Bleeding Out
Baxter Clare
1
One of Crocetti's techs was working the corpse while Noah and Briggs scavenged the area around the body. The streetlight was shot out so they searched by flashlight and neon glare. So far they had two shell casings from a .22 and a bloodied tooth.
'You know, I've almost got enough teeth to make a necklace.' Johnnie Briggs made an imaginary half-circle under his collarbone. 'Or maybe I should mount 'em and turn 'em into earrings. Sell 'em to all the tourists who want a genuine souvenir from L.A.'
'You'd get richer doing that than this,' rejoined his partner, digging another slug out of the window sash. The owner of the liquor store paced outside, scowling at the body and muttering darkly in Korean.
The tech laughed up at him, removing the dead man's clothes. 'Welcome to the American Dream, my friend.'
The Korean man said something else in his language and spat into the gutter.
Holding a driver's license under a Budweiser sign glowing behind iron bars, Lieutenant L.A. Franco read the victim's pedigree to the prowling detectives. 'Charles Mackay. 5319 West 53rd. DOB 11/19/79.'
The tech turned the body, and a small round hole at the base of Mackay's head leaked blood. So did another hole just under his left shoulder blade. As he watched this, the store owner explained that he'd heard Mackay being shot, saw him get hit, but that from his cash register he couldn't see the shooter. The lieutenant stretched a long, trousered leg over the body and walked behind the counter. She looked out the window and clearly saw Noah talking to the slight man. But Frank was almost 5'10'. She bent her knees a few inches and her vision was obstructed by a promo sign for Miller Genuine Draft. Their old jingle ran through her head as she recognized that the owner wasn't lying.
He stood outside, glancing nervously through the window, trying to see what Frank was up to. She smiled to herself and peeked at the cluttered shelf under the cash register. There it was. A long-barreled .357. She knew he wouldn't have a permit for it, but that wasn't her quarrel tonight.
He was obviously relieved when she walked out the door. The tech was loading the young black male onto a metal gurney and Johnnie was talking to a skinny woman he'd ferreted out of the adjoining alleyway.
If anyone can find a pross, it'll be Johnnie, Frank thought, though in all fairness, hookers on Florence Avenue were as common as cracks in the sidewalk. Frank eased under the police tape toward Johnnie and the girl. If she wasn't so strung out she'd almost be pretty. Frank folded her arms and leaned back against the crumbling brick wall of the alley, gleaming loafers casually crossed at the ankle.
The pross eyed Frank nervously and asked Johnnie, 'Who dat bitch?'
'That bitch is my boss,' he confided. 'And she doesn't like being dragged out of bed at 3:00 a.m. Makes her kinda grumpy.'
Frank let her eyes drift over the skinny young woman. She was bare bones, literally and figuratively, dressed only in a skimpy skirt and blouse against the chill night. It wouldn't be long before she was being wheeled off on a metal gurney, too. Frank ended her perusal at the woman's face, holding the hooker's jumpy eyes with an iron gaze. The girl shivered, wrapping herself even tighter.
'So whatcha doing here all alone in the middle of the night, Angela? This ain't no good place to be hangin',' Johnnie warned, his voice oozing concern. 'You lookin' to score maybe? Huh?'
The prostitute's eyes danced back and forth between the big white dude, hunched over her, smiling, and his creepy boss. Angela squirmed under Frank's pitiless scrutiny, her nerves on fire, her muscles twitching. She giggled tensely.
'Yeah, okay. That what I be doin',' she admitted to Johnnie, nodding her head vigorously.
'Yeah, I don't blame you,' Johnnie sympathized. 'I'd be out lookin' too if I had to. Now tell me what you saw here, Angela.'
'I din't see nothin',' she insisted.
'For real? See, that don't make much sense to me, 'cause if I wanted to be scoring I wouldn't be hidin' in a goddamn alley. I'd be out cruisin', hustlin'. You know what I mean?'
She nodded her whole torso up and down, hugging herself.
'And that little guy over there? He says you're hangin' around the store all the time. Now the way I see it you'd be out cruisin' near the store, waiting for guys to walk in an' maybe lay a little green on you 'fore they drop it in the store. Am I right?'
'Yeah, you right,' she agreed, then realizing her mistake she started shaking her head back and forth. 'But I din't see nothin'.'
Shoving off the wall, Frank spoke almost absently. 'I don't have time for this. Bring her in for loitering with intent.'
As Frank moved out of the alley the crackhead shouted, 'Hey, you can't do that! I ain't done nothin' wrong.'
Frank spun quickly and took two strides toward Angela, who involuntarily stepped backward.
'Whoa,' Johnnie said as he placed himself between the two women. 'I'll get her, Frank,' he said over his shoulder, then to Angela he whispered, 'See? Now I gotta take you in. It'll be hours before you can score.'
Frank stayed where she was, glaring at Angela, who wailed, 'I don't want no trouble.'
Johnnie draped his beefy wrists on her shoulders and drawled, 'I know, darlin'. Just tell me what you saw and then I can let you go.'
'Fo' real? You gonna lemme go?'
'For real.'
'On'y thing I seen was a tall dude come outta nowhere, come 'roun' the corner. I sees him liftin' his arm at Smack-Mac and I run down here.'
Angela swallowed hard as Frank turned away. Johnnie took out his notepad and started writing. Angela Barry was suddenly very cooperative. Frank had that effect on people.
Two hours later Frank watched the dawn sky transform itself from gray murk to a pale, delicate blue. Johnnie was driving back to the station house. Noah leaned over the front seat and said to Frank, 'You know, if there really was such a charge as 'loitering with intent,' we'd have to run Johnnie up on it.'
'Yeah,' Briggs agreed. 'Loitering with intent to get laid.'
'Nah. Loitering with intent to work.' Noah guffawed at his own joke, and Johnnie said, 'Yeah, yeah. I can do more work in one day than you can in a month.'
'That's true,' Noah conceded, 'you can. But you never do.'
The RTO interrupted the boys' banter. She was radioing a patrol car about a possible 187 on 8th and 52nd.
'That'd be Ike and Diego's,' Noah said merrily. 'Geez Louise. Not even seven o'clock and we've already got a doubleheader.'
Frank didn't share Noah's enthusiasm. 'Let's go look,' she said tiredly.
Spying the Winchell's Donuts on the corner Johnnie said, 'I gotta get some coffee first.'
They followed the dispatcher's address to Crenshaw High School and found two squad cars working the area. One of the patrolmen was stretching tape around the scene, while another stared uselessly at the body. Two other cops were talking to a clump of onlookers.
The detectives carried their coffee to the edge of the tape.
'Haystack!' Johnnie greeted the old cop pulling the tape, then motioned to the cop hovering over the body.
'What's with the zombie?' he asked, shoving the last bite of a Bavarian Creme into his mouth.
Tying off the final knot, Officer Heisdaeck straightened and pushed his hands into the small of his back. He ambled over to Johnnie.
'Well, if it ain't the Happy Clapper,' he grinned, euphemistically referring to the detective's legendary propensity for women as well as his frequent, nonchalant bouts with various STDs. Glancing over at the rookie, he explained, 'Second day on the job.'
Johnnie grinned happily. He loved rookies.
