Faye Kellerman - Street Dreams

Angus didn’t talk.

“You don’t want to handle something that hot,” I said. “He shot at a cop.”

“Maybe he didn’t know it was a cop.”

“But now you do, so that makes you an accessory if you have the car.”

Angus said, “I don’t see a warrant.”

“That’s because I don’t have one. Otherwise we wouldn’t be talking.” I smiled. “C’mon, man, let’s play like good sports, okay? How much you pay for it?”

Angus was quiet.

“Look, hombre, ” I tried again. “All I want is the car. I can cause you a lot of grief or you can be a good citizen and report it to your local police. I’ll even throw in a reward for your time and effort. What do you say?”

“Five hundred bucks,” Angus told me.

“That’s ridiculous! You probably didn’t pay more than a hundred for it.” I rummaged through my wallet. “I got twenty-seven bucks on me.”

“Get out of here!”

“No need to get nasty.” I turned to my father. “How much do you have?”

Dad checked his wallet. “Sixty.”

I turned back to Angus. “I’m going to need some pocket change. I’ll give you eighty bucks. Take it or leave it.”

He didn’t deliberate too long, holding out his hand a moment later.

I gave him the bills. “Where?”

“Not here,” Angus said. “But I know where. You don’t come back here no more, it’ll show up where it’s supposed to show up.”

I turned to the Loo for advice. Decker said, “Either we flex muscle or we believe him. What do you want to do?”

“How long will it take to show up?” I asked Angus. “I really didn’t appreciate being shot at.”

“By the end of the day.”

“Can you put some speed on it?”

“I could if you give me more incentive.”

“I don’t have any more cash.”

“I got an address.”

“How much?” I asked him.

“ ’Nother hundred.”

It would have been worth ten times that much to streamline the investigation. Still, I knew I had to show grit. “Fifty,” I told him. “It’s coming out of my pocket.”

“Big fuckin-A deal. You’ll make it up next time you bust a crack house.”

“I’m not in Vice and I’m not on the take. I repeat: fifty bucks because it’s coming out of my pocket.”

Angus gave the offer some thought. “Seventy-five and I’ll say before three o’clock.”

Again I turned to the Loo. He turned to Angus. “Which police department and precinct are you going to phone?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t thought about it.”

Decker said, “Do Industry PD, the precinct on Twenty-third and Preston.”

“Okay. You got a phone number? I’ll call you when it’s cleared.”

“Not necessary,” Decker said. “Just do your job and we’ll all be happy.”

“Tell me how the car came to your attention?” I asked him.

“Not much to tell, sweetheart. Guy comes in here six-thirty in the morning and tells me he needs to dump a hot mark. All those bullet holes, I’m figuring it was a messy holdup or gang warfare. Either way, I don’t want no part of that shit. I tell him where to go for scrap. That’s it.”

“Who’s the guy?” I asked.

“Don’t know him.”

“You don’t know him?” I tossed him a look. “You gave out the address of a chop shop to a guy you don’t know?”

“He’s the stepbrother of a greaser that used to work for me.”

“Okay,” I said. “What’s the greaser’s name?”

He brushed his tongue over his teeth. “We’re back up to a hundred.”

“Fine,” I said. “What’s his name… the greaser?”

“Germando El Paso.”

My father and I exchanged glances. Decker said, “What’d this guy look like?”

“I dunno. Maybe around five-ten.”

“Hair color, eye color?”

“I don’t pay attention to that kinda crap.”

“Think, Angus,” I told him. “It’s important.”

“Real short hair… stubble. Look, I got work to do, ’specially if you want me to do what you’re asking me to do. So get outta here and let me do it.”

“Where’s the scrap yard?” I asked.

Angus narrowed his eyes. “You don’t got no warrant. I ain’t got nothin’ else to say to you.” He started to turn his back.

“Thank you,” I told him.

He stopped, pivoted around, and stared at me.

“Thank you very much,” I said. “I’ll get you the money. I promise.”

His eyes took in my face. He nodded.

“One more thing?”

He waited.

“You’re sure you don’t know this guy’s name? You can understand why I’d want to know that.”

He was silent.

I said, “Angus, how about if I say some names. You don’t even have to tell me yes or no. I’ll just look at your face. And I’ll throw in an extra twenty-five.”

He didn’t move. I took it as an indication for me to continue. I rattled off a few fillers before I got to the meat. “Pepe Renaldes?”

Nothing.

“Juice Fedek?”

Angus was good, but the tic of the eye was involuntary.

“Juice Fedek is Germando El Paso’s stepbrother?” When Angus didn’t answer, I turned to my father. “Hence the mixed gang.”

“Are you leavin’ or what?” Angus stepped out into the working area and looked across the street at my father’s Porsche. “Is that your wheels?”

Decker said, “You touch it, you’re dead.”

“Need any parts? I got an ’81 nine-one-one engine with twenty thousand original miles.”

“As tempting as it is, I think I’ll pass.”

I said, “When you locate the car, tell the Industry PD to call Hollywood substation. Tell them you heard that the Nova was used in an officer-involved shooting.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Angus shook his head and said, “You know, this talk ain’t doing wonders for either of our images.”

“C’mon,” my father told me. When we were across the street, he put his arm around me. “Masterful.”

“I learned from the best.”

He took in my eyes. “I don’t know if you had the best this morning.”

“Then it’s good that I’ve seen him work under less emotional conditions.”

“Very good for him.”

The Loo unlocked the door. Renaldes was just where we’d left him. I pushed forward the driver’s seat and squeezed into my space. I leaned over and tucked the remaining halves of the three torn twenty-dollar bills into his pocket. But I still had severe reservations. This man, however cowed he was at this moment, was potentially a willing participant in a gang rape. I kept that in the back of my mind. I patted his shoulder. “You did good, Pepe.”

He smiled. “You fin’ him?”

“The less you know, the better,” I told him. Evasiveness helped keep his anxiety level up. I weighed my words carefully. “You know, if we need you again for something else, you’d better come through.”

Dad translated my words into Spanish.

He squirmed. “Que quiere?”

“Nothing right now,” I told him. “But you never know.”

“Well stated,” the Loo complimented. He started the engine and we were off. I made Decker stop at a Burger King and bought Pepe a Shaq pack. I placed the bag on the floor of the car. He eyed it ravenously.

“I no can eat with the faja. ”

“ ‘ Faja ’ is the belt,” Dad told me.

I said, “You’ll eat when you get home. In the meantime, you can smell it.”

To me, the odor was greasy and nauseating. It was especially sickening because it took us over an hour to make it back to Pepe’s apartment. Traffic was in full swing: bumper to bumper, chrome reflecting in the sunlight, exhaust clogging up the air, and it wasn’t even afternoon rush hour yet. Finally, by one-thirty in the afternoon, we were back where we started, Renaldes delivered in one piece, a chastened man. I undid the wrist restraints and he picked up the bag of food. He took out some French fries and stuffed them into his mouth before we got to the door of his apartment. As soon as my father inserted Renaldes’s key in the lock, the dog went nuts. When he opened the door, I could smell feces and urine. Someone had shown displeasure in a very primal way.