standards for hip and cool for police departments everywhere.”
“ Sure.”
“ So, if you follow that train of logic, you are the hippest and coolest cop this side of the Mississippi. Perhaps ever.”
“ Gimme a break, Knighthorse.”
Something caught my eye. Actually two somethings. Hansen’s office overlooked a big alabaster fountain. The fountain was of mostly of a nude sea nymph. A buxomly sea nymph.
“ Distracting, huh?” said Hansen.
“ The sea nymph?”
“ Whatever the fuck it is,” he said. “Why the hell did they have to make her tits so goddamn big?”
“ Because they could.”
“ So what can I do for you, Knighthorse?”
I told him about my mother, the picture, and why I was there. As I spoke, his eyes never wavered from mine. I finished the story. Hansen continued looking at me and then started shaking his head. His perfect hair never moved.
“ Shit, Knighthorse, I never knew.”
“ Few do.”
“ The case is closed?”
I nodded. “I’m re-opening it. Unofficially.”
A corner of his lip raised in a sort of half smile. “Of course. And you have a picture of the perp, or the presumed perp?”
“ Yes.”
“ And the picture’s twenty years old?”
“ Yes.”
He sat back in his chair, ran his fingers through his hair. His fingers, amazingly, were tan. And his hair, amazingly, never moved. Only grudgingly made some space for the fingers. Otherwise held its ground. I waited. Hansen thought some more.
“ Maybe we can ID him,” he said.
“ Mugshots?”
“ We have them that far back, of course. Sound good?”
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
Ten minutes later we took an elevator down to the basement. He left me alone in a dusty backroom and, surrounded by outdated computers and boxes of old case files, I looked at the faces of hundreds, perhaps even thousands of Orange County’s most hardened criminals of yesteryear.
But not the face I was looking for. And as I took the elevator back up from the basement, I was looking forward to crossing paths with the buxomly sea nymph.
Chapter Seventeen
With Sanchez directing me, we drove slowly through a quiet residential neighborhood filled with small suburban houses. It was late evening, about 7:00 p.m. We were about nine blocks from Disneyland. Hard to believe there was going to be a royal ass kicking down the road from the happiest place on Earth.
While we drove, Jesus walked me through it. “Charlene and I were walking home through Hill Park. It’s a shortcut from school.”
“ I don’t like you walking through Hill Park,” said Sanchez. “That park’s trouble.”
Jesus and I ignored Sanchez.
“ Charlene is...?” I asked.
“ My girlfriend. At least one of them.”
“ How many do you have?”
“ Two, but I keep two or three on the side.”
“ For emergencies?” I asked.
“ Something like that.”
“ Lord,” said Sanchez.
I was watching the kid through my rearview mirror. Jesus’ face was turned, staring blankly out the side window. He was so little . Hard to imagine the kid being so tough. But he was. Somehow.
“ Okay,” I said. “So you and Charlene are walking home through the park.”
“ When we are surrounded by twelve guys. Most are on bikes. Some on skateboards.”
“ Did you run?”
“ No. But I told Charlene to beat it, and she did. They let her go, of course. They were after me, not her.”
“ Why were they after you?”
“ Nothing I did, at least nothing I could help.”
“ One of their girls took a liking to you.”
“ That’s what I hear. Like I can keep track.”
“ I know what you mean.”
Sanchez shook his head, and pointed me down a side street. I turned the steering wheel. The Mustang rolled along smoothly, the engine throbbing.
“ So they surround you, what happened next?”
“ I told them all to go ahead and kick my ass, but someday I was going to hunt each of them down one at a time.”
“ You said that?”
“ Yes.”
Tough kid.
“ What
“ Sure.”
“ So, if you follow that train of logic, you are the hippest and coolest cop this side of the Mississippi. Perhaps ever.”
“ Gimme a break, Knighthorse.”
Something caught my eye. Actually two somethings. Hansen’s office overlooked a big alabaster fountain. The fountain was of mostly of a nude sea nymph. A buxomly sea nymph.
“ Distracting, huh?” said Hansen.
“ The sea nymph?”
“ Whatever the fuck it is,” he said. “Why the hell did they have to make her tits so goddamn big?”
“ Because they could.”
“ So what can I do for you, Knighthorse?”
I told him about my mother, the picture, and why I was there. As I spoke, his eyes never wavered from mine. I finished the story. Hansen continued looking at me and then started shaking his head. His perfect hair never moved.
“ Shit, Knighthorse, I never knew.”
“ Few do.”
“ The case is closed?”
I nodded. “I’m re-opening it. Unofficially.”
A corner of his lip raised in a sort of half smile. “Of course. And you have a picture of the perp, or the presumed perp?”
“ Yes.”
“ And the picture’s twenty years old?”
“ Yes.”
He sat back in his chair, ran his fingers through his hair. His fingers, amazingly, were tan. And his hair, amazingly, never moved. Only grudgingly made some space for the fingers. Otherwise held its ground. I waited. Hansen thought some more.
“ Maybe we can ID him,” he said.
“ Mugshots?”
“ We have them that far back, of course. Sound good?”
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
Ten minutes later we took an elevator down to the basement. He left me alone in a dusty backroom and, surrounded by outdated computers and boxes of old case files, I looked at the faces of hundreds, perhaps even thousands of Orange County’s most hardened criminals of yesteryear.
But not the face I was looking for. And as I took the elevator back up from the basement, I was looking forward to crossing paths with the buxomly sea nymph.
Chapter Seventeen
With Sanchez directing me, we drove slowly through a quiet residential neighborhood filled with small suburban houses. It was late evening, about 7:00 p.m. We were about nine blocks from Disneyland. Hard to believe there was going to be a royal ass kicking down the road from the happiest place on Earth.
While we drove, Jesus walked me through it. “Charlene and I were walking home through Hill Park. It’s a shortcut from school.”
“ I don’t like you walking through Hill Park,” said Sanchez. “That park’s trouble.”
Jesus and I ignored Sanchez.
“ Charlene is...?” I asked.
“ My girlfriend. At least one of them.”
“ How many do you have?”
“ Two, but I keep two or three on the side.”
“ For emergencies?” I asked.
“ Something like that.”
“ Lord,” said Sanchez.
I was watching the kid through my rearview mirror. Jesus’ face was turned, staring blankly out the side window. He was so little . Hard to imagine the kid being so tough. But he was. Somehow.
“ Okay,” I said. “So you and Charlene are walking home through the park.”
“ When we are surrounded by twelve guys. Most are on bikes. Some on skateboards.”
“ Did you run?”
“ No. But I told Charlene to beat it, and she did. They let her go, of course. They were after me, not her.”
“ Why were they after you?”
“ Nothing I did, at least nothing I could help.”
“ One of their girls took a liking to you.”
“ That’s what I hear. Like I can keep track.”
“ I know what you mean.”
Sanchez shook his head, and pointed me down a side street. I turned the steering wheel. The Mustang rolled along smoothly, the engine throbbing.
“ So they surround you, what happened next?”
“ I told them all to go ahead and kick my ass, but someday I was going to hunt each of them down one at a time.”
“ You said that?”
“ Yes.”
Tough kid.
“ What
Similar Books
