I talked to Morelli a while ago. He said the Slayers are bragging about shooting Eddie Gazarra.'
'Bummer. You better watch out on account of you disrespected Red Devil, and he was hanging with those guys. You don't want to get on the bad side of a Slayer. I'd be real careful of that if I was you.'
'You're the one who shot up the devil guys tire!'
'Yeah, but he didn't know it was me. He probably thought it was you. You're the big-deal bounty hunter. I'm just a file clerk.'
'Speaking of file clerk, I should get you back to the office so you can do some filing.'
'Yeah, but who's gonna watch out for your ass then? Who's gonna help catch the bad guys? You know what we should do? We should go take a look around Comstock Street. Maybe we could get the Red Devil.'
'I don't want to get the Red Devil. He shoots at people. He's a police problem.'
'Boy, what's with you? Everything's a police problem these days.'
'I enforce bail-bond requirements. That's the extent of my authority.'
'Well, we don't have to actually get him. We could just do some investigating. You know, like we could ride around in the neighborhood. Maybe talk to a couple people. I bet we could find out who the devil guy is. You're the only one who knows what he looks like.'
Lucky me. 'To begin with, I don't know where the devil guy lives, so it would be hard to ride around in his neighborhood. And if that isn't enough, even if we found his neighborhood and went asking questions, no one would talk to me.'
'Yeah, but they'd talk to me. Everyone talks to me. I got a winning personality. And I look like I belong in a gang-infested neighborhood.' Lula scrounged in her big black leather purse, found her cell phone, and punched in a number.
'Hey,' she said when the connection was made. It's Lula, and I need some information.' Pause. 'Your ass,' she said. 'I'm not doing that no more.' Another pause. 'I'm not doing that either. And I'm especially not doing that last thing. That's disgusting. Are you gonna listen to me, or what?'
There were about three more minutes of conversation, and Lula dropped her phone back into her bag.
'Okay, I got some gang boundaries now. The Slayers are between Third and Eighth Streets on Comstock. And Comstock's one block over from Stark,' Lula said. 'I used to work part of that area. My corner was on Stark, but I got a lot of customers from the south side. It wasn't so bad back then. That was before the gangs moved in. I figure we just mosey on over there and take a look around.'
'I don't think that's a good idea.'
'How bad could it be? We're in a car. We're just driving through. It's not like we're in Baghdad, or something. And anyway, the gangs aren't out during the day. They're like vampires. They only come out at night. So during the day the streets are real safe.'
That's not true.'
'Are you calling me a fibber?'
'Yeah.'
'Well, okay, maybe they aren't real safe. But they're safe enough in a car. What could happen to you in a car?'
Problem was, Lula and I were sort of the Abbott and Costello of law enforcement. Things happened to us all the time. Things that weren't normal.
'Give me a break,' Lula said. 'I don't want to go back and file. I'd rather ride through hell than file.'
'Okay,' I said on a sigh. 'We'll do a drive-through.' Abbott and Costello weren't all that bright. They were always doing stupid things like this. And more to the point, I felt guilty about Eddie Gazarra. I felt like he got shot because I'd acted impulsively. I felt like I owed him. Anyway, Lula was probably right. It was daytime.
It was probably reasonably safe. I could do a simple ride through the Slayers' neighborhood and maybe I'd get lucky. If I could find the Red Devil, the police might have a chance at getting the guy who shot Eddie.
I cut through the center of the city and turned up Stark Street. Stark Street started out bad and got worse. The gang graffiti increased with each block. By the time we were at Third the buildings were solid slogans and signs. The sidewalks were spray-painted.
The street signs were spray-painted. First-floor windows were laced with iron security bars, and the bars and pawn shops were behind partially closed security gates.
I turned right at Third and drove one block to Comstock. Once off Stark there were fewer businesses and the streets narrowed.
Cars were parked on both sides of Comstock, reducing the road to barely two lanes. We passed a couple guys on a corner. They were young, dressed in baggy jeans and white T-shirts. Their arms and hands were tattooed. Their expressions were sullen and watchful.
'Not a lot of people out,' Lula said. 'Except for the two sentries we just passed.'
'It's the middle of the day. People are working.'
'Not in this neighborhood,' Lula said. 'Most of these people don't got jobs unless you count holding up liquor stores as a profession.'
I checked my rear-view mirror and saw one of the corner watchers put a cell phone to his ear.
'I'm getting a bad feeling,' I said.
That's because you're a minority here.'
'You mean being white?'
'No. I mean you're the only one for blocks not packin' a gun.'
I cruised past Fifth and started looking for a way out. I didn't want to go deeper into the 'hood. I wanted to get back to Stark and head for city center. I turned left onto Sixth and realized the truck in front of me wasn't moving. It was double-parked. No one at the wheel. I put the Buick into reverse and inched back. I was about to pull onto Comstock when a kid appeared from out of nowhere. He was in his late teens, and he looked like a clone of the guys on the corner.
He approached the car and rapped on the driver-side window. 'Hey,' he said.
'You might want to ignore him,' Lula said. 'And it might not be a bad idea to back up a little faster.'
'I'd like to back up faster, but there are a couple really nasty-looking guys at my bumper. If I back up I'll run over them.'
'So what's your point?'
'I know you,' the kid at my window said, his face inches from the glass. 'You're a fucking bounty hunter. You busted my uncle. You were with some Rambo guy. And you're the one fingered Red Devil.'
The car started to rock, and I realized the guys in the back were on the bumper. More faces pressed against the side windows.
'Step on the freaking gas,' Lula said. 'It don't matter if you run these clowns over. They've been run over lots of times. Look at them. Don't they look like they've been run over?'
'The guy at your window is saying something. What's he saying?'
'How would I know,' Lula said. 'It's gangsta talk shit. Something about kill the bitches. And now he's licking the glass. You're gonna have to Clorox this car if we ever get outa here.'
All right, I have three options. I can call Joe and have him send the police. That would be really embarrassing, and they might not get here in time to stop the bitch killing. The second choice is that I call Ranger. Equally embarrassing. And there might be bloodshed. Not mine, probably. Or I could run over a couple of these fine, upstanding young men.
'I'm getting real nervous about this,' Lula said. 'I think you might have made a bad decision to come into this neighborhood.'
I felt my blood pressure edge up a notch. 'This was your idea.'
'Well, it was a bad idea. I'm willing to admit that now.'
The Buick bounced around a little, and I could hear scraping, thumping sounds overhead. The idiots were jumping up and down on the roof.
'Your grandma's not gonna like it one bit if they scratch her car,' Lula said. This here's a classic.'
'Hey,' I yelled to the guy with his face pressed against my window. 'Back off from the car. It's a classic.'
'Classic this, bitch,' he said. And he pulled a gun out of his baggy pants and aimed it at me, the barrel about an inch from the window glass.
