case materials and my Internal Affairs Board of Rights?'
'Maybe something gets worked out there. We look the other way on the case material. Your undue-use-of- force gets sent back to the Officer Involved Shooting Section, they look it over. Maybe it gets disposed of in a few hours, the district attorney decides there's no case.'
'So you're using the BOR and this murder charge to try and scare me into doing what you want?'
There was an awkward silence, then the chief took a step toward him and changed the subject.
'Sergeant, there are only three places that material can be, and we've already looked in the other two. You've got four hours. Your career, and maybe the way you spend the rest of your life, depends on your decision. That's all I have to tell you.' Then he turned his generous backside on Shane and looked out the window again, at the movie company.
Shane hesitated, wanting to continue to try convincing him, but it was obvious he had been firmly dismissed. Shane turned and walked out of Burl Brewer's office, closing the door behind him.
When he got into the waiting room, Alexa Hamilton was sitting in the same chair he had been warming a few minutes before. She stood when she saw him. Alexa Hamilton was in her mid-to late thirties and was beautiful in a severe, hard-charging way. Coal-black hair was pinned up on the back of her head. High cheekbones and slanted eyes gave her an exotic look that Shane didn't think fit her no-nonsense, ball-busting personality. She had a tight, gym-trained body. He thought her beauty was badly overpowered by a raw will to succeed that made her sexually unattractive to him. He saw her as one of the new breed of LAPD ladder-monkeys, moving fast through the department, eating her dead, leaving a high-octane vapor trail behind her.
'We meet again,' she said, arching a tapered brow and smiling without humor.
'This isn't a meeting, it's an ambush.'
'Call it what you like, I'm ready. I don't usually have to take two swings at such a slow pitch.'
'I'll try and put a few more rpms in my routine.' He looked down at the folder in her hand. 'That my package?' he asked. 'My sealed background records seem to be making the rounds. Will I be reading about my confidential history in next month's newsletter, or is it just going up on the division bulletin board?'
'I'm not reading secure files, Scully. I don't need to cheat to hammer you in. The infield fly rule's on. We have a play at any base.'
'If you say so.' He walked out of the office and was heading down the hall when she stuck her head out and called to him.
'Hey, Scully.'
He turned and faced her.
'I didn't 'peel the nine' at Ray Molar, you did. You go around shooting your ex-partners, you're bound to pick up a little grief.'
'Lemme file that under 'shit to remember.' '
He stabbed hard at the elevator button, missed, and stabbed again. Thankfully, it opened almost immediately and he got on, stepping out of her black-eyed stare. It whisked him mercifully away, down to the traffic-jammed reality of downtown Los Angeles and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Chapter 9
After picking up his Acura at the Spring Street Tire Center, Shane got back to the Harvard Westlake School at three-thirty to retrieve Chooch. He waited in a long line of British and German cars driven by Beverly Hills soccer moms. When he finally pulled to the curb where the students waited to be picked up, there was no Chooch. Then he saw him, off to the side of the crowd, sitting on a curb by himself. His CD player was hooked in his ears; he was lost in the music. Shane tapped on the horn to get his attention. Chooch picked up his book bag and ambled over to the newly shod black Acura now sporting four Michelin radials that Shane couldn't afford at a hundred dollars a tire.
As Chooch was sliding into the front seat, a tall, reed-thin man with a lipless mouth, curly hair, and heavy, dark-rimmed glasses stuck his head into the car. 'Mr. Sandoval, I'm Brad Thackery, head of the Latin department and high-school assistant dean of admissions.'
'I'm not his father,' Shane said.
'Oh… uh, well, I'm sorry. I just got the job two months ago, and I'm still trying to get all the names and faces straight. Will you be talking to Chooch's parents today?'
'Whatta you need, Mr. Thackery?'
'We need to schedule a teacher's conference immediately. Chooch has some severe problems that need to be addressed, ad summum bonum.'
Off Shane's puzzled expression, he translated, 'For everyone's good.'
Shane looked at Chooch, who seemed not to be hearing any of it as he bobbed his head to the beat of some alternative rock leaking at high decibels from his earphones.
'I'll call his mother. Thanks.'
Parents behind him were beginning to tap their horns impatiently, so Shane put the car in gear and pulled out onto Coldwater.
Shane said nothing until they were on the Ventura Freeway. 'Hey, Chooch,' he said, looking over at the boy slumped down in the seat beside him. 'Chooch, you wanna take off the headset for a minute!? We need to talk.'
Chooch paid no attention. He was bobbing his head to the music, oblivious.
Shane suddenly reached over and ripped the jack out of the CD.
That got his attention. Chooch spun around and glared. 'What!' he said angrily.
'They want a teacher's meeting.'
'I heard him. Thackery's a dick. Who the fuck cares? I hope they kick me out.'
'Whatta they wanna talk about?' Shane asked. 'I've gotta call and tell your mother.'
'Whatta they wanna talk about? They wanna accuse me of dealin' drugs at school.'
'Of what!?'
'You heard me. They think I'm dealin' drugs.'
'Are you?'
Chooch didn't say anything, he just shrugged.
'You're not gonna tell me?'
'You're a fuckin' cop. Don't I get a lawyer and my Miranda rights first?'
Shane pulled the car off the freeway, down the Sepulveda ramp, and parked on the busy cross street. Then he turned to face Chooch. 'Listen, Chooch, I'm not a cop where you're concerned. I'm your…' Shane couldn't think of the right word. What was he?
'My what?' Chooch challenged. 'My fuckin' guardian? My baby-sitter? My spiritual coach? What the fuck are you?'
'How 'bout your friend,' Shane finally said.
'You're not my friend. I don't have any friends. Not one.'
'Chooch, if you're selling drugs to kids at school, we've got a big problem. They could go to the LAPD. They could file criminal charges against you.'
Chooch leaned back in the seat, not sure what to do.
'I'm not gonna bust you,' Shane continued, 'but I've gotta know what the deal is if I'm going to help.'
'Not gonna bust me, huh? Where'd I hear that before?'
'Tell me. Were you selling drugs?'
'No. I didn't sell nothin'.' He leaned back and closed his eyes. 'Once or twice, maybe… I loaned some Rasta weed to somebody. And then maybe once or twice I found some cash in my locker that I don't know where it came from…'
'Shit,' Shane said, not sure how extreme his response to this should be. 'You're in deep shit if they can prove
