Street Rules

down fo' da Nine-Tray.'

'Assholes,' Ike grumbled, straightening his tie. He was the only detective Frank knew who tightened his tie after work.

'Gang-stuh,' Diego kidded, watching his partner preen. Frank unperched from the desk, saying goodnight. She was tired of being inside all day and figured she'd try to find Lydia or Tonio. Driving north from the station, she absorbed the surrounding graffiti and street action. The ratty section of Hoover Street that she was on was probably how most people envisioned south-central. Neglected houses pocked with bullet holes and defaced by taggers served as shooting galleries and rock houses. Empty windows yawned behind the black teeth of iron bars. Dirt yards fronting the street were strewn with garbage, rusted engine parts and busted furniture. Banana trees and bougainvillea struggled in the impacted soil, creating the look of an impoverished banana republic plunked down in the middle of one of the wealthiest cities in the world.

The Estrella's street was neater and cleaner. Frank noticed their tired Buick wasn't in the driveway and was pleased when Tonio opened the door.

'Hey. Quivo!”

'My mom's not here,' he answered through the steel mesh.

'That's okay,' Frank answered easily, 'How 'bout your sister?'

'She ain't here either.'

Frank asked where they were. Tonio said he didn't know, they'd been gone when he got home.'

'Where you been today?'

'You know. School.'

'This the one day a week you go?'

'Huh?'

'Nothin',' Frank grinned, picking up the stink of stale malt liquor. 'You look like you been hangin' out. Smokin' some Phillies, crackin' some Eights.'

'I wun doin' that.'

'Hey. I ain't your PO. I don't care if you're flying all day long. Looks like I woke you up.'

'Yeah.'

'What you so tired from?'

Tonio pitched a thin shoulder. A crude Virgin of Guadalupe was tattooed on his bicep. On his left arm he wore the same gang insignia his sisters had, and on the right he had KV2. He was wearing boxer shorts and a dingy tank-T. Frank noticed a faint blue mist on the shirt. She glanced at his index fingers, finding more of the tell-tale blue, the King's favorite color.

'Been out strikin'?'

He flicked his shoulder again.

'You do that one at the PikRite? It's pretty good.'

'Nah, that was Tiny. He's way better'n me.'

'I don't know. There's some pretty nice tags out there for your sister. I know you done some of 'em. You do that one on Denker? That big one? It's pretty good.'

The boy sheepishly scratched his belly, confiding that Placa had done most of the mural.

'You should be in art school or something, I mean, I can't even sketch a crime scene. Where'd you learn to do that?'

'Don't know,' he answered, bashful all of a sudden.

'Placa teach you how to make those curvy letters?'

'Yeah, she taught me some.'

'She was pretty good, huh?'

He agreed and Frank said, 'Tell me, how you get them so high? You carry a ladder around or something?'

The boy guffawed and Frank grinned, 'Is that how you do it?'

Frank was trying to build Tonio's confidence, his trust.

'No way,' he snorted. 'You gotta make somethin' to step on, you know. You stick screwdrivers into the cracks. Or branches off trees. You can step on 'em.'

'Man, that's dangerous.'

The kid shrugged dismissively, 'You gotta be careful. But I don't weigh so much. Some of these guys, they can't do it, you know? They're too big.'

'Do you ever fall?' Frank asked, seemingly in awe.

Twisting his back, he pointed proudly to a large, bruised scrape.

'I did that last week, doin' the one on 58th Street.'

Bingo, Frank thought. Tonio had done the hard part for her.

'Oh yeah, I know the one you're talking about. That's a good one too. But why you'd strike out the LAPD?'

Tonio's enthusiasm was quickly replaced with sullen wariness. He just stared at the porch floor.

'Is it me? 'Cause I'm hanging around so much? Is that it?'

When he didn't respond, Frank sighed loudly, and hung her head too.

'I'm just trying to figure out who did this to your sister. I want the maricon did this caught and put in the 'Dad for a long time. And I hope he's real pretty and that all the guys like him. A lot.'

Frank dropped her voice, appealing to Tonio's Latino pride.

'I know you know who did it. I can't blame your mom and Gloria for not talking. They're women. They're scared. I understand that. But you're different. You're a man. You're not a coward. You're not a little boy anymore either, even though your mama tries to protect you. I respect you, Tonio. And I respected your sister. She had a heart like a man.'

In the barrio, where masculinity and strength were admired above all else, that was high praise. Tonio was still staring down. His features were fine and sharp, offering no hiding place for his distress.

'She called me a couple days before she died, wanted to meet with me. Said she had something to tell me. It must have been hard for her to call. I could tell from her voice that she was scared. But she did it anyway. She didn't give in to her fear, she didn't let it beat her. Whatever Placa was afraid of, she was facing it like a man. Are you? Would she be proud of you, Tonio? Are you respecting her memory?'

She gave him time to consider, then gently slipped her card into the door frame.

'Keep that. You're Placa's baby brother, but I think you're just as brave. Tell your mom and Gloria I said hello.'

Next, she cruised southeast, into 51st Playboy territory, keeping an eye out for Lydia. The girl didn't have a phone so Frank couldn't call her, but wouldn't have anyway; announcing her visits gave people time to think of answers or disappear. There was no reply when Frank knocked on Lydia's door. A thick, older woman taking out garbage, eyed Frank suspiciously, then said, 'The tramp ain't home. I seen her go out about lunchtime.'

She wheezed on a cigarette and Frank asked if Lydia had left alone.

The woman hacked up a lung, adding, 'She was with those hoodlum friends of hers. They're none of 'em no good. Robbin' old ladies and children.'

She spit in the hallway, narrowly missing Frank's expensive loafers.

'I seen you here before,' she said, taking in the ID clip and badge on Frank's belt. 'What did she do?'

'Afraid I can't tell you that,' Frank played up, 'But let's just say it ain't good.'

The old lady nodded, snorting, 'That don't surprise me.'

Frank returned the nod, adding, 'Yeah. And I'll bet you've seen a lot.'

'Oh!' the old lady coughed, flourishing a chubby hand, 'I could write a book.'

'You ever see her with a real tough looking girl? Got her gang tattooed on her forehead, a devil on her arm?'

The old lady was nodding before Frank even finished.

'You ever see them go out together?'

'No, I only seen that other one going into her apartment. That girl was trouble.'

'How do you mean?'