carnage broke the backs of both gangs, and now neither existed in the city. The Ninjas and the Playboyz had formed to fill the vacuum and began as tagging crews. Were Carly and Nick seeing the start of something vicious and bloody?

Carly prayed with all her might that they weren’t.