Vigilante by Stephen J. Cannell

rented five years ago before Evergreen took over the block. She was too sick to move. I was caring for her, but then she decided to go back to Mexico to be with her sister in Durango. As soon as she left, I knew I hadda get out.”
    That sounded like BS to me. If Carla was a shot caller for White Fence, living on an Evergreen block was a short step up from suicide. It seemed more likely to me that she was probably only there occasionally and the house on North Savannah was an outpost that she rented to help her White Fence drug traficantes encroach on Evergreen turf. When it got too dangerous, she ended up withdrawing.
    “Besides, I wanted to move back here once Julio got off state paper,” she continued. “Leasing agent was Vanessa Valente. She rented my aunt’s place to that puta, Lolita Mendez, but some of my belongings didn’t get moved. I was supposed to get my fan, which I bought with my own money, and a primo area rug I got from Crate and Barrel and some other stuff. Bitch wouldn’t give my property. Said it was hers now.”
    “So what happened?”
    “What happened was I drove over to get my stuff back. I asked her nice and she stands there and fuckin’ disrespects me. Calls me a fat cerdo, so we had words.”
    “Words.”
    “Yeah, I got in the bitch’s face; then she knees me and slams the door.”
    “If she wouldn’t give your fan back, then how come it’s here?”
    “That’s ’cause a Julio,” Carla said, looking fondly at her husband. “He got mellowed out in jail. Tells me to stop bangin’ with the bitch and just buy the damn thing.”
    “You bought it?” I looked over at Hitch.
    “Yeah, she bought it,” Julio said from the door. “You think we’re animals? That we’d kill over a stupid fan?”
    That’s exactly what I thought, but I didn’t say it.
    “Explain what happened next,” Hitch said.
    “I called her on the phone,” Carla went on. “Was about ten, ten thirty that same night. I’m a big woman. I’m always too hot. We ain’t got no air in this building, so I told her I needed my fan back. I had it installed over there with my own money, but she’s saying it’s attached and it goes with the apartment. I finally offered her twenty dollars. After giving me a buncha shit she says okay, if I’ll pay her twenty-five. So me and Julio drove over about eleven. I went in and bought my damn fan back while he sat in the truck and covered my back.”
    “Can you prove any of this?” I asked.
    “Julio is my witness. He was there.”
    “Besides Julio.”
    She glared at me. She was beginning to sweat despite the fact that it was February and, with the storm coming, the apartment was cold.
    “Would you be willing to take a lie detector test?”
    “She ain’t takin’ no poly,” Julio said. “That shit gets rigged.”
    “Polygraphs are used to eliminate suspects, not include them,” I explained. “You’re already a suspect, so failing the test changes nothing. If you pass the poly, we start looking for Lita’s killer somewhere else. Besides that, we can’t use the results in court—good or bad. That’s why a polygraph favors an innocent suspect.”
    “She ain’t takin’ no polygraph,” Julio repeated.
    Carla was still sweating and now unbuttoned her sweater and removed it. It was then that I saw multiple scratches on both of her heavily tattooed arms.
    “How’d you get those scratches on your arms?” I asked her.
    “We have a cat.”
    “You sure you didn’t get them in your fight with Lita?”
    “The bitch kneed me in the groin, then slammed the door. She didn’t scratch me. I got this from our cat.”
    “Where is the cat?”
    “I don’t know. He’s a tom. He roams a lot. All the people in the building feed him. He’s like everybody’s cat.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “I don’t know his fucking name.”
    She was starting to fidget. I looked over at Hitch, who was shaking his head. She was obviously lying.
    “Miss Kitty,” Julio contributed from