freeway and Slade would go postal, pull out his nine and wave it through the window at the guy. Start yelling how he's gonna cap the poor schlub. Trouble is, once the civilian made a complaint, it kinda just never got completely dealt with.'
'You're saying he's got juice down at the Professional Standards Bureau. That doesn't sound right.'
'Who the hell knows? This was under Chief Brewer. You know more than anyone what a corrupt bastard he was. Back then the chief had the power to reach down at will and adjust any Board of Rights finding. Couldn't make a penalty worse, but he could lighten it if he wanted to and that's exactly what Chief Brewer did for Slade. All eight times. Cut two flat-out dismissals down to thirty days off without pay. If you or I went and pulled a gun on some civilian over a lane change, we'd be working at Wal-Mart.'
'You think he had something on the department?'
Rosey shrugged.
'Anything else?'
'All kinda stuff. You know he got in on that juvenile felony waiver.'
'I kind of figured that.'
'Slade grew up in Compton. By the time he was thirteen he was already a baby G doin' lookouts on dope deals. Cripped all through high school gets popped on two righteous felonies an ag-assault and an attempted murder. He does two years at the County Youth Offenders camp, gets out when he's eighteen. He was lookin' for new windows to break, sees our recruiting ad saying all is forgiven, and joins the department.'
'You knew Alexa in the Academy. In your opinion, is there any way she'd ever use Slade on an undercover assignment?'
His brow furrowed. Something was going on, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to share it.
'You got something?' I asked.
'It'll keep,' he finally said, and changed the subject.
'Last scam Slade pulled should a got him bounced for sure, but again, he gets out from under it. It was just before Filosiani became chief.'
'Let's hear.'
'The story is that he was partying in Lou Maluga's house, way up on top of Malibu. Big place fountains, lawns all they don't have is a polo field. One night, about three years back, a guy calls nine-one-one and says he was just up there delivering pizza and some black dude jumped the fence and is running around waving a gun on the property. The caller says the intruder is six-one, two hundred pounds, and is wearing a maroon two-eleven suit. The Malibu sheriff rolls a car and when they get out there, sure enough, here's this black dude running around in maroon Fila acting all crazy. The cops don't see a gun, so they tackle the suspect, put him down hard. He motherfucks them up one side and down the other, takes a swing, and it gets nasty. Batons come out and these two cops start doin' a marimba on the homeboy's skull. 'Bout then the man identifies himself as David Slade, an LAPD sergeant.'
'I don't get it.'
'It'll make sense in a second. Next, he hires Nathan Red and sues the Sheriff's Department for a hate crime in civil court. He wants a million bucks. Stacy Maluga, who he's screwin', backs him in a statement and pays the attorney fees. She says she saw the whole thing.'
'Got it.'
'He set them up. It looks like a good beef that's gonna stick. The D. A. is circling and the press is all kneeled down in the blocks waiting for a starter's gun, and the city is talking about a big settlement to keep it out of court. Then somebody in our Internal Affairs who is familiar with this dirtbag's package calls the sheriff's investigator and suggests that they make a voice print on David Slade and check it against the nine-one-one call. Just like that, the fool is busted. Slade is the phony pizza delivery guy who phoned it in.'
'What happened?'
'Sixty days off without pay. I'm telling you, if the rest of us had this kind of cover, we'd all start holding up banks for a living.'
'I might, but you wouldn't,' I said.
'Probably right,' he said. 'Got this dumb white hat all stuck down on my nappy head.' Rosey grinned at me and then while we were looking at each other; the grin disappeared and the frown came back.
'What is it, man?' I asked. 'Something's bothering you.'
'I can't, Shane. We're friends. You got enough to deal with. I don't want to go and make it worse.'
'Alexa's missing. She may be dead. I've got the rat squad and maybe the D. A. chasing me with warrants. I don't have any time. How can it get worse?'
He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. 'Back when we were all in the Academy, there was a rumor about David and Alexa.'
My heart was beginning to beat harder in my chest. 'What kind of rumor?'
'You know what kind of rumor. That kind of rumor.'
'You mean they were seeing each other?'
'Lotta testosterone and estrogen flowing back then. Slade was definitely a lady's man. A mac daddy from Compton. We were all real young. Hard to keep your arithmetic in one column.'
'I don't think Alexa would get involved with some Crip gang-banger,' I said hotly.
'Maybe not. Like I said, it was just a rumor.'
The waitress came to take our order, but I had no appetite. I thanked Rosey, shook his hand, and walked out into the parking lot. I stood outside by my car for a minute, looking at the interior through the windshield. My face was reflected in the curved glass window, distorted and ugly. I didn't look like me. I didn't feel like me. And Rosey was right.
He'd made it worse.
Chapter 16
It was a lot to process. Pieces didn't fit.
How could somebody like Alexa find herself attracted to a tattooed Crip criminal with a juvenile felony package? I looked hard inside myself, trying to see if there was a racial component guiding my skepticism. I had started so low on the ladder, as a kid I didn't usually think in terms of race. For me, there were just assholes and mega-assholes. They came in all colors. But still, is anybody completely immune? I'd had Chooch with a Hispanic woman, but did that indemnify me? Sex without commitment is just a party. As I turned this over in my mind, I knew that I didn't have a problem with the idea that Alexa might have had a black lover as long as he was a quality person, but from what Rosey had told me, David Slade was a dirtbag. The road rage incidents, the crazy attempt to shake down the Sheriff's Department with that 911 call. That kind of character flaw didn't just suddenly pop up in your early twenties. This guy had been dirt from the beginning. So what was Alexa doing messing with him? She should have sensed who he was under that fake smile and carefully clipped moustache.
I was pretty sure he had never left his Crip gang, despite being on the LAPD. That was probably why he still lived in Compton. It was his hood. His old crew was kicking it there. He looked to be about the same age as Louis Maluga. I wondered if Slade knew Maluga back when he was a baby G doing corners.
I picked up my radio mike and called communications. When they answered, I identified myself and said, 'Wants, warrants and background on a Louis Maluga and Stacy Maluga.'
'Roger,' the RTO came back. 'Stand by.'
I was almost out of Newton, driving on Washington Boulevard, heading toward the Harbor Freeway.
While I waited, I turned my thoughts to our Chief Filosiani's predecessor, Burl Brewer. Rosey was right, I had experienced firsthand the full extent of his corruption. I was the cop who finally had him arrested for conspiracy and murder back in the late 1990s. Had Chief Brewer somehow been involved with Lou Maluga and Lethal Force, Inc.? I knew I would never get an answer to that question, so I moved on.
As I drove, I kept wondering why Slade had been found dead in Alexa's car. Was that old Academy relationship important? Did it affect everything that was happening now?
They were not easy thoughts. They swung carelessly around in my brain like dangerous wrecking balls, knocking into emotional barriers, punching holes in my value system. If she could betray me like this, what was
