Street Rules

Ruiz struck a casual pose.

'Maybe, maybe not. But I scare the sokas. They're scared a me. And my vatos. They know we mean business. They respect us.'

Glancing over her shoulder at the door, she quickly leaned closer to Ruiz, whispering, 'Have you ever killed anyone?'

She knew she was pushing her limit. Bragging was part of the art of establishing and maintaining status within a gang, but no self-respecting banger would ever admit to murder inside a police station. And Ruiz knew that too, shrewdly repeating, 'Maybe, maybe not.'

'Your friends, the ones in that gang, I mean, they wouldn't shoot that girl, would they?'

'Placa? Not unless I tol' em to.'

'Told who?'

'The Playboys. My clica. The Kings don't mess with us,' Ruiz boasted. 'We mess with them.'

Then he said unexpectedly, 'But you know. Placa was a girl and everything, but she was down, you know? She was carnal.'

'Carnal?'

'Yeah, you know. Down. She was all right.'

Frank shook her head, and with grudging admiration, Ruiz explained Placa's unusual status.

'Wow,' Frank said. 'So who do you think killed her?'

'I don't know,' he grinned, 'But the goons think I done it.'

Frank's eyes narrowed with concern, and she put her hand on Ruiz's.

'But you didn't have anything to do with that.'

'Naw. I got better thin's a do then get in a war with those punk Kings. I got business to take care of. If I'da shot Placa, then my homes would be gettin' shot at and then we'd have to shoot back. It'd be stupid. Ain't no money in it.'

'All right,' Frank said mustering a motherly pat and a sigh. 'Look, honey, I better get back to work. My boss is a goon too. Look, you're a sweet boy. Just tell the detectives you were with your friends and I'm sure they'll let you go. Now, you stay out of trouble, okay?'

She stood and deliberately tugged at her skirt. When she caught Ruiz noticing, he looked away. At the door she turned and said, 'What's your name, honey?'

'Octavio Ruiz.'

'That Mexican?'

He nodded and she said, 'Well, you take care, Octavio. It was real nice meeting you.'

Ruiz kind of waved and said, 'Thanks for the candy.'

Frank yanked off the wig and was pawing at her lipstick just as Foubarelle came around the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks.

'What the hell?'

Johnnie was leaving the show and he mumbled, 'Frank in drag. Scariest thing you ever saw.'

Frank raised an eyebrow at her detective and he snickered. She motioned for Fubar to follow into her office.

'What's going on?' he demanded.

'Just running a con on Octavio Ruiz. We brought him in late last night.'

'Who's he?' the captain asked and Frank stifled a sigh. She explained that Ruiz was their prime suspect in Placa's murder, but that he wasn't talking. She'd just gotten him to offer partial confirmation of his girlfriend's alibi. It was becoming increasingly and uncomfortably possible that Ruiz might not be their man.

'Then who is?'

Behind the thick make-up, Frank's stare was cold and flat. How the man was able to command a fork to his mouth, much less an LAPD division, was still a mystery to her. 'Don't know.'

'Well, get on it, Frank. Not having any suspects is just unacceptable.'

'You're right,' she agreed, making the little man's day. He was a pompous idiot, but he was easily manipulated and Frank appreciated that in a supervisor.

'By the by, I'm officially on call this weekend, but I was wondering if you could take it for me. Something's come up that I need to attend to in Palm Springs.'

Yeah, Frank thought, the Pro/Am classic.

'That'll be three in a row,' Frank said.

Fubar flashed his media smile. 'I know,' he said unctuously. 'I owe you one.'

Frank made a peace sign.

'Two.'

'All right,' he chuckled, caught, 'Two.'

She let him get halfway down the hall, and said, 'Oh, yeah. Something else. We got a uniform downstairs, guy named Hunt.'

Frank told the captain what he'd done to Gail, and his jaw fell. Men in Fubar's circles didn't whip their dicks out in public. At least not in crowded bars with witnesses. Frank added that the doc had easily defused the situation, but someone else might think a lawsuit was more in order. She knew that would rattle the captain into action. Fear was Foubarelle's weakness and Frank plied him with it mercilessly.

She followed him downstairs, letting him rant that she'd gone over his head in initiating Hunt's CUBO. She knew if she hadn't, he wouldn't have taken action, so she contritely and happily accepted his remonstration.

In the locker room, she forgot about Foubarelle. Washing her face clean, she reflected that people liked to talk, out of conceit or for solace. They either wanted to brag or confess. Ruiz had done neither as far as Placa's murder was concerned. He had played with Frank, and was silent with the detectives. The boy was hard core and they weren't easy to break, but Frank was beginning to think that they didn't have anything to break him against.

Back upstairs, she called Northeast Division and talked with a duty sergeant. He reported Saturday had been quiet except for a shooting at a gang party and a stabbing in a liquor store. Frank asked where the party was and he told her an address that matched the one Lydia had taken them to. Frank asked him to check the logs for any arrests related to the two assaults, and while he was at it, to send her a list of any Major Incidents that occurred that night or early Sunday morning. He put her on hold, then disconnected her. She called back and was put on hold again.

While she was waiting, she wished she'd asked Ruiz how he got there. It was a considerable ride from south-central to Echo Park, and Hispanic bangers were notorious for not shitting in their own backyards. Ruiz and his homes could have done something anywhere on the route, which might be why he was holding out. Worse, it might give him a solid alibi.

Another sergeant came on the line and Frank had to re-explain what she wanted. He offered to FAX Frank the information she wanted. Said it'd be quicker that way and she groaned inwardly.

'How many you got?' she asked.

'Not that many, Lieutenant, but we're short-handed this morning and it'd save me some time.'

'You're Sergeant Willis, right?'

'Yes ma'am.'

'Fine, Willis. I'm standing by the FAX machine.'

If Willis had any sense he'd know the LAPD was still hopelessly out-dated and that the whole station shared one FAX machine downstairs by Donna. When it wasn't out of paper it was usually out of toner. Rather than disturb the secretary again, Frank went downstairs to make sure the machine was running. On her way she stopped at the box. Her detectives looked exhausted. She knocked on the door and Bobby swung it into the hallway. She motioned him to come out.

'Anything?'

'No. We've hit him with GTA and everything. Says it's only a matter of time before he gets back in the house anyway. May as well get it over with.' Rubbing his eyes, he said, 'I hate these fatalistic ones. He's not giving anything up.'

'Did you throw names at him?'