Wicked Break (10 page)

Detective John Wellton said, “A little cold in here last night?”

He was standing where my sliding door should've been, the early morning fog rolling up off the water and trying to work its way into my house. Wellton wore black jeans and a white golf shirt, his ebony skin even darker against the shirt. His gun was holstered at his waist. He had his hands on his hips, his legs slightly spread, and I wondered if he thought that stance made him look taller.

“Yeah,” I said, standing in the middle of the living room. “So be careful.”

“Careful?”

“I don't want anyone mistaking you for a penguin.”

He rolled his eyes. “No wonder people want to beat your ass.”

“And here I thought it was because they're jealous of my good looks,” I said. “What do you want?”

“I was on my way to work. I called the station to check the overnight action. Recognized your address.” He looked around the room. “Thought I'd come over and check it out for myself.”

“They didn't wake your ass up in the middle of the night?” I said.

He shook his head. “Shit, no. They only do that for the fun stuff.” He grinned. “Now, if they'd killed you, I for sure would've been here.”

The police had arrived within minutes of Mo's dash out my door. Someone had heard the gunshots and dialed 911. I explained what happened to the cops, told them to check with Liz or Wellton, and then they left. I'd spent the rest of the night taking aspirin for the aches and pains that had taken on a new vigor, sweeping up glass, and glancing at my patio, wondering if I could get to Mo and Lonnie before they decided to return.

“Same two guys that put you in the canyon?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yep. They were here when I got home.”

“And you shot one of them?”

“The big one. Mo. Upper right quadrant, not that it did any good. You'd need an elephant gun to bring the guy down.”

“And the other one?”

I gestured to where he was standing. “I missed him and bought myself a new slider.”

“They didn't have guns?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Fits them,” he said.

“How?”

His face hardened a little. “Fuckers think they're so tough, they don't need guns. Like to use their boots and fists.” He paused. “Makes it up close and personal for them.”

Wellton may have been short in stature, but the look on his face would've scared off giants.

“At least you look better than the last time you ran into them,” he said after a moment.

I nodded. I'd been on edge ever since I'd woken up in the hospital, knowing they'd eventually show their faces.

“I was ready,” I said.

“So you were,” he said. “Can't imagine a guy bleeding from the shoulder with a tattoo on his forehead will be hard to find, but don't count on it.”

“I won't,” I said. “You get anything yet on the shooting at the apartment?”

He frowned and folded his arms across his chest. “Nothing. Parents came in, didn't seem to know much. We're still checking with some of the others at the complex and trying to follow up with some supposed friends. There were a couple of drive-bys in the same area last two days.” He shrugged. “Could have been just bad timing on her part to step out of her place when she did.”

The image of Rachel collapsing to the ground flashed in my head. Too many other things pointed to it not being random.

“I got one other thing for you,” he said. “We got in touch with Peter Pluto's aunt. She's coming in at noon to do some paperwork. Liz thought you might want to talk to her.”

I shifted gingerly on the sofa, my back stiff. “And Liz couldn't tell me that herself?”

Wellton laughed and glanced over his shoulder toward the beach. “Don't worry. She won't be there. You won't have to use your indifferent bullshit act you like to put on when she's around.”

It irritated me that Wellton could decipher what was going on between Liz and me. I had a hard time believing that she would share our relationship with him, but he was her partner and partners talked.

“So why's she got you running her errands?” I asked.

“Probably for the same reason you just shit your pants when you thought you were gonna have to face her this afternoon,” he said. “You're both too chicken to deal with each other.”

I felt the blood rush to my face.

“Hey, man,” he said. “She's doing you a favor, alright? It was me, I'd say fuck it and leave you out of it because you bring trouble like a skunk brings stink.” He frowned. “But she said to tell you, so I'm telling you. Come down or don't come down. I could give a shit.”

I wondered if he was right about Liz's reason for avoiding me. I thought some of the awkwardness had disappeared between us when I saw her at the station, but he was right, at least on my account—I still hadn't worked up the courage to tell her exactly how I felt about her.

I pushed myself up. “Alright. I'll be there.”

“Fantabulous,” he said. “Can't fuckin' wait.”

“This is really on your way to work?”

He nodded. “I live in Pacific Beach, off of Lamont.”

“Really?”

“Despite whatever cultural myth you subscribe to, black guys like the beach, too,” he said. “I just tell everyone I tan real good.”

I laughed. “Sure. Well, seriously. Thanks for coming by. I appreciate it.”

He looked at me warily. “Yeah. You're welcome.”

“And thanks for not bringing the other six dwarves or Snow White with you,” I said. “Woulda been weird.”

He shook his head, showed me his middle finger, and left.

The glass man showed up at nine on the dot to hang my new patio door. I showered while he worked, letting the hot water take some of the sting out of my banged-up body. An hour later the door was in and the evidence of my poor aim with a gun was gone.

I grabbed a breakfast burrito at Roberto's and, with time to kill before meeting the Pluto aunt at noon, I headed back up to Linc's apartment to see if anything or anyone showed up.

I parked just down the block and sat there with my breakfast. Some cars came and went. Dana headed out with a backpack full of books and climbed into a Nissan Xterra by herself, apparently on her way to class. Rolovich came out for a smoke.

Other than that nothing much happened, so at eleven-thirty I headed downtown to meet Peter and Linc's aunt. I'd known it was a long shot that Linc would just happen to walk by while I was sitting there, but there you go—I'm a dreamer.

The morning fog was still hanging around, covering I-5 like a tunnel, and the traffic was thick going south. We moved along slowly, but my normal impatience didn't rear its head. Something about defending myself in my own home had relaxed me, made me more confident. I held my own against Lonnie and Mo and came out on the better end.

I found a parking spot two blocks up from SDPD headquarters five minutes before noon, dropped change in the meter, and headed over to the big building.

Wellton was standing in the downstairs lobby. A woman was with him.

“Hey,” I said as I approached.

“Hey,” Wellton said. He gestured at the woman next to him. “This is Marie Pluto. Ms. Pluto, this is Noah Braddock.”

Marie Pluto stood about five-seven and looked to be in her late forties. Dark hair fell to her shoulders, her face bearing the strain of someone who has just lost a relative. Sad gray eyes surrounded by fine wrinkles and a small mouth smiled politely at me.

She offered her hand. “Hello.”

“Hello,” I said. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

She looked away for a moment. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Braddock is the investigator I was telling you about,” Wellton said. “Your nephew hired him before his death.”

“To find Linc?” she asked, her focus back on me now.

“Yes.”

“Have you found him?”

“Unfortunately, no. But I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about him.”

“Certainly. I'll help however I can.”

“Ms. Pluto, thank you again for coming by to take care of the paperwork. My condolences,” Wellton said. He shook her hand. “I'll let you two speak.”

“Thank you, Detective,” she said, taking a deep breath.

He turned his attention to me. “Stop by when you're done, alright?”

I knew he would want any info I got from Marie. He set up the meeting, so it was only fair.

“Sure,” I said.

We watched Wellton walk down the hallway and disappear around a corner.

“Do you mind if we walk outside?” she asked. “I could use the air.”

I nodded and we walked out through the crowded front lobby and into the cool midday air, sitting down on the steps facing Broadway.

“When did Peter hire you?” she asked, folding her hands in her lap.

“Last week,” I said, realizing it felt more like a month.

“I assume you know what happened to Peter?”

I thought about seeing him in his house and lying next to him in the canyon. “Yes. I'm sorry.”

She took a deep breath and stared at the street. “Peter was a good kid. I mean, he wasn't a kid, but that's how I thought of him.”

“You were his aunt?”

She nodded. “His father was my brother. And he wasn't much of a father.” She paused. “Peter figured it out early on, but I don't think Linc ever did.”

I didn't say anything.

“You know that their mother died?” she said.

“Peter told me she had cancer and died two years ago. He mentioned a small trust fund that Linc was living off of.”

Marie nodded. “Her family had a little bit of money and her parents left it to the boys. Nothing to make them rich, but enough for them to be alright.” She leaned forward and rested her forearms on her knees. “Their grandparents just wanted to make sure that their father didn't get his hands on it.”

A group of Japanese tourists stopped across the street and pointed their cameras at the police building. I couldn't imagine who told them that it was something to photograph. They smiled at one another and moved on.

“Was your brother still in contact with the boys?” I asked.

“Peter shut him out and he stopped trying,” she said, looking at me. “But he was still talking with Linc when he was killed.”

“Killed?”

“Stabbed in a fight,” she said, her voice void of emotion.

“I'm sorry.”

She smiled. “Don't be. He probably deserved it.”

The Pluto family just kept getting stranger.

We watched the afternoon traffic move by on Broadway for a few moments, the din of the taxis and cars filling the awkward silence. The fog was finally dissipating and the smell of wet concrete drifted in the air.

“If you would, I'd like you to keep looking for Linc,” she said. “I'll pay you.”

I nodded, that tiny, self-centered devil on my shoulder applauding. “I'd be happy to keep looking.”

“Thank you.”

It wasn't just about the money for me, though. Being attacked and shot at had given me my own incentive to find Linc and figure out how it all meshed together.

“Anything you can tell me about Linc that might help?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not that I can think of. He withdrew from pretty much everyone after his mom died. I kept tabs on him through Peter.” She paused. “He was going to San Diego State, but I'm assuming you already know that.”

I nodded. “I do. I've learned a few things, but I'm not sure how they all fit together.”

“Such as?”

“I believe he was selling guns primarily to gang members.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

I told her what I'd found in Linc's apartment and about the connections with Wizard Matellion and Deacon Moreno.

She stared at me like I'd told her that San Diego was in Arizona. “Good Lord.”

“And I think he had something to do with a hate group, too,” I said. “It looks like he was using his connections to both groups. Selling guns for the skinheads to the gang members.”

“Oh, Linc,” she said, clearly frustrated by her nephew's actions.

“Can you tell me anything about his involvement with the hate group?”

She was quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Have you ever heard of National Nation?”

“No.”

She shook her head. “My brother, their father, was a member. Very involved. He held some kind of office or something.”

She paused, the anger forming on her face.

“We all were disgusted by it,” she said, her voice rising a little, gathering steam. “And ashamed. And embarrassed. Peter, of course, knew what it was immediately and wanted no part of it.” The lines around her mouth drew tighter. “But Linc didn't. And then Linc decided he kind of liked it.”

Marie sighed. “As I said, my brother, Anthony, was some sort of leader in it. It took over his life and he died because of it. Went after some black kid and got stabbed.” She shook her head. “I wanted to feel bad about his death, but I couldn't. The world was a better place.”

“Linc stayed involved?”

“I'm not sure to what extent,” she answered. “But I know he was still doing things for them. I caught him handing out literature with their slogan on it.”

The afternoon sun surfaced in the sky and beat down on my face, my skin tightening against the heat.

“White is right,” I said.

She turned to me, surprised. “Yes. That's their slogan. So you have heard of them?”

I had.