It was almost three by the time they finished.
It took less than ten minutes to get from Parker Center to the service station where Albert Garcia was employed. He was changing a tire in the automotive bay and there was no one else in the station. Frowning when he saw them approach, he set down his tire iron, pulled a soiled blue rag out of his rear trouser pocket, and wiped his hands. Stepanovich handed him the manila folder bearing the mug shots. "Recognize anyone here?"
"I told you I didn't want to be no witness."
"We already have a case, but we just want to make sure we have the right guy," Arredondo lied.
Garcia accepted the folder reluctantly, studied it. Handing the folder back, he pleaded, "I gotta live here, man. I can't be no witness."
"The little girl who was killed could have been yours," Stepanovich said.
"The homeboys know who did it," Garcia said. "They'll take care of him."
"I'm just asking you to point your finger at one of these pictures if you see the man who did it. Just point your finger and we walk away and leave you alone. I'm not asking you to come into court," Stepanovich said. He'd used the line before.
"You wouldn't be here if you didn't need me as a witness. I got a business here. I got a family to feed."
"You're chickenshit, eh, cabron ?" Arredondo said.
Garcia glared at Arredondo. "You calling me chickenshit?"
"I'm saying that your mother and father are chickenshit and they raised chickenshit caca pollo ."
Stepping between the two men, Stepanovich gently took Garcia by the arm and ushered him into a corner.
"I ain't afraid of him because he's a cop," Garcia said, glaring at Arredondo. "Fuck that asshole."
"Look, I don't have a choice of who I work with," Stepanovich said. "That guy is up for promotion and he'll do anything to make a case."
"I ain't getting involved in no court bullshit. You can go ahead and lock my ass up, but I ain't going to court. Go ahead and put on the cuffs because I ain't crazy. This is East L.A., man. This is where rats get their fucking heads blown off."
Arredondo glared at Garcia, then strolled outside.
Stepanovich stepped closer. "All I want you to do is tell me whether I'm going in the right direction," he pleaded. "As far as putting the case together, I'll handle all that. I'll get the evidence another way. I can say that a confidential informant told me who did the shooting, and your name will never so much as be mentioned in court. The little girl didn't deserve to die like that. She's gone now and will never have her chance at life. And think of her mother. Her life will never be the same."
Garcia's mouth straightened into a tight line.
Stepanovich handed him the folder, "There's no one here except you and me. Just tell me if one of these people is the man who did the shooting at the church. You don't have to say which one."
Garcia watched Arredondo climb back in the police car.
"Please," Stepanovich said, looking Garcia in the eye.
Garcia glanced at the folder and handed it back to Stepanovich. "He's on there. That's all I'm saying."
"I'd consider it a personal favor if you would give me a hint."
Frightened, Garcia ran his hands through his hair. "No. Because I know you'll call me into court."
"There's no way you could be called into court for blinking, right?"
"Huh? "
"Like this. I point at the pictures one by one, and if you see the guy, you blink."
"I don't trust you people."
Stepanovich pointed to the photograph of Pepe Goez. "I'm not asking you as a cop. I'm asking as a favor. Man to man."
Garcia stared at Stepanovich for a moment, then looked down at Gomez's photograph. He blinked.
"Thanks," Stepanovich whispered.
"If you call me to court, I don't know nothing!" Garcia yelled as Stepanovich headed back toward the police car.
Stepanovich opened the passenger door of the sedan and climbed in.
"What happened, homeboy?" Arredondo said, starting the engine.
"He did Greenie. Let's go back to the office so I can write a search
It took less than ten minutes to get from Parker Center to the service station where Albert Garcia was employed. He was changing a tire in the automotive bay and there was no one else in the station. Frowning when he saw them approach, he set down his tire iron, pulled a soiled blue rag out of his rear trouser pocket, and wiped his hands. Stepanovich handed him the manila folder bearing the mug shots. "Recognize anyone here?"
"I told you I didn't want to be no witness."
"We already have a case, but we just want to make sure we have the right guy," Arredondo lied.
Garcia accepted the folder reluctantly, studied it. Handing the folder back, he pleaded, "I gotta live here, man. I can't be no witness."
"The little girl who was killed could have been yours," Stepanovich said.
"The homeboys know who did it," Garcia said. "They'll take care of him."
"I'm just asking you to point your finger at one of these pictures if you see the man who did it. Just point your finger and we walk away and leave you alone. I'm not asking you to come into court," Stepanovich said. He'd used the line before.
"You wouldn't be here if you didn't need me as a witness. I got a business here. I got a family to feed."
"You're chickenshit, eh, cabron ?" Arredondo said.
Garcia glared at Arredondo. "You calling me chickenshit?"
"I'm saying that your mother and father are chickenshit and they raised chickenshit caca pollo ."
Stepping between the two men, Stepanovich gently took Garcia by the arm and ushered him into a corner.
"I ain't afraid of him because he's a cop," Garcia said, glaring at Arredondo. "Fuck that asshole."
"Look, I don't have a choice of who I work with," Stepanovich said. "That guy is up for promotion and he'll do anything to make a case."
"I ain't getting involved in no court bullshit. You can go ahead and lock my ass up, but I ain't going to court. Go ahead and put on the cuffs because I ain't crazy. This is East L.A., man. This is where rats get their fucking heads blown off."
Arredondo glared at Garcia, then strolled outside.
Stepanovich stepped closer. "All I want you to do is tell me whether I'm going in the right direction," he pleaded. "As far as putting the case together, I'll handle all that. I'll get the evidence another way. I can say that a confidential informant told me who did the shooting, and your name will never so much as be mentioned in court. The little girl didn't deserve to die like that. She's gone now and will never have her chance at life. And think of her mother. Her life will never be the same."
Garcia's mouth straightened into a tight line.
Stepanovich handed him the folder, "There's no one here except you and me. Just tell me if one of these people is the man who did the shooting at the church. You don't have to say which one."
Garcia watched Arredondo climb back in the police car.
"Please," Stepanovich said, looking Garcia in the eye.
Garcia glanced at the folder and handed it back to Stepanovich. "He's on there. That's all I'm saying."
"I'd consider it a personal favor if you would give me a hint."
Frightened, Garcia ran his hands through his hair. "No. Because I know you'll call me into court."
"There's no way you could be called into court for blinking, right?"
"Huh? "
"Like this. I point at the pictures one by one, and if you see the guy, you blink."
"I don't trust you people."
Stepanovich pointed to the photograph of Pepe Goez. "I'm not asking you as a cop. I'm asking as a favor. Man to man."
Garcia stared at Stepanovich for a moment, then looked down at Gomez's photograph. He blinked.
"Thanks," Stepanovich whispered.
"If you call me to court, I don't know nothing!" Garcia yelled as Stepanovich headed back toward the police car.
Stepanovich opened the passenger door of the sedan and climbed in.
"What happened, homeboy?" Arredondo said, starting the engine.
"He did Greenie. Let's go back to the office so I can write a search
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