Street Rules

He was still swinging and cursing when Frank and Bobby stepped between them. Frank grabbed Noah's lapels, shaking him, yelling in a deep voice, 'Hey! Look at me!'

Bobby stood next to Johnnie who, Frank was grateful to see, was still stunned or he could have made pulp out of Noah. The skinny detective was still mad-dogging his partner but she marched him back a few feet, holding on to him until he looked away.

'Give me the car keys, No.'

He fished around in his pocket and slapped them in her hand.

'Johnnie,' she called over her shoulder, tossing the keys at him, 'Go on home.'

Bending over to swipe up the keys, he told Noah, 'You're fuckin' psycho.'

'Fuck you, you drunken asshole,' Noah spit back.

Frank patted his face roughly, 'Hey. Knock it off. Johnnie, go home. Bobby, get back to the table.'

Johnnie left, rubbing his jaw, swearing. Frank pulled Noah toward the door.

'What the fuck was that all about?'

'You don't have to drive around with him all day, Frank. He's a goddamn moron.'

'He's been a moron for years. Why'd you decide to punch him now?'

Noah glanced at Placa, splay-chested on the table.

'He had no right to call her that. I mean look at her. She's defenseless. If she'd been here she'd have wailed on his ass.'

'She'd a put a curse on him to make his dick fall off,' Frank said softly.

'Yeah,' Noah smiled, but he ducked his head against the tears welling up. Frank hurt for her friend. She rested a hand on his shoulder and he looked back at Placa.

'It's just, you know, some of these kids. You watch 'em comin' up and they're bright and they got so much potential and you just wanna see 'em make it out of this fuckin' cesspool. And she just had so much goin' for her. I mean if anybody coulda made it out, it'd been her, but no, she had to die cause she was wearing her barrio on her arm. I mean where's the fuckin' sense in it?'

He'd asked the question earnestly and Frank had to admit she didn't know. He hung his head again and she said, 'Look. Go home. Play with the kids. Pat Trace on the ass. Have a couple drinks. Okay?' she asked, catching his eye.

He nodded and she squeezed his neck.

'There you go. You all right?'

He nodded again and she said, 'Call me if you want. I'll be up late.'

'Yeah.'

'Bobby. Take No back to the station. I'll finish this.'

'Want me to come back and get you?'

'No. I'll grab a cab.'

The men left and Frank resumed her stand at the steel table.

'Sorry about that.'

'Not at all,' Gail spoke wryly. 'That was exciting. We don't get many fistfights in here.'

After the sudden outbreak the room seemed overly calm. The big air conditioner hummed efficiently and MEs dictated into their recorders and talked quietly to their techs. The whispering of paper gowns and click of metal on metal was almost soothing. Gail was slicing the diaphragm from the body wall and said without looking up, 'She must have been pretty special to you guys.'

Frank sighed like she'd trained herself to, slowly, so that no one could see.

'She was a good kid,' she said, dispassionately.

Gail glanced at Frank and they continued the autopsy without conversation. When the ME finished, she had a tech replace the organs and stitch the Y She peeled her gloves off and bunched her fists into her kidneys.

'I don't know about you,' she said to Frank, 'but I'm calling it a day. If you could wait around a bit, I'll give you a ride back to your car. Maybe we could stop for a drink somewhere. You can hang out in my office while I finish up these notes and grab a shower. What do you think?'

It had been a long couple of days. Frank was beat and not much in the mood for company, but a drink sounded good and a ride was better than popping for a taxi, especially in commuter traffic.

'Okay. I've got some notes I can work on too.' Pulling off her mask, Gail beamed, 'Great! Give me half an hour.'

Chapter Twelve

The man who'd created the building that housed the Los Angeles County Coroner's Office had been a flamboyant character and the Chiefs office reflected his style much more than Gail's. Frank took in the big furniture, piled high with papers and folders and jars of she didn't want to know what. Clean bones, misshapen bullets, and excisions in plastic were scattered around like the toys of a very disturbed child.

Frank settled into a plush sofa, pushing the coroner's clutter to one end. She quickly jotted the highlights from the autopsy into her notebook. The most tantalizing clues were the evidence of recent intercourse and the name tattooed on Placa's thigh. Pulling the latest leads together gave Frank an interesting story with a beginning, middle, and end. Placa was doing it with Ocho's girl, which both Placa and La Reina kept on the QT. Dating rivals demanded an instantaneous beat-on-sight at the very least, not to mention the fall from grace that would ensue. But suppose Itsy figured it out. She snitched to Ocho for revenge. Ocho found Placa alone, got her in the back of his T-Bird and took her .25 away, then showed Placa what La Reina really liked. Knowing Placa she probably hurt him pretty bad and jumped out of the car. To save face, Ocho grabs the .25 and caps her as she's trying to run for cover. End of story.

That explained Placa, but did nothing to clear the rest of the deaths in her family. Frank allowed that maybe Placa had a boyfriend. With a bad-girl rep to protect, she'd probably kept that a secret too. Or if the dude was an off-brand, she wouldn't want that getting out. Placa was pretty hard-core King and Frank couldn't see her balling a rival vato. But Ocho's girlfriend, that would be the ultimate insult.

She made a note to ask Placa's home girls, some of the Kings, and the Playboys closest to Ocho, about a boyfriend. The Toluidine had stained Placa, indicating ripping and abrasion during the intercourse. Frank had asked if she was a virgin but Gail said no. The sex had been rough, consistent with a rape, which also offered a convenient explanation for why she wasn't strapped. That led back to the bullets.

They'd recovered three slugs at the scene and had found the other two lodged in Placa's thoracic cavity. Her chest was so smashed up it was impossible for Gail to follow their complete trajectory. Three of the five shots were immediately fatal and Frank thought again that the shooter knew what he was doing. Not only that, the trajectory of the bullet to her head indicated the shooter had fired from directly behind Placa once she was down. It was clear the shooter wanted Placa dead — not scared, or frightened, but stone dead. Just like whoever shot Julio Estrella's family. As with them, the shooter had done the job thoroughly and accurately. And just like whoever shot her uncle's family, the person who shot Placa had taken the time to pick up the spent .25 casings. The trajectory of four of the five bullets was consistent with the shooter standing in the spot where Nook had found the lone casing. But the other four casings were missing. Frank had seen a lot of drive-bys but never one where they'd stopped to clean up ejected shells.

Apart from the wound traumas, Placa's internal exam had revealed nothing unusual. Her organs were pale from hemorrhaging but unremarkable. The stomach was empty except for what looked like antacid residue. Frank didn't think it was common for kids to chew Rolaids, and wondered about the cause of Placa's upset stomach.

Because no one was around, Frank blew out a huge horse breath. She laid her head back against the comfortable couch, wishing they'd seen Placa's bruises in the dark. The chances were slim they'd have pulled anything useful, but still she would have liked to dust them for latents. Frank hated working scenes at night just for that reason. There was so much to miss and by the time they returned in the morning scenes had changed and were contaminated, sometimes even cleaned up.

'Sorry to keep you waiting,' Gail breathed, bursting through the door. 'A couple of the residents cornered me. They lie in wait for me outside the locker room.'

'No problem. I was just going over what we found.'

'Or didn't,' Gail said apologetically.

Frank stood by the door, waiting for the doc to finish up. A fruity shampoo scented the office and Gail's dark