An Unacceptable Death - Barbara Seranella (16 page)

Rico was laid out on a metal gurney. A sheet covered
his body. His skin had almost a greenish tint and his eyelids were
flat as if he'd been deflated. The hair above his right ear had been
shaved close to reveal an irregular hole. The edges of the jagged
wound were charred black. Black bruising extended to his jaw.

Galvan lightly touched the top of Rico's head. "We'll
have him looking more natural in time for the viewing."

"
Cut the hair and trim the mustache. That wasn't
him. He was working undercover."

Galvan looked at her knowingly, as if he had heard it
all before. "One ear is pierced. Would you like it to remain
empty?"

"
What happened to his stud? He had a gold
crescent moon."

Galvan checked his paperwork. "There's no
mention of it in the property report."

When she had seen the one that bitch Christina was
wearing at the house on Hampton, she had assumed it was the other
half of the pair. What if it were the same one he had worn? Had he
given it to her or had she taken it?

Munch took a deep breath, and to Galvan's dismay,
pulled back the sheet covering Rico's body. She gasped at the sight
of the autopsy incision, sewn casually shut with widely spaced black
stitches.

Galvan gripped her elbow and attempted to pull her
away.

"
I was hoping . . ." But she never finished
her sentence. Her eyes focused unblinking on the torso wounds. There
were six, maybe seven holes the diameters of dimes. Cleaned of soot
and blood, but looking very unnatural on Rico's familiar chest. For
an instant, she had the weird thought that he had grown multiple
nipples. Red navels was more like it, innies. Someone had circled the
wounds with black ink and numbered them. The numbers began with two.
The head shot must have been the first cataloged. He'd received the
wound at a close enough range to cause muzzle burn.

Oh, Rico,
she thought
,
what have they done to you?

Something also seemed to be written on Rico's
shoulder. No, not written. Tattooed. A five-color rainbow with
Munch's name written across the top in stylized letters. The
symbolism was clear: "Somewhere over the rainbow." It was
one of the songs from The Wizard of Oz, the same movie that had given
Munch her nickname.

She pulled the sheet back up, tucked it in around
him, and stroked the cheek that wasn't bruised.

"
Treat him good," she told Galvan.

"
Of course."

Galvan took her elbow again and she allowed herself
to be guided into his office.

"
Can I get you anything?" he asked. "You
can sit in here as long as you need to, or I can call someone for
you."

"I'll be okay,"
she said, trying to reassure him that this was true. "Thank you.
You've been very nice."

* * *

Munch left the funeral home surprised to see the
world still going on as usual. She had time and then some to get
home, pick up the mail, and check her answering machine before Asia's
school let out.

St. John had called. He was worried about her and
wanted to know how she was. Ditto with her sponsor, Ruby, and Lou
from the gas station. Jasper came and sat at her feet with his head
on her knee. She stroked his head as she returned St. John's call.

"
How are you?" St. John asked. But unlike
other people, he waited for the answer.

"
I just came from the funeral home," Munch
said. She felt deflated and in need of a long sleep. "He's
really dead." She described what she had seen in vivid detail.

"
What can I do?" St. John asked.

"
The funeral mass is tomorrow. I was hoping—"
Munch didn't finish her sentence. A loud, unmistakable roar filled
the air. Jasper barked at the door, begging to get outside and
protect his house.

"
Munch?"

"
I·Iang on a second." Munch dragged the
phone cord after her to the window and looked out. A dozen Harleys
were heading down the street. She locked the dead bolt on her front
door. The windows rattled from the vibrations of unmuffled tailpipes.
Jasper kept barking at the door, stubby tail wagging in excitement.
She looked out the window again and saw that the bikes were backing
up to the curb across the street. They gleamed in the midday sun,
like so many chrome dominoes. She spoke into the phone, "A bunch
of bikers just pulled up across the street."

"
Anyone you know?" he asked.

"
Uh-oh," she said.

"
What?"

"
A couple of them are wearing patches."

"
What club?" St. John asked.

She squinted. "Satan's Pride. Shit, this is all
I need." She told him about the supposed bounty on her head, but
not the part about how Rico had promised to put an end to it. She
wasn't sure if St. John would approve of blackmailing bad guys, and
she didn't want to give anyone more ammo to slander Rico's
reputation. Not even St. John.

"
You want me to send some black-and-whites over
there?" he asked.

"
They're leaving now. My neighbor is with them.
Nobody's looking this way. I think I'm okay for the moment." She
thought about Rico's gun, hidden on the top shelf of her closet. She
was going to need it a lot closer than that if it was going to do her
any good. "I'm about to pick up Asia from school. Is it all
right if she stays with you tonight?"

"
Sure, both of you are welcome."

"I'll be okay. I just don't want to be worrying
about the kid. I'll bring her dress clothes for tomorrow. You were
planning on coming to the mass, weren't you?"

"
Of course," he said.

"
Thanks. I'll drop her off in a few hours."

"
I won't be home, but Caroline will."

"
Okay." She was a little relieved not to be
seeing him. He might have more questions, and he wouldn't like her
answers.

Munch called Bayless next.

He answered his phone like most cops, giving only his
rank and last name. He sounded bored and a little annoyed.

"
It's Munch Mancini," she said. "I've
just come from the funeral home."

"
I'm glad you called. I have some good news for
you."

She wondered how that was possible.

Bayless cleared his throat. "The department has
made a ruling.

They're going to bury Detective Chacón with full
public honors. I think it's also possible we can reach a settlement
so that his survivors receive a stipend."

"
Not good enough," she said. She heard the
mail truck coming up the block. The mailman liked to rev his engine
between stops. The truck also had a bad muffler and squeaky brakes,
so every five seconds she and the neighbors were treated to a
four-cylinder roar followed by a screech. People who didn't want
their ears bent for five minutes also knew to hide when he
approached. Munch had learned this the hard way one Saturday. He had
waved her mail just out of her reach for ten long minutes discussing
world affairs until she finally had to tell him she had left a hose
running and a burner on and that she thought she heard her kid
crying.

"
Don't fight this," Bayless said. "You
can't win and it's a good offer. The money will be something to help
his daughter through college. You don't want to piss these people
off. They'll take the offer off the table and then where will you
be?"

About where she was now, she imagined. "In your
investigation, did you come across a woman named Christina?"
Munch reached down and scratched Jasper's ears. "I don't have a
last name. She's Latino, might have some gang affiliations, in her
twenties, kind of slutty? Probably sporting a fat lip."

"
What about her?"

Munch realized he hadn't confirmed or denied. "Do
you know who she is?"

"
Listen, take my advice here. Keep your
memories. The poor guy isn't around to explain, so just give him the
benefit of the doubt."

"
That's not going to get it. I know she knew
him, maybe even loved him. I also know Rico didn't love her back. I
was at the mortuary and I saw Rico's body. He had a new tattoo with
my name on it. Why would he get my name tattooed on his arm if he was
seeing another woman? What if this bitch was an informant? Maybe she
had feelings for Rico that he didn't return, and she set him up."

"
Maybe that's so. Not everything adds up. I said
that before. Take the deal. And do us both a favor: Forget we ever
talked."

"
What about the narcs you're investigating?

"
It's handled. Don't worry about them."

"
But I have an in, thanks to you."

"
I don't know what you're talking about,"
he said.

She stared at the phone in amazement. What could have
possibly happened in the short time since they arranged to work
together that would cause this reversal? Who had gotten to him and
why? "I can't walk away. "

"
But that's exactly what you have to do,"
Bayless said. "You have to walk far away. I'm telling you as
much as I can. The officers under investigation have been cleared.
You're going to have to trust me. I know you don't know me and you
feel jerked around. When I can, I'll tell you more. Keep your head
down, go through your grief process, and try to remember you still
have a future. You've worked too hard to get where you are. Don't
throw all that away."

"
Nobody's throwing anything away." She hung
up thinking he didn't understand. She had to prove their whole life
hadn't been a lie. The mailman was turning the corner at the end of
the block. Munch hung up the phone and turned to Jasper.

"
You want to go for a ride?"

She didn't have to ask twice.

They went out the front door. She opened the car for
Jasper and grabbed her mail. There were bills, the usual junk, and a
condolence note from the florist who was going to supply her wedding
flowers. He probably still wanted her business. Then she came to a
cardboard mailer with her name and address written in familiar block
letters. The postmark was dated a week ago. There was no return
address, but she knew who it was from.

She ripped open the thick envelope and found several
Xeroxed documents. The first was a copy of a Confidential Informant
application. The document was dated five years earlier, in June of
1981, and the CI was Pete "Petey" Donner, code name "Desert
Fox." The other document was a murder indictment dated July of
1981 against members of the Mongols Motorcycle Club, most
specifically against the club's president, Albert "Red Al"
Cunningham. The district attorney's office named their source and
star witness only by his number and code name, "Desert Fox."
Munch looked carefully through the pages for some small personal note
from Rico. She found it on the back of the last document, written on
a yellow Post-it note.

The note read: "Make them protect you."

She rubbed the message he had hand-printed across her
cheek and tried to imagine his fingers touching her again. She put
the papers back in the mailer and slammed her hand against the roof
of her car. Someone had taken him from her, and for that they would
pay.

Jasper cocked his head in surprise. He had never seen
his mistress get so emotional over the mail before.

* * *

Munch drove to the schoolyard but didn't get out
right away. She spotted Asia by the jungle gym, surrounded by her
group of best friends. Asia was already taller than most of them.
Always skinny, her legs had lengthened another inch in the last six
months; even her face seemed to have stretched. Soon she would be as
tall as Munch, then she would pass her. How weird was that? The
little baby Munch had rocked in her arms was closing in on her tween
years.

Munch tried to peer into the future, to see the woman
Asia would become, but the smoke refused to clear. One thing was
certain: The kid was going to be something. She'd been strong-willed
from day one, confident and coordinated. One of those kids who led,
and others willingly followed.

Asia would be turning heads, Munch was certain of
that. Her birth mother's hair had been brown, her daddy's black.
Asia's color was a bit of both, a rich brown with some golden
highlights from long afternoons in the sun. Even now she ran her
fingers through her curls as she talked. Her moves were casually
theatrical, and probably unnecessary. She already held her audiences
in thrall, whether they were boys or girls. Munch could only pray she
would use her powers for good.

Asia also had her daddy to thank for her dark skin,
thick lashes and straight nose. She could easily be mistaken as
hailing from a number of ethnic groups—Native American, Middle
Eastern, Italian, Greek, or Hispanic. If she persisted with her
desire to be an actor, her looks would serve her well. Her daddy had
been a fine-looking man, a real charmer. If it weren't for his love
of dope and his criminal tendencies, he really might have made
something of himself. He also might have lived to admire the
beautiful kid he had created. Dope and the needle spawned many
orphans.