Street Rules

reaction, as she said, 'Somebody shot Placa.'

Claudia's mask slipped for a second and Frank was aware of Gloria careening into the room, screaming, 'That fucker! I'll kill him! That fucking pendejo, I’ll kill him!'

The old adversaries stared at each other, even as the little girl on the couch and the toddler picked up their mother's wailing, even as Gloria fell to the floor and her brother rushed to Frank demanding to know where Placa was and how she was. Both women had done this too many times. Stoically they shared the silence of bad news delivered and bad news received.

As if in confirmation, Claudia said, 'She's dead.'

Frank nodded. Seemingly without effort, Claudia rearranged her face into a quiescent tableau, a still brown desert that revealed nothing across its landscape but the inevitable play of time and gravity.

Taking a knee next to Gloria, Frank asked, 'What pendejo are you talking about, Gloria? Who did this?'

Rocking and sobbing, she moaned her sister's name. Frank repeated her question, with no effect. Finally she asked, 'Is it the same pendejo that shot Julio and his family? Is that who you're talking about?'

Gloria halted her hysteria, staring at Frank through her tears. Then she laughed, crying, 'You don't know nothin'! You fuckin' jura don't know nothin' 'bout what's goin' on. Get out of here! Get out of my house! Leave my family alone!'

She resumed her moaning and Frank stood. Claudia opened the door, staring implacably at Frank. Frank hovered over her.

'She called me. She wanted to meet me tomorrow morning at Saint Michael's. Said she had something to tell me. What was it, Claudia? What was she going to tell me?'

Claudia's only response was to close her eyes.

Quietly, tenderly, Frank said, 'Claudia. You and me, we go back a long way. And Placa, too. What do you know about all this?'

Claudia said nothing, just gnawed on her thumbnail. She looked old. Older than she should have.

'Look at me,' Frank said, so low only Claudia could hear. 'Look at me.'

The woman's dusty eyes flickered across Frank's but she couldn't maintain the gaze.

'What's going on?' Frank whispered. 'Tell me.'

Like a lover denied, Frank implored, 'Give it up, Claudia. Talk to me.'

She waited, but she may as well have been talking to the table. Frank nodded, her hand on the doorknob.

'Okay,' she said gently. 'I'm leaving now, but I'll be back. You know something. And until I find out what that is, I'm gonna be here every day. Claro?'

Placa's mother stared tightly and Frank opened the door. On her way out, she paused.

'Take your time. I'm in no hurry on this. I got eight more years before I retire, entonces,' she shrugged, 'if I have to be here everyday that'll just be another part of the job.'

Chapter Nine

The night had cooled and felt good on Frank's tired face. She lifted her head to search for a sign of stars or the moon, but the LA sky reflected only a dull red pall. It was as if heaven had turned its back on the City of Angels, leaving it in a fiery, Stygian gloom. It was reminiscent of the night Kennedy had dragged her to the beach and they'd lain on their backs, trying to catch sight of the elusive gems in the sky. For a moment she missed Kennedy. No, that's not true she told herself, you miss being in bed with her. That was true. It would have been nice to find Kennedy and hold her tightly enough to forget everything for a while.

Frank pulled in a lungful of the tainted sky. She was beat. She should go home and grab some sleep, but she knew that history would overtake her the minute she stopped moving. She wasn't ready to face all its ghosts. She would, she promised herself, just not yet.

Firing up the Honda, Frank caught the freeway, merging smoothly with the cars and trucks that flowed at all hours. She drove and listened to the talk on KFI, Tammy Bruce sparring with a homophobe. Frank tried to listen to the banter, but kept seeing Placa on the sidewalk, and Claudia's calm, prescient acceptance of her youngest daughter's fate. She drove faster, making the Honda shimmy, relieved to finally see the warm glow of the Alibi's front window, iron grate and all.

Inside, Frank returned a nod from a couple Vice detectives out of Parker. It was almost closing time and she took a seat at the empty bar, surprised to see Nancy.

'What are you doing here?' she asked.

The waitress slipped onto a stool next to Frank and purred, 'Filling in for Dee. Now, what are you doing here?'

'Working.'

Nancy wagged her head, 'It's Saturday.'

'I'll make sure to tell the bad guys that.'

'Have you had dinner?'

'Nope. Kitchen still open?'

'He's closing down, but I can get you something. What do you want?'

'How about a ham and Swiss on rye? That shouldn't be much trouble.'

'You got it.' Slipping off the stool, Nancy asked, 'Stout?'

'No. Scotch. Double.'

Frank watched Nancy squeeze back behind the bar and pour her drink. Frank kept her eyes on the waitress as she talked to the cook. Nance had put on some pounds but she still filled a skirt nicely. Nancy reclaimed her stool and while she tallied receipts, Frank asked how her son was doing. Nancy and the liquor loosened the evening's death grip on Frank. She kept drinking, paying attention to Nancy as she scarfed the sandwich the cook brought out.

'When are you gonna get someone to take care of you?' Nancy clucked.

Frank was grateful for the familiar banter, answering, 'You mean a secretary?'

'You know what I mean,' Nancy chided, then in a lower voice she added, 'I mean a real live woman.'

Been there, done that, Frank thought.

She said around a mouthful, 'You applying for the job?'

'Shit,' Nancy retorted, 'I've had my application in for years. I'm still waiting to hear about it.'

'Takes a long time to get to these things,' Frank assured her.

'Well, I guess some things are just worth waiting for.'

'Things okay with you and Kennedy?'

Nancy sighed and said, 'Yeah. You were right, though. She's not real long-term, is she?'

Kennedy had alluded to Nancy that there was nothing serious between her and Frank, and Nancy had believed it, had needed to. She'd even checked with Frank, who by then agreed that, no, there was nothing between her and Kennedy. But Frank had warned Nancy to be careful. She glanced at Nancy, who said, 'I know, I know, you told me. But still, even if it doesn't work out...'

'It won't.'

'How can you be so sure?' Nancy pouted.

'She's a player, Nance. It's in her blood. She's not going to change just 'cause you get hooked on her.'

'I'm not hooked,' the waitress defended.

'Good. Don't get that way. She's fun, and that's all.'

'I know,' she groaned.

Nancy changed the subject, chatting while Frank savaged her dinner and worked on another double. The cook said goodnight, and Frank thought she should go home and let Nance close up. Thing was, she didn't want to go yet. Frank appraised the handsome woman beside her, wondering as she often had, what it would be like to take her up on her offer. The welcome mat had been out for a long time, but as tempting as it was, Frank liked Nancy too much to use her like that.

Frank drained her scotch and left a hefty tip. It had been a while since she'd spent the night on the couch in her office, but that was where she reluctantly headed. Crashing on the chrome and vinyl relic, she hoped that sleep