Street Rules

'Like what?'

'Like my best suspects have valid alibis. Like why is Placa's mother so antsy every time I bring up drugs? I know they know something, but they're not talking. And the graffiti around the 'hood — it's as good as a daily newspaper. Bobby and I checked it out today. There are a couple memorials up for Placa, her brother did a really beautiful one. He's got his sister's talent with a can. Anyway, the memorials show a lot of respect, but the curious thing is that none of them are striking out a rival gang — and that's standard procedure on a memorial. The curious thing is, we're seeing strikes with LAPD struck out. Two of them are fresh ones we're pretty sure her brother did, and they both say 187 LAPD.'

Frank explained that tacking the California penal code for murder onto a rival's name was a common death threat.

'So the brother's mad at the police?'

'Yeah. Like we're responsible somehow for his sister's death.'

'Maybe he's just mad that you're not doing anything about it.'

Frank smiled at Gail's innocence. She wasn't sure how the woman could be Chief Coroner of one of the world's most brutal cities and still be so naive.

'What?' Gail asked in response to Frank's amusement.

'Nothing. I don't think that's it,' she said sitting back, so Nancy could set her drink down. 'Bangers don't look to the law to solve their problems. The law is their problem. They'll take care of any justice or punishments in their own way.'

'Street rules.'

'Exactly.'

'Which gives me job security.'

'Both of us.'

Stirring her drink with a fingertip, Gail said idly, 'Maybe it's a cop.'

'Maybe what's a cop?'

'The missing link. The person, persons, you're looking for.'

Frank frowned, 'Why would it be a cop?'

'Well, all that 187 LAPD graffiti, and the older man — what was his name?'

'Barracas?'

'Yeah, he was LAPD, right? Narco?'

'Retired.'

'Still it's kind of interesting he was taken out too. And this courier business the boys supposedly ran sounds kind of flimsy. It's a perfect front for running drugs.'

'Great,' Frank nodded. 'Now you're into LAPD bashing like the rest of the world.'

'I'm not bashing anybody. It's just an idea.'

'Hm. Better stick to your day job, doc.'

'Whatever. You don't have to get so defensive.'

'I'm not defensive,' Frank clarified into her drink, 'it's just hard enough to put up with the thrashing the department gets from the outside, then when my own colleagues start it gets a little tiresome.'

'I'm not bashing your beloved institution,' Gail argued, 'but you have to admit the LAPD's hardly a bastion of ethics or morality.'

'Granted, but by the same token most of its cops aren't out committing multiple homicides.'

'Of course not,' Gail agreed. 'But you're a huge department. Rogue individuals turn up. It doesn't mean the whole institution's suspect. I'm not casting aspersions upon you personally.'

'Better not be,' Frank warned, as another waitress brought their dinner.

'Or?' Gail asked archly.

'Or else I won't stick around for dessert.'

Stabbing at her salad Gail moped, 'And now I've probably gone and pissed you off so much you won't answer my question.'

'What question's that?'

'L.A. Your name. What's it stand for?'

Swallowing a huge bite of club sandwich, Frank answered, 'Law And. My mother forgot the O.'

'Come on. Tell me.'

'Departmental secret. If I told you I'd have to kill you.'

'It's something really sappy, isn't it? Like Lilith Ann or something absolutely not in character with a tough cop image. Am I right?'

'Yep. That's it,' Frank agreed too easily.

'Can I call you Lily?'

'Call me whatever you like.'

'Come on, tell me,' Gail pleaded.

'Can't. Classified material.'

Nancy came over to check on them and Frank circled a finger over the table. 'Another round?'

Gail shook her head, narrowing her pretty green eyes at Frank.

'Don't think you can ply me with liquor, copper. I've got a memory like an elephant. And friends in high places.'

Popping a French fry into her mouth, Frank grinned, 'Good luck. It's legally L.A. Changed it years ago.'

'You brat,' Gail complained, and Frank was having such a good time sparring with the doc that she actually laughed.

Chapter Twenty

'Think about something, Bobby.'

He and Frank were en route to the Compton PD to pick up a suspect.

'We're dealing with a family with a long history of banging. I mean, hardcore, hope-to-die OGs. It's a family tradition. These people don't scare lightly, but they're scared about something around Placa's murder. You can tell. They know something and they're afraid. They're not moving on this. If it was some vato who capped Placa, Gloria or Tonio'd be on him like stink on shit. But nothing's happened. Let's consider it's got nothing to do with a banger. Nor any sort of kickdown. Why would that scare them? That's their element. I think they're dealing with something out of their control here, something they can't or won't fight. What could that be to a bunch of OGs?'

Frank studied a clutch of women laughing outside a whipped hair salon. Bobby was quiet a long time and Frank let him drive slowly down Florence. Near a Tarn's, she said, 'Pull over. Want some coffee?'

'No,' he said, absorbed in his quandary, engine idling. When Frank got back into the Mercury with a large cup, Bobby proudly announced, 'The Erne.'

The Mexican Mafia, with their long arms in the heroin trade. Frank had talked to Narco and they'd substantiated Ruiz' purported ties to the Erne, but the problem was linking Ruiz to the Estrellas. Short of Placa's involvement in her fight for his territory, there was no other link. And Ruiz' corner franchise just wasn't big enough to involve offing whole families. Much as she didn't want to, Frank was letting go of Ruiz' involvement in any of the homicides. He was a street banger, plain and simple, not an organized hit man.

What had surprised Frank was the paucity of information that Worthington, the Narco lieutenant, had provided. It was common knowledge that you could always buy smack from an Estrella, every beat cop knew that, yet Frank couldn't remember a recent drug charge on any of them. Frank had thought that odd but Worthington had written it off as not having the resources to worry about small timers who sold within the hood. While she'd been chewing on that, the dinner conversation she'd had with Gail kept whispering in her head.

She was willing to admit that the LAPD probably had more than their fair share of bad cops. That was obvious enough. And it was possible that one of them was shaking down the Estrellas. She'd reluctantly entertained the possibility, and the more she examined it, the more plausible it seemed. She still didn't like that a cop might be involved, but the more she played with the idea, the more sense it made.

'Good guess, but no. Think about the tags,' she prodded. 'Who's Tonio been Xing out?'

Bobby still hadn't driven out of Tarn's little lot.

'We sitting here all day?'