“Tell ’im not to shoot. I ain’t done nothin’, man…”
I step ped aside and leaned against the fence, breathing heavily, waiting for the pain to ebb off.
Same pain as last time .
Satish pulled Vargas to his feet and pressed a handkerchief against his forehead. “Hold this to your head and take a good look at what we found in your room.” He shoved a baggie of rocks in front of his eyes. “This how you support your mama? Your parole agent will be thrilled.”
“No, man—”
The Nissan owner scrambled back to his feet and watched us from a cautionary distance. A few more faces emerged along the sidewalk, a residential block of pink and gray bungalows fenced by black metal railings.
I inhaled, waited for the pain to wane, then leaned inside the Nissan, turned the engine off, and tossed the keys to its owner.
“Show’s over!” I yelled to the rubberneckers.
Satish was already walking back toward the motel, towing a limping Vargas by the cuffs. The rubberneckers dispersed. I stood under the sun, catching my breath.
It’s the heat , I told myself. I thought of Watanabe’s little chat on Newton’s pendulum, I thought of genes, and then I thought of the heat again.
That’s all it is. It’s just the heat .
I took a deep breath and sprinted after my partner.
Satish shoved Vargas in the back of my vehicle. The manager came out of the lobby to inquire about the status of his finances. “He payin’?”
“Not this time. His deal just fell through the cracks,” I replied. “Pun intended.”
He made a face and retreated to his haven.
My partner stared at me. “The hell were you thinkin’?”
“What d’you think I was thinkin’?” We have a broad vocabulary, us coppers.
He shook his head, Western way this time, and held up the bag of crack rocks. “What are we gonna do with these?”
I loosened the knot of my tie. “What d’you mean? We violate him. We got him for possession.”
“No probable cause, Track. That’s what I mean.”
“So? He ran. Even if we get a reject, his parole agent can still request a hearing.”
“You could’ve blown his head off.”
“He could’ve been armed! You got one to the chest last year for a caper like this, you forgot that?”
“And you must’ve missed the Force Investigation Division pretty badly.”
I hooked my hands on my belt and shook my head. I hated the FIDs as much as they hated my guts for every time I’d squeezed the trigger on duty. In fact, they were the very reason I’d been away from the LAPD for so long.
“Track, we nab Vargas for a couple of rocks, the hell he cooperates. We cut the guy a little slack, treat him nice and smooth, and he might give us somethin’.”
“And confess to murder?”
He gave me one of his Satish looks.
“ Don’t give me the Vaseline crap,” I said.
He grinned. “You know it’s the perfect metaphor.”
“What if he doesn’t give us any juice?”
“I n that case, we’ve used the Vaseline and we can all go home happy.” He flashed me one of his smiles, white teeth framed by chocolate lips. “Get in the car and have a cig. I’m gonna handle this.”
I tossed him the car keys. “I don’t smoke.”
“Then maybe it’s a good time to start.”
“Fuck off, Sat.”
FIVE
____________
Ricky Vargas rocked in his chair. He had the rugged smell of somebody who’d been on the run long enough to consider the street his home and a daily joint his pacifier. From time to time, he’d slip forward, lose his balance, and then slide backwards again, pulling himself up as if somebody had just smacked him out of a trance. His left brow was split open in the middle and his nose was purple and swollen from when he’d eaten the pavement. A tattooed red and green lizard spilled out of the back of his black A-shirt onto his tanned shoulders. Its red eye ogled me sternly. On each arm he had the insignia of the Eighteenth Street gang—the numbers one and eight in
I step ped aside and leaned against the fence, breathing heavily, waiting for the pain to ebb off.
Same pain as last time .
Satish pulled Vargas to his feet and pressed a handkerchief against his forehead. “Hold this to your head and take a good look at what we found in your room.” He shoved a baggie of rocks in front of his eyes. “This how you support your mama? Your parole agent will be thrilled.”
“No, man—”
The Nissan owner scrambled back to his feet and watched us from a cautionary distance. A few more faces emerged along the sidewalk, a residential block of pink and gray bungalows fenced by black metal railings.
I inhaled, waited for the pain to wane, then leaned inside the Nissan, turned the engine off, and tossed the keys to its owner.
“Show’s over!” I yelled to the rubberneckers.
Satish was already walking back toward the motel, towing a limping Vargas by the cuffs. The rubberneckers dispersed. I stood under the sun, catching my breath.
It’s the heat , I told myself. I thought of Watanabe’s little chat on Newton’s pendulum, I thought of genes, and then I thought of the heat again.
That’s all it is. It’s just the heat .
I took a deep breath and sprinted after my partner.
Satish shoved Vargas in the back of my vehicle. The manager came out of the lobby to inquire about the status of his finances. “He payin’?”
“Not this time. His deal just fell through the cracks,” I replied. “Pun intended.”
He made a face and retreated to his haven.
My partner stared at me. “The hell were you thinkin’?”
“What d’you think I was thinkin’?” We have a broad vocabulary, us coppers.
He shook his head, Western way this time, and held up the bag of crack rocks. “What are we gonna do with these?”
I loosened the knot of my tie. “What d’you mean? We violate him. We got him for possession.”
“No probable cause, Track. That’s what I mean.”
“So? He ran. Even if we get a reject, his parole agent can still request a hearing.”
“You could’ve blown his head off.”
“He could’ve been armed! You got one to the chest last year for a caper like this, you forgot that?”
“And you must’ve missed the Force Investigation Division pretty badly.”
I hooked my hands on my belt and shook my head. I hated the FIDs as much as they hated my guts for every time I’d squeezed the trigger on duty. In fact, they were the very reason I’d been away from the LAPD for so long.
“Track, we nab Vargas for a couple of rocks, the hell he cooperates. We cut the guy a little slack, treat him nice and smooth, and he might give us somethin’.”
“And confess to murder?”
He gave me one of his Satish looks.
“ Don’t give me the Vaseline crap,” I said.
He grinned. “You know it’s the perfect metaphor.”
“What if he doesn’t give us any juice?”
“I n that case, we’ve used the Vaseline and we can all go home happy.” He flashed me one of his smiles, white teeth framed by chocolate lips. “Get in the car and have a cig. I’m gonna handle this.”
I tossed him the car keys. “I don’t smoke.”
“Then maybe it’s a good time to start.”
“Fuck off, Sat.”
FIVE
____________
Ricky Vargas rocked in his chair. He had the rugged smell of somebody who’d been on the run long enough to consider the street his home and a daily joint his pacifier. From time to time, he’d slip forward, lose his balance, and then slide backwards again, pulling himself up as if somebody had just smacked him out of a trance. His left brow was split open in the middle and his nose was purple and swollen from when he’d eaten the pavement. A tattooed red and green lizard spilled out of the back of his black A-shirt onto his tanned shoulders. Its red eye ogled me sternly. On each arm he had the insignia of the Eighteenth Street gang—the numbers one and eight in
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