Authors: Gerald Petievich
"Gloria told us. How would she know if you hadn't told her?" Payaso cried. "Eh,
cabron
? How would she know?"
Suddenly Stepanovich was punching and kicking Payaso uncontrollably. He was pulled off by Black and Arredondo.
Payaso wobbled to his feet. "Her name is all you're gonna get from me, pig."
"What's this cocksucker talking about?"
"It's a lie. She wouldn't she didn't."
Black and Arredondo stood there looking at each other for a moment, and Stepanovich could tell they didn't believe him. Pulling his gun, he aimed it at Payaso's face. "Who were the shooters?"
Payaso's eyes widened. He raised his hands defensively and backed away. Stepanovich advanced on him.
"Go ahead and kill me." he cried. "But I'll never roll over on my homeboys. I'm not afraid to die."
Stepanovich caught his breath. Both hands were holding his revolver and he was ready to shoot.
Arredondo moved backward from the potential line of fire.
Eerily, Black covered his ears in anticipation of gunfire.
Stepanovich aimed the revolver to Payaso's right and down. He snapped the trigger. There was a sharp fire blast and the sound of a bullet ricocheting along the cement riverbed.
Payaso shrieked and dropped to his knees.
"Kill him," Black said. "If we let him go, he'll turn us in to internal affairs."
"I ain't no stool pigeon."
"It's his word against the three of us," Stepanovich said, shoving his gun back into his holster. He walked to the sedan and climbed in. Black and Arredondo looked at each other for a moment and joined him in the car. Black started the engine and they drove away, leaving Payaso standing alone in the middle of the moonlit river.
Stepanovich, sitting in the back seat, could feel his pulse pounding rapidly at his temples as Black sped up the incline and out.
"Did you tell her about the surveillance?" Arredondo said.
"Drop me off at my car," Stepanovich said.
Black fit a cigarette. "We have a right to know "
"I said, drop me off at my car," Stepanovich said, cutting off the conversation. "I'll meet you later at the Rumor Control."
****
EIGHTEEN
"I don't know what you're talking about," Gloria said, turning her head slightly to avoid eye contact.
Seething, Stepanovich stepped inside the door of her apartment and closed it behind him.
She retreated to a floor lamp in the darkened living room and turned the switch. "You look tired," she said, a quaver in her voice betraying her.
She couldn't look him in the eye. Instead she clutched her robe and tugged it together with both hands. She was lying, he could tell, and he felt like choking her.
"Are you OK?" she said. He could see the fear in her eves.
"We were talking in bed and I mentioned a stakeout at Hazard Park."
"I don't remember "
"You figured out what we were up to and dropped a dime to White Fence."
"No, I never "
"That's why you acted funny at the hospital when we brought Fordyce in," Stepanovich interrupted. "He was killed because of you. And at Catalina, I could tell something was bothering you. Now I know what you meant by saying you didn't want anything to come between us."
Her chin quivered. "I would never do anything to hurt you. I love you."
"You rotten, treacherous bitch."
Both of them just stood there for a while and the room seemed to become smaller. Her eyes glazed with tears. "I tried to stop the killing," she said. "I tried to stop people from being hurt."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I passed the word to White Fence to stay away from Hazard Park," she cried.
"Who did you tell?"
"A nurse's aide in my ward, Dora Lemos. She's a White Fence
chola
. Her nickname is Sleepy."
"You fingered us."
"It wasn't like that!"
"Fordyce is dead because of you."
She sobbed and covered her face. "I was trying to stop people from being shot."
"Exactly what did you tell her?"
"Just that the police were expecting Eighteenth to ride on the park," she said, taking her hands away from her face. "I thought this would keep them away from the park. I just wanted to keep people from getting hurt."
Gloria slumped onto the sofa and reached in the pocket of her robe for a handkerchief. "When I heard about what happened, I wanted to die," she said, her voice cracking.
"I should have kept my mouth shut," Stepanovich said regretfully.
"I wanted to tell you about this at the hospital and at Catalina, but I was afraid you wouldn't want to ever see me again," she cried. "As God is my witness, I never meant to hurt anyone."
"Fordyce is dead and it's my fault."
Gloria wiped her eyes with the handkerchief and looked at it. "This is what happens when people are living in fear," she said resentfully. "Everything turns to hatred and violence."
Stepanovich, feeling naked and vulnerable, crossed the room to the window. On the street below, a pair of headlights came slowly down the grade on City Terrace Avenue and passed briefly under the illumination of a streetlight. It was a black and white police cruiser, but Stepanovich was unable to see the faces of the officers inside. It could be anyone, he thought.
He turned away and headed toward the door.
"Where are you going?" she said fearfully as he reached for the door handle. "You and I are the same," she said. "We're tied to the neighborhood, to the past. It's killing us." As he pulled the door open, she ran to him. "We can leave all this. There's nothing stopping us. We can walk away from it all."
"Walk away to where?"
"There are other places to live and work. You could be a policeman in a small town somewhere. And I can always get a job as a nurse. We're not locked up in East L.A."
"I'm not going to run away. I'm a cop."
"What does it mean 'I'm a cop'? Being a cop has nothing to do with you and me. Can't we just be two people who love each other?"
"I have a responsibility to the others ... to the police department."
"You are more important than the police department or the neighborhood or those you work with. You are a person. Can't you see what's happening?"
He stepped outside.
"You're not seeing things clearly," she shouted as he made his way down the steps.
Feeling confused and alone, he sped to the Rumor Control Bar. Inside, he made his way through the crowd of cops now huddled at the bar and at tables, drinking fast and generously buying rounds because it was pay day.
Arredondo and Black were sitting at a corner table with bottles of beer. Stepanovich, his stomach in a knot, sat down with them.
Neither acknowledged his presence in any way.
"I want you both to understand something," he said in a tone low enough so that those at the bar wouldn't hear. "I mentioned to Gloria that we were going to be working Hazard Park. Because White Fence are her people, she tipped them off told them to stay away from the park to avoid getting busted. She didn't mean to hurt us." He cleared his throat. "What happened is my fault."
"Women can't keep their mouths shut," Arredondo said after a while.
"She's a good woman and she didn't mean any harm," Stepanovich said.
"White Fence could have just as easily spotted the motor home on their own," Black said. "The same thing could have happened whether she said anything or not. So fuck it. It happened and that's that. No one's to blame."
"I appreciate that, C.R.," Stepanovich said. "But from now on this beef is between White Fence and me. I carry the weight on this."
Nothing was said at the table for a minute or more.
"I say we're all carrying the weight," Black said finally, cocking his head toward Arredondo.
"That's the way I look at it too," Arredondo agreed. "We're homeboys."
Black shoved his beer bottle to Stepanovich. Stepanovich picked it up slowly and drank, then set the bottle down on the table. "The problem is, if Payaso won't talk, how are we gonna learn the identity of the shooters?"
"The White Fence veteranos would have been on the ride Gordo, Lyncho, and since Smokey ended up with nothing more than a couple of pellets when we blasted him at Greenie's place, he's probably healthy enough to ride. I'll bet he was right there calling the shots. It's a damn shame we didn't kill him."
"But there's no way for us to prove that," Stepanovich said.
Arredondo nodded and gave a nervous laugh. "You're right. We know White Fence did it, but like every other drive by, we're never gonna know for sure which of the gangbangers actually pulled the trigger. Hell, if it wasn't for the fingerprint, we'd have never known about Payaso."
Black lit a cigarette. "They didn't know who was in the motor home when they opened fire. They just wanted a get back. And that's exactly what they got."
"We'll make one of them talk," Stepanovich said. "Gordo is on parole. And Lyncho "
"They’re not gonna talk," Black interrupted. "These cocksuckers have been arrested their whole lives and they've never talked. That's how they gained respect from the other rotten motherfuckers in their gang. That's why they are veteranos. We can arrest 'em and flap our jaws, offer 'em deals, kick their asses until we're sore, but they're not gonna talk. They're not afraid of jail. They're not afraid of us. And they'd rather die than be a rat."
Stepanovich's face felt flushed as he stood up and headed to the bar. He pointed to a bottle of Early Times. Sullivan stopped reading the newspaper and poured him a shot. He picked up the shot glass with two fingers and threw it back. The whiskey burned his lips, tongue, and throat, and then he felt a mist of perspiration forming on his forehead and upper lip. He picked up a cocktail napkin and dabbed his face.
Black and Arredondo followed him to the bar and Sullivan poured more whiskey. Stepanovich reached into his pocket and set money on the bar for the drinks.
"What's the difference which of the gangbangers were in the car?" Black said. "We know they were White Fence gang members."
Stepanovich thought he saw Sullivan shake his head disapprovingly, but didn't care. He was not only a confirmed alcoholic but a has been.
"You're right," Stepanovich said disconsolately. "We're never gonna find out."
There was a faint pop as Black took a drag on his cigarette. He sucked the smoke from his mouth up into his nose. "Now, I guess, we either sit back like bunch of fairies and accept the fact that White Fence has gotten away with murder," he said, "or we retaliate."
Arredondo said, sipping his drink, "White Fence is probably celebrating right now. They killed a cop and got away with it."
"We can roll out the troops and arrest every member of the White Fence gang in the city," Stepanovich said reluctantly. "One of 'em might talk."
"That still wouldn't give us enough evidence to prosecute anyone," Black said glumly.
There was a long silence as the men stood at the bar, rattling the ice in their drinks.
"We need to catch White Fence right in the act," Arredondo said. "Catch 'em with guns in their hands. Then we could let 'em have it, those
chingasos
. "
"They've hit and now they're sitting back waiting for us to come around with search warrants, make a few bum pinches. But they're not worried. They know we don't have any evidence," Black said.
"I can hear them laughing about it right now," Arredondo said.
"I say we get White Fence to forget about us. Make them worry about somebody else. Get them to drop their guard," Stepanovich offered.
"If you have an idea," Black said, "stop beating around the bush and let's hear it."
"When we were staked out on Eighteenth Street and White Fence came gunning, it was a crime in progress," Stepanovich said. "It was open season. We were gang cops using reasonable force to stop a gang shoot out. "
"After killing Fordyce, White Fence isn't going to move against anyone else."
"You're right. But they would defend themselves if attacked by another gang."
"This is getting interesting," Arredondo said.
"If the White Fence veteranos were inside a pad and they had word they were going to be hit, they would be ready. Any shooters would get a warm reception. Now, if we were watching and we catch White Fence veteranos with guns in their hands, they're ours. We can give 'em what they deserve."
Black leaned back against the bar. "I see what you mean," he said. "It's complicated, but it could work."
****
NINETEEN
When Stepanovich walked through the gate at Sparky's tow yard the garage door was open and a light was on inside. Sparky had his feet up on his desk as he ate a thick hamburger. Because there didn't appear to be anyone else around, Stepanovich stepped past the fence and sauntered in. Sparky noticed him and turned. "Did prints come up with anything?" he said.