Secret Relations Page 2
Captain Fowler: The mayor has asked that all personnel make themselves available for the Cinco de Mayo celebrations at Grand Avenue Park and Olivera Street. That means seventy-two hours, round the clock, not just the day of.
Detective Pauly: Uniforms only, right?
Officer Shay: Screw you, Pauly.
Captain Fowler: Detective Pauly, if you do not understand the word 'all', I will refer you to Officer Shay for a remedial vocabulary lesson since it appears she has a fine command of the English language.
(mutters, groans of agreement)
Captain Fowler: Seriously, ladies and gentlemen, we have to be in top form. We have Intel that at least three major migrant rights groups are planning protests and those are only the ones with permits. Gangs are overly active of late, and the new federal 'surge initiative' to arrest parents who pay smugglers to bring their children over the border is putting a strain on everyone.
Detective Durant: 'Bout time.
Captain Fowler: You are a servant of the people, Durant. If I hear that you aren't serving and protecting every single person in L.A. on May five, you will be put on leave without pay. Is that understood? (pause) By all?
(nods)
Cori Anderson: In court on a personal matter, Captain. Then on call tonight.
Captain Fowler: You'll advise him Anderson.
Cori Anderson: No problemo, Captain.
Detective Smithson: Didn't know you spoke Spanish, Anderson.
(Snickers. Cori flipping him off. Laughter. Captain Fowler stacking papers ignoring them all.)
Captain Fowler: Be safe. Specifics on Cinco de Mayo coming as I receive them. Any problems or concerns, my door is open.
* * *
Finn and Beverly O'Brien arrived punctually in Department 5, the courtroom of Judge Charlene Dubois, at eleven a.m.
For ten minutes they sat across the aisle from one another. Waiting. Silent. Finn found it curious that they had walked down an aisle on their wedding day, happy, looking forward to the future, and today they would once again walk down an aisle. This time only one of them would be happy and there would be no future together. Finn was not exactly sad about the event – he had long since resigned himself to the fact that his marriage was over – but he was disappointed, melancholy, low as only an Irishman can be. That, he supposed, was a step in the right direction being as he had passed on to the other side of pain and guilt.
At eleven fifteen, the judge's clerk having called the court to order, and the judge herself having taken the bench, the marriage of Finn and Beverly O'Brien was put asunder.
By noon, Finn was in Mick's Irish Pub, enduring Geoffrey's teasing about his suit and tie and fancy shoes. Finn ordered Guinness and explained that he was in mourning. This was not exactly a lie for that was what it felt like when Finn left the courthouse, holding the door for Beverly, standing atop the stairs to watch her put on the big sunglasses that made her look like a movie star. He watched her run across Grand Avenue, away from him to something wonderful and new. She disappeared into the parking garage without a backward glance. He succeeded in silencing Geoffrey, whose long face grew longer with sympathy. The Guinness was on the house, Geoffrey said, for which Finn thanked him.
At one thirty Finn tired of throwing darts. He was scoring no bull's eye and the hollow sound of the metal hitting cork gave him no satisfaction. Knowing one brew was all he could afford to drink given that he was on call that night, Finn left Mick's Irish Pub and went home.
At two o'clock he went for a run. He had no idea how far he ran but, when he finished every muscle in his body ached, and he was sure that he had sweated off every last ounce of the one draft he had drunk.
It was five o'clock when he walked past Kimiko's house. He thought to stop and ask his landlady if she would grant him a bath in her sento, but he decided against it. Instead, Finn kept walking across the yard and through the garden to the building at the back of the property that he called home. The sento was a place to relax and reflect and Finn wanted none of that. He wanted to simply get through the day and then forget it altogether.
Taking the stairs lightly, not wanting to disturb the downstairs neighbor who he had never seen but knew to be in residence, Finn let himself into his apartment, took a shower and planted himself in front of the television. On the couch beside him sat the 'big black dog' of depression though Finn O'Brien would never admit it. Even after his little brother, Alexander, was murdered the 'big black dog' was not allowed into the O'Brien house. It was banished to the porch and chained up on the rail. No matter how it howled, his mother and father would not let it in. Finn, though, had brought that 'black dog' into his room many a time back then. He imagined every one in his family had, but it was something that was never spoken of. Finn had thought that dog had run away years ago and now here he was again, a brute of a thing.
By eight o'clock Finn had enough of television and insipid shows about housewives who were no housewives at all. They were old, shrewish women who had not a happy man between them, having run off all the husbands and lovers with their bickering and greed. At least Bev had been honest when she left him. She had been unable to live in exile, ostracized by everyone they knew because of what her husband had done. It was an honest difference of opinion and one Finn would have changed if he could. Had he not drawn his gun to defend a homeless man from a rogue cop, a fellow police officer would still be alive, Finn would be dead and Beverly would now be a lovely widow.
At ten o'clock Finn went to bed. When he lay down, he closed his eyes and found that the 'big, black dog' had settled on the mattress beside him. It took all his concentration to put the ugly thing out on the porch of his mind and chain him up. By the time he did, Finn was asleep so he did not see the text messages on his phone, urgent and pleading. Even if he had, he probably wouldn't have done anything about it. He and the black dog were in no mood. He would sleep it off – all of it – and tomorrow all would be well.
But he did not sleep until the morrow.
At three o'clock in the morning there was a call that he could not ignore because he was the detective on call. Finn dressed, strapped on his weapon, and put his badge on his belt. He was headed out the front door only to realize that he had forgotten his phone. He backtracked and in a moment had it in hand. He pressed the button to check for updates but there were none, not even the step down order he had hoped for. But he did see a text message sent so many hours ago. He read it as he went down the stairs.
I have to talk to you. I'm at work until eleven. Don't tell mom.
Finn turned off the phone and opened the door of his unmarked car. He peeled away from the curb estimating his time of arrival at the crime scene to be four minutes.
Amber Anderson, his partner Cori's daughter, would have to wait.
CHAPTER 3
APRIL 22
DISPATCH
* * *
417 – Person with a gun
246 – Shooting at inhabited dwelling
10-00 – Officer down, proceed with caution
* * *
FINN O’BRIEN
10 – understood
* * *
Finn was on scene in five minutes, thirty-eight seconds. Four black and whites were parked in a semicircle, headlights illuminating a two-story house that looked as though it had been built at the turn of the century and then abandoned. But it was not abandoned and whoever was in there had the attention of L.A.'s finest. Finn parked between one of the four patrol vehicles and two ambulances on scene. The paramedics were out of their vehicles but waiting for the go-ahead to do their job.
Finn killed his lights, called dispatch to confirm his arrival and got out of his car. He checked out the house as he moved through the team that had cordoned off the street, set up their posts and were protecting themselves behind their vehicles.
The place was a rambling old thing. Its once stately windows were now covered with fixed bars in violation of city code and common sense. The wood was so dry
the house would go up like a straw man should a stray spark from a fireplace or a forgotten cigarette take hold. Anyone inside would be bar-b-qued, unable to get out. The wood siding had once been white and now was of no identifiable color. Some of the slats had fallen away. Towels, not curtains, partially covered two of the downstairs windows. There were four upstairs windows, three of which were dark. The fourth window was brightly lit. None of the upstairs windows had curtains. One was broken. Above those was a third floor dormer. It, too, was dark.
Even from where Finn O'Brien stood he could see that the porch steps were rotted. He imagined the wrap-around porch was too. There was a chair sitting beside the barred front door. By the way it listed, one could safely assume it was missing two legs.
A matte-black low rider was parked in the driveway. A pit bull was chained to a metal post near the front steps, and on the patchy, weed-choked lawn a cop was sprawled face down, unmoving, just inches away from the snarling animal.
"Officer in charge?" Finn asked a young officer. The man didn't bother to look over his shoulder to see who was asking. He pointed east and said:
"Sergeant Van, officer in charge."
Finn went on his way. He found Van on the phone, pulled aside his jacket and showed his badge. Van acknowledged him with no more than a flick of his eyes. The Sergeant was upset, pacing as he talked into his phone, barely able to control his frustration so Finn gave him his space.
"Not five minutes from now. Now, dammit." He cut the conversation off and took a second to shake his head. He ran a hand over his face and then he offered it to Finn.
"O'Brien," Finn said.
"Van," came back at him and then both men looked at the house. Finn asked: "Do you know who's in there?"
"Fidel Andre Hernandez. He runs with the Hard Times Locos and goes by the name Marbles."
Finn raised a brow, "Not exactly a handle that would put the fear of God into a body."
"You wouldn't say that if you saw him," the sergeant answered. "He tattooed his eyes black. Both eyes. The entire eyeball. They look like marbles."
"Charming," Finn muttered.
"And the word is that he's off his rocker," Van went on. "You know, lost his marbles? He spent almost six years in juvenile detention for assault with a deadly weapon and robbery. He could have been tried as an adult but the prosecutors balked since he was twelve. He's been front and center with the Locos since he got out. Some say he's the one who hit Manny Gomez."
Finn nodded, listening while he kept his eyes on the officer down.
"Who's taken the bullet?"
"Officer Shay," the cop answered. "Carol Shay."
Though Finn didn't show it and the man he was speaking to made no mention of it, the fact that the cop who took the hit was a woman made them both wince.
"Has there been any movement from her?" Finn asked.
"Not for a while."
"How did it happen?"
"Shay and her partner were called out on a domestic disturbance; one of the neighbors heard screaming and gunshots. She saw at least three people run out of the house."
"Are those people here?"
He shook his head. "Gone."
"Where's the partner?" Finn inquired.
The cop pointed to the closest ambulance. "He fell back when shots were fired but he got winged."
"His name?"
"Tornto. Jim," Van said.
"S.W.A.T. not here?" Finn asked as he began to move.
"Not yet. Don't know what the hold up is."
"Many thanks."
Finn left him.
Ninety seconds was gone.
Tornto was inside the ambulance parked against the curb. The sleeve of his uniform was ripped and his upper arm was neatly bandaged. He had a few years on him so what was going down didn't rattle him as much as wound him. His partner was down and he was thinking it should have been him or that he should have done more so it wasn't her. Finn understood that better than anyone given what had happened to his own partner, Cori, months back, but he offered no condolences as he sat on the bench opposite the man.
"Officer Tornto. Detective O'Brien. On call this evening," Finn said. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit. Have they got her yet?"
Finn shook his head, liking that this man took Finn's question to reference more than his own physical pain. Partners were like that; when one bled, so did the other.
"Not yet, but we'll be taking care of that soon. Can you give me the rundown?"
"It had been a quiet night. We respond to this call at two forty-eight. Shay says she's going in and I stay back to cover her." Tornto shook his head. He put his fingers to his eyes and rubbed them. "I swear I was on the mark. I wasn't distracted." He lifted his head. "I've been over it a million times to see if I made one small mistake, if I just, you know, moved my eyes away for a minute. I know I didn't." He sighed. "She's got a kid graduating from high school in a few weeks."
"Then let's make sure she gets to the ceremony," Finn answered.
Forty seconds more gone.
"Yeah. Okay." Officer Tornto took a breath through his nose but his chest heaved with it. "The door opened just as Shay took the last step up onto the porch and he shot. No warning. She returned fire but I think it was just reflex. Anyway, she fired one round and then came down the steps. She collapsed where you see her. I fell back to the car and called it in. I tried to get to her but there was fire from upstairs, and I didn't know how far that dog could get. I thought it was best to get back, stay alive and wait for backup."
"Did you hear anything from inside the house other than the shot?"
"He fired two more times upstairs," Tornto said.
"And you're sure it's the man they call Marbles?"
"I saw him at the window. Funny how clear that was, seeing him I mean. Once you've seen this guy you don't forget him."
"But did you see him with the gun?"
Tornto shook his head. "No, the door didn't open far enough, but it had to be him."
"Anyone else inside?" Finn asked.
Tornto shook his head. "Not that I could tell, but if it was a domestic violence call that kind of assumes someone else is in there."
"But you heard no one screaming or calling out to you?"
"No." Tornto raised his head and looked at Finn. "I didn't hear anything. Oh God, you think this was a set up?"
"Do you have reason to think it could be?" Finn asked.
Another sixty seconds gone.
He glanced through the open doors of the ambulance, listening to Tornto all the while.
"I don't know. I don't think so. We've been on this beat for awhile. Shay is pretty tough. Doesn't take any guff. She brought in a couple of the Hard Times Locos last week but they seemed cool with it. We took them out of a house over on 215th street…"
Before Tornto could finish, the night erupted with the sound of gunfire. Finn was out of the ambulance and back on the line. Every officer was positioned safely and well. Their guns were trained on the house. Radios squawked and crackled and Van was screaming into his.
"Where in the hell is S.W.A.T.?" When Finn came to his side he held the receiver against his chest and said: "We tried to get to Shay, but he doesn't want us anywhere near her."
"Sure, 'tisn't this feeling as if he has a beef with the boys in blue," Finn muttered as he took off his jacket. "I'll be needing a vest."
Sergeant Van ducked into his car and tossed one Finn's way. "You should wait for S.W.A.T."
"If that was you lying there, would you want to be waiting on them?" Finn asked. Van shook his head. Finn had another question. "Any other movement from the house?"
"We've only seen Marbles," Van said. "The idiot's shooting from the center window, second floor, the one lit up like a Christmas tree. Other than that, we have no idea who else might be in there."
Thirty more seconds down.
"It's about time we found out," Finn said and then added. "And do what you must with the dog."
CHAPTER 4
Finn hopscotched from black and white to black and white until he was at the end of the half circle. Each cop he passed gave him a look; one that said 'stay safe'. The rank and file knew about him, of course, but there were degrees of separation between him and the uniformed officers at his old division that made them more forgiving of his presence. Tonight it wouldn't have mattered if he had betrayed the whole force, they still would have wished him well because he was putting himself in harm's way for Shay.
"Here we go, boyo," Finn whispered.
He drew his gun, crouched down and ran toward the low rider. Once there, he threw himself against the back left wheel and put his butt on the concrete drive. His weapon was up, clutched in both hands. He counted to three and consciously relaxed them. Soft hands he remembered his father instructing when he was just a boy. That's how you catch a ball solid, son. Relax the hands and you'll be ready for the next thing that's thrown your way. Rigid hands are useless.
Soft hands, boy.
Soft hands.
Finn relaxed his grip, but quieting his heart and mind were another matter. If this situation came to a showdown, Finn wasn't at all sure he could shoot another human being again. Evil or not, could he look a man in the eye and pull that trigger?
Having no answer to that question, Finn had no choice but to move forward. He pushed off, stayed low and then threw himself across the ten feet between the front of the car and the side of the house. He fell badly, recovered, scrambled close to the structure and put his back up against the wall. Boots planted on the hard ground, he pushed himself up into a standing position. His vest scraped against the old wood as he slid across it and he could feel big splinters breaking off as he went. Though the early morning was cool, his shirt was soaked with sweat underneath the body armor. He crooked his arm and wiped the perspiration away from his eyes, raised his face and listened to the eerie quiet.