thing."
Kelsey's nose reddened.
Ozzie laughed louder than he needed to, slapped me on
the back. "Smelled the real thing. That was good, Navarre. Joke,
Detective. You know?"
Kelsey didn't smile. He pointed his middle finger at
my chest. "You sign a release to ride in that car?"
"Sure he has," Gerson lied.
Kelsey nodded. "Which means something
unfortunate happens in the course of our work, Mr. Navarre, I got no
legal liability. With that said, you want to come along, fine by me."
He nodded to the uniforms and they fell in line as
Kelsey trudged up the gravel drive. After a resentful glance at me,
DeLeon followed. Ozzie and I brought up the rear.
"Kelsey's okay," Ozzie assured me. "First
time I had to work with a piece of ass, it was tough on me too."
I told Ozzie that made me feel a lot better.
Apparently Ozzie took me seriously, because he patted my shoulder
paternally. "Nobody's going to hurt you, kid. Stick with me."
Friends are grand.
We walked toward the porch of the cinder-block
building.
Kelsey stopped ten feet from the edge of the porch.
He looked at the high grass and sticker burrs and swarms of gnats one
would have to tromp through to get to the back of the house, assuming
there was even a door on that side.
"This looks like the back entrance," Kelsey
decided. He smiled at DeLeon. "I think you should have the honor
of taking the front, since you're primary. Don't you?"
DeLeon didn't hesitate. She dropped her paperwork,
took her Glock from the holster. "Absolutely."
She made a wide arc around the house, using her gun
to part the weeds. Kelsey grinned at the uniforms, then directed one
of them toward the white mobile home farther out in the field. He was
about to step up on the porch when Ozzie nudged his arm. "Yo,
Detective. Sheriffs jurisdiction?"
Kelsey waved him ahead with an exaggerated flourish.
"Be my guest, Deputy."
Gerson pointed at me, then pointed far away. I backed
up to the open edge of the porch. Kelsey and the other uniform moved
to the other side, where the foot of the L-shaped house jutted out.
Gerson banged on the door. It was a particleboard
job, thinly painted white, no window or peephole.
"Hey, Sanchez!"
Shouting erupted from the mobile home across the
field. I looked over and saw a dark-skinned man standing in the
doorway, yelling at the uniformed officer. The officer was holding up
his hands, trying to get the guy to quiet down. The man in the
doorway looked like he had been asleep thirty seconds before. He wore
only grimy white boxer shorts. His upper body was well muscled and
his head was bald and rown as an egg.
"What the fuck is this, man?" he yelled.
"Otra vez?"
He looked in our direction. When he spoke again it
was even louder, like he wanted us all to hear. "I got to go to
work in a few minutes, hijo de puta. Respectable job. What the hell,
damn pinche cabrones on my chingate property—"
He kept cursing in Tex-spanol, shifting his weight
stiffly from foot to foot. From the way the uniform was reacting, and
from the bland look Kelsey gave the altercation, I got the feeling
Baldie was not the man we really wanted.
Ozzie Gerson banged on the door again. "Yo,
Zeta. Open up, man. Got some friends out here—"
Snap.
The first shot made a splinter-flower in the door.
The second ripped a hole through Ozzie's left shoulder.
Immediately a third shot punched through the
particle-board door, a little bit higher, but Ozzie had already
turned and dived full force into the cement. He started scrabbling
away, trailing blood.
Kelsey and the uniformed officer hit the ground on
top of each other, their weapons drawn. The uniform swung around the
corner of the building, firing two rounds into the door. On the
second shot Kelsey lunged out at ground level and tried to grab Ozzie
by the collar, but someone in the house returned fire and Kelsey fell
back to the wall. Ozzie kept crawling on his own. Time slowed to the
consistency of sap.
I remember standing paralyzed by the edge of
Kelsey's nose reddened.
Ozzie laughed louder than he needed to, slapped me on
the back. "Smelled the real thing. That was good, Navarre. Joke,
Detective. You know?"
Kelsey didn't smile. He pointed his middle finger at
my chest. "You sign a release to ride in that car?"
"Sure he has," Gerson lied.
Kelsey nodded. "Which means something
unfortunate happens in the course of our work, Mr. Navarre, I got no
legal liability. With that said, you want to come along, fine by me."
He nodded to the uniforms and they fell in line as
Kelsey trudged up the gravel drive. After a resentful glance at me,
DeLeon followed. Ozzie and I brought up the rear.
"Kelsey's okay," Ozzie assured me. "First
time I had to work with a piece of ass, it was tough on me too."
I told Ozzie that made me feel a lot better.
Apparently Ozzie took me seriously, because he patted my shoulder
paternally. "Nobody's going to hurt you, kid. Stick with me."
Friends are grand.
We walked toward the porch of the cinder-block
building.
Kelsey stopped ten feet from the edge of the porch.
He looked at the high grass and sticker burrs and swarms of gnats one
would have to tromp through to get to the back of the house, assuming
there was even a door on that side.
"This looks like the back entrance," Kelsey
decided. He smiled at DeLeon. "I think you should have the honor
of taking the front, since you're primary. Don't you?"
DeLeon didn't hesitate. She dropped her paperwork,
took her Glock from the holster. "Absolutely."
She made a wide arc around the house, using her gun
to part the weeds. Kelsey grinned at the uniforms, then directed one
of them toward the white mobile home farther out in the field. He was
about to step up on the porch when Ozzie nudged his arm. "Yo,
Detective. Sheriffs jurisdiction?"
Kelsey waved him ahead with an exaggerated flourish.
"Be my guest, Deputy."
Gerson pointed at me, then pointed far away. I backed
up to the open edge of the porch. Kelsey and the other uniform moved
to the other side, where the foot of the L-shaped house jutted out.
Gerson banged on the door. It was a particleboard
job, thinly painted white, no window or peephole.
"Hey, Sanchez!"
Shouting erupted from the mobile home across the
field. I looked over and saw a dark-skinned man standing in the
doorway, yelling at the uniformed officer. The officer was holding up
his hands, trying to get the guy to quiet down. The man in the
doorway looked like he had been asleep thirty seconds before. He wore
only grimy white boxer shorts. His upper body was well muscled and
his head was bald and rown as an egg.
"What the fuck is this, man?" he yelled.
"Otra vez?"
He looked in our direction. When he spoke again it
was even louder, like he wanted us all to hear. "I got to go to
work in a few minutes, hijo de puta. Respectable job. What the hell,
damn pinche cabrones on my chingate property—"
He kept cursing in Tex-spanol, shifting his weight
stiffly from foot to foot. From the way the uniform was reacting, and
from the bland look Kelsey gave the altercation, I got the feeling
Baldie was not the man we really wanted.
Ozzie Gerson banged on the door again. "Yo,
Zeta. Open up, man. Got some friends out here—"
Snap.
The first shot made a splinter-flower in the door.
The second ripped a hole through Ozzie's left shoulder.
Immediately a third shot punched through the
particle-board door, a little bit higher, but Ozzie had already
turned and dived full force into the cement. He started scrabbling
away, trailing blood.
Kelsey and the uniformed officer hit the ground on
top of each other, their weapons drawn. The uniform swung around the
corner of the building, firing two rounds into the door. On the
second shot Kelsey lunged out at ground level and tried to grab Ozzie
by the collar, but someone in the house returned fire and Kelsey fell
back to the wall. Ozzie kept crawling on his own. Time slowed to the
consistency of sap.
I remember standing paralyzed by the edge of
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