Street Rules (12 page)

“Closing in on seventeen years.”

“You’re almost ready for retirement.”

“Not quite.”

Gail flashed a bright smile, “You like what you do?”

Frank nodded, “A lot. Miss being on the streets, though. It’s easy to lose touch.”

“I know what you mean. I miss being in the trenches too. I try and do a post every day. Where were you before Figueroa?”

“That’s it. Never been anywhere else.”

“You’re kidding? That’s pretty unusual.”

“Yeah. Everybody want’s to get out of Figueroa, not into it. That’s where they put us — me — straight out of the Academy. Probably thought it would be a good way to weed the female boots out. But it was like home to me. Besides, it’s a great station for homicide. I’d go crazy in one of the white-collar divisions.”

Gail narrowed her green eyes. “You’re not one of those adrenaline junkies, are you?”

Frank thought of Kennedy and said, “Definitely not.”

They rolled into Frank’s driveway. She switched lights on while Gail ooed and ahhed over the split level living room.

“Do I get the grand tour?” she asked.

“Soon as I get rid of this,” Frank replied, emptying her bulging pockets. Gun, badge, and cuffs took their place next to case folders and manila envelopes on the crowded dining room.

“The place belonged to an architect,” Frank explained, showing Gail the guest room and master bedroom to one side of the living room. She paused at the kitchen, open to the living and dining area, and pulled two Bass Ales out of the fridge.

Indicating the other side of the living room she said, “There’s a den over there, and that second door used to lead into the garage. Now it’s my gym.”

She poured Gail’s beer into a mug from the freezer. Hers she left in the bottle.

“Cheers,” Gail said.

Frank nodded, draining a quarter of the bottle. She made the sandwiches as they talked easily about staffing nightmares and supervising men in a man’s world. The conversation shifted to movies, then food, and Frank found Gail both articulate and amusing. Well after they’d finished the sandwiches, they each nursed a pony of Ruby Pinto, and it hit Frank that she hadn’t thought of Placa in hours. She felt a stab of conscience and decided that was pretty unreasonable. Clay was right, maybe she rode herself too hard sometimes.

Gail must have sensed that Frank had drifted from the conversation, because she said, “I think I’d better go. It looks like I’m putting you to sleep.”

“No. Not at all. I was just thinking…” Frank hesitated, wondering if she should admit it. “What a nice night it’s been.”

“Yeah,” Gail agreed, rising. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

“Yeah.”

Frank walked Gail out to her car, telling her how to get back onto Huntington. When she went back inside the house was too still. She put a handful of CDs into the player and tapped the random button. She paced through the dining room, the kitchen, back into the dining room, her hand lingering over reports. She glanced at her wrist, wondering if it was too late to call Noah. Probably not, she thought.

The phone buzzed in her ear and she was about to hang up when Tracey answered.

“Hey. Is this the most beautiful woman in L.A.?”

“Oh, hang on a sec. You want my twin sister who’s forty pounds lighter.”

“No, I think I’ve got the right sister. Hi, gorgeous. How’s No?”

“He’s okay. He’s planted in front of a
Gilligan’s Island
marathon. I’ll get him, hold on.”

Frank tried to protest but Tracey had already slammed the phone down. When he picked it up, Frank said, “Mr. De La Hoya, my man. Didn’t mean to interrupt the cultural hour. Just checking up on you.”

“Dudess. I’m sorry about this afternoon. I shouldn’t have lost it like that, in the morgue and everything.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll ream you out tomorrow. ‘Sides, gave the doc a chance to give me a ride home.”

“Oh, yeah? Did you ask her out?”

“Yeah, sure. You know what a play-uh I am. I made her one of my killer roast beef sandwiches and we had a couple beers.”

“Oh, yeah? Then what?”

Frank smiled into the receiver, glad No was okay and back to matchmaking.

“That’s it, dummy, else I wouldn’t be calling you.”

“Aw, man.”

“Look. Get back to Ginger and MaryAnn. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“That’s a big 10-4. Hey, dudess?”

“Yeah?”

“Which one you like better? Ginger or MaryAnn?”

“That’s easy. You sleep with Ginger. You marry MaryAnn.”

“Right on. Hey. Thanks for callin’.”

“No sweat.”

Frank tipped herself back on the barstool at her kitchen counter. She felt surprisingly good. She was warm and well fed, and had a nice buzz going, but she had to admit she’d had a really good time tonight. In a town like L.A., where people were obsessed with cash and flash, Gail’s simple good looks and honest conversation were refreshing. Attractive, Frank decided, then dropped the stool back onto all fours. That was neither here nor there.

Stretching and sighing, she planned out tomorrow. She needed to talk to Johnnie and sit him down with Noah, have them make peace. Christ, she thought, I’m running a Romper Room, not a homicide squad. Miles glided
into Seven Steps
as she flipped open the
L.A. Times
on the table. It would have been a fine thing to see Miles live, she thought, wondering if Gail liked jazz.

Before Johnnie and Noah went out, Frank called them into her office. Noah sat on the thin couch and Johnnie straddled a plastic chair. Cocking a hip on her desk, Frank glared down at both of them, a rare vantage.

“What happened in the morgue yesterday was inexcusable. Johnnie, your comment about Placa was inappropriate, unprofessional, and offensive to everyone in the room. You apologize to Doc Lawless and her staff, today.”

Johnnie started his usual bluster, but glaring at Noah she continued, “Your behavior wasn’t any better. You apologize along with your partner.”

Noah rolled his eyes and crabbed, “Whatever. But that crack —”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said. “I want that apology today, in person, both of you. Got it?”

“Fuck,” Johnnie said, “I got court all day.”

“I thought that wasn’t until ten.”

“I gotta get a wit before that,” he complained.

“Then you better get going. Morgue opens at eight.”

“Come on, Frank,” Noah tried intervening, “can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“Nope. I want this taken care of before you,” she said to Johnnie, “open your fat mouth again, and before you,” to Noah, “pretend to be Sugar Ray again.”

Noah hung his head, but Frank could see the grin under his bangs.

“You can go,” she told him.

Johnnie squirmed in his seat, whining like a schoolboy, “How come he gets to go?”

Frank ignored him, telling Noah to close the door. When he did, she answered, ” ‘Cause he’s not using all his sick time on hangovers.”

“Did he tell you that?” he said jerking his thumb at the door.

“Didn’t have to. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out when you come in shaking and sweating, bloodshot as hell. Want to tell me about it?”

“There’s nothin’ to tell about! Shit, Frank, I don’t have enough fingers to count the number times you’ve come in lookin’ like something the cat threw up.”

“You’re right. Everybody ties one on sometimes, me included, but we don’t skip work because of our hangovers, and when I’m getting complaints about one of my cops leaning out of his car and puking in the street, then I’ve got a problem.”

“I had the flu or something. That fucking chicken at Popeye’s.”

“Johnnie. You can bullshit this all you want. That’s your decision. I can’t make you talk to me. But I’m telling you, you’re walkin’ a fine line. You got a problem? That’s okay. Everybody’s got ‘em. Hell, I got ‘em, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you. If you can handle it on your own, great. Show me. If you can’t, and it starts interfering with your work, then it becomes my problem and I’ll do what I have to to fix it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“There isn’t a problem,” he told the floor.

She studied him a moment, remembering how he’d come onto the squad, still lean and muscled, an old linesman like Bobby. He was all swagger and bragger back then, the Happy Clapper, cheerfully waving off his bouts with various STDs, convinced if they had a poster boy for LAPD cocksman, he’d have been it. But the long hours at a desk, and all the booze and fast food had softened him. He looked tired now, his charm as tarnished as an old uniform button.

“You know where BSU is. And you know my number.”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah.”

Frank watched him lumber out, feeling for him. She put the pity away and got ready for the eight o’clock ADA meeting.

“Hey, Frank,” Johnnie called from his desk. “We gonna see you on the news tonight? LAPD Lieutenant pulls postal, slays supervisors. Coalitions and committees to blame.”

Frank had finally broken away from back to back meetings and had gotten to the homicide room a half hour before quitting time.

“Just about,” she answered, surprised he was in such good spirits. She wondered if he was making an effort to show everything was okay.

“Where’s your partner?”

“Down in Property.”

Frank headed to her office, but when Nook and Bobby trailed in with an armload of binders, she said, “Hey. What’s the word?”

“We can’t find Ruiz anywhere,” Nookey puffed. “The fucker’s in the wind. According to the aunt he’s got relatives in Fresno, Calexico, Madera … not to mention Mexico. He could be anywhere.”

“Did you put an APB on him?”

“You want us to?”

Frank stifled a sigh. As much as a pain in the ass as Gough was, at least he’d been a good partner for Nook. Between he and Bobby, she didn’t think they’d wipe their asses without asking her first.

“Yeah. What else did the aunt say?”

Nook made a disgusted sound.

“The usual. Her nephew’s a good boy. He’d never dust anyone. Specially not a girl. You know, just a real gentleman.”

“But we had a nice talk with Lydia Alvarez,” Bobby said.

“La Reina?”

“Yeah. She and Placa had been seeing each other for about six weeks. In fact, Placa was at her place Saturday from about 11:30 to 2:30. We’re getting her day accounted for, but she didn’t tell Lydia where she was going when she left. Just said she had to take care of some business.”

“And according to her, nobody knew that she and Placa were doing it. She swears Ruiz doesn’t know, and she doesn’t know where he is. We asked her where she was when Placa got hit and she says she was at a party up in Eagle Rock and that Ruiz was with her.”

“Where was the party?”

“She’s not sure. It was dark and she didn’t know where they were going. She’d never been there before.”

“Better get more than that.” Stroking her chin, Frank asked, “If Ocho didn’t do anything why’s he gone?”

Nook said, “Words all over the street that we’re puttin’ this on him, and he didn’t want to stick around to defend himself.”

“You talk to Itsy again?”

“Not yet. She’s at a cousin’s in El Monte. But we talked to La Limpia. She and Placa were hangin’ at Hoover’s from about 10:30 to a little after eleven. That’s when Itsy showed up and Placa took off. She didn’t say where she was going or anything, just left like she was pissed that Itsy was there.”

Bobby was talking about a corner store were kids hung out and kicked it, sharing blunts and 40-ounce bottles of Olde English and Cobra malt liquor.

“She was only there for a couple minutes. Limpia said she was still in a bad mood and wouldn’t talk much. They tried to get her to stay, said they’d go throw down some winos, but she was pissy and said she had to be somewhere. That was the last she saw her.”

“Didn’t say where she had to be?”

“Nope. Or where she’d been.”

“Ask about any boyfriends?”

“Yeah, and everybody laughed at us. Don’t know who it was that shagged her but I’m bettin’ she ain’t marrying him.”

“How about a homie or an off-brand that tried to make her? Anybody she particularly dissed?”

“Shit,” Nook laughed. “The girl was OG. Who
didn’t
she dis?”

“Keep the heat on and let’s talk to CRASH. See if they got any word for us. I called County OSS too, told them to keep their ears open. And if Itsy’s not home by tomorrow find out where she is and get her. I stopped by the Estrella’s this morning. They’re upset but they’re not saying anything. Claudia’s got her lips sewed together, and Gloria’s bouncing off the walls. She’s pissed, but she’s not talking. I don’t know what they know, but it’s something. Keep the heat on them too. I want one of you there at least once a day.”

“Oh joy,” Nook grumbled and Bobby asked, “Do you think Gloria’d do a payback?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to say. Once they have the babies they kind of get out of that, but this is blood. And a lot of it lately.”

“If they do, we’ll never close this.”

Heaving his shoulders in resignation, Nook pointed out, “It wouldn’t be the first one.”

He tried to move past Frank but she put a finger into his chest.

“I
want
this one, Nook.”

“We’ll do what we can, but I can’t pull this guy outta thin air.”

“Yes, you can.”

She went into her office, leaving Nookey muttering under his breath, and Johnnie laughing. Almost out of earshot, he called Frank by her nickname, commiserating, “Damn, Nook! Is Le Freek on the rag or what?”

The comment was vintage Briggs and Frank marveled again at how well he was dealing with this morning’s reprimand. Like mushrooms after a rain, forms and papers magically resurfaced her desk. Frank glanced through a few of them, then called Bobby into her office.

51st Playboy territory ranged outside of the Figueroa Division boundary and Frank had lost touch with the nuances of the set hierarchy. She vaguely remembered Ruiz coming up as a Baby Playboy who’d yet to earn his colors, but she had no recollection of Lydia Alvarez.

“What’s up?” Bobby answered.

“You heading home?”

“Nah, I still haven’t written anything up for today, and barely did anything yesterday. I was going to stick around and do that. Why?”