Cry Havoc

her.

25

Tito Carrillo packed three pieces of heat. A .38, police-style under his arm, a .2 5 in his boot, and his favorite, a black 9mm Smith & Wesson in his waistband. Carrillo made sure the alley was empty before releasing a stream of piss against the wall. He knew that bruja negra was looking for him, but he felt confident. If she wanted a piece of him, she'd have to get a piece of his three friends first. He shook himself and zipped up, catching his shirt in the steel teeth.

'Mierda,' he whispered. He was so engrossed in pulling at the stuck fabric he didn't see the huge shadows engulfing him. Fingers bit into his arms. He didn't even notice the needle's quick sting. Los hijos negros, that black bitch's sons whipped a gag into his mouth. He writhed and twisted, trying to fight, but the hijos held him with ease. They shoved him into the car then squeezed in beside him. He kicked wildly, flailing his torso like a whip. Carrillo used the strength and courage that accompany imminent death, but he was still no match for the ebony twins; one held him in a macabre embrace while the other tied his wrists and ankles.

'That ain't necessary,' La Negra said from behind the wheel.

Translated, the gutsy thought in Carrillo's head would have been something like 'The fuck it isn't,' but even as he struggled he felt a strange numbness in his limbs. They jerked of their own accord. At the same time he noticed he was having trouble moving his eyes and that his lungs were getting awfully tight.

One of the evil hijos de la gran puta looked into his face. Carrillo saw the red lips move. He heard, 'It's working,' but the words seemed to come from a tunnel. They pulled the .38 from its holster, then he felt the 9mm leave his pants. But they didn't know about his boot. If he could just get to the .2 5 he'd be okay. Streetlights raced over his locked lids. Ay dios, he couldn't move! How could he get to his gun if he couldn't move? Carrillo hadn't cried since he was three, but he wanted to now.

The car stopped. Doors opened. Carrillo's head fell and bumped. Hands grabbed him, pulled him. They moved swiftly against an angry wine-red sky. That was the color of hell, Carrillo thought. That's where he was going.

Then he was rolling over and over, like when he was a boy, down the hill behind their house in Leon. When the rolling stopped, La Negra was looking down at him. A woman was singing soft and far away. Was it her? Hands moved back and forth over his frozen vision. His eyes were dry and he wanted to lick his lips. He couldn't. He knew then he'd never get to his .25. That was enough to make Tito Carrillo a reverent man. He tried to shut his lids, but Carrillo had to apologize to God with the Mother in his eyes. He felt wetness soak the carpet. He prayed it was his bladder, prayed the sharp hiss he heard wasn't a match striking.

Tito Carrillo was still praying when he blossomed into a hideous black and orange flower unfurling itself toward a disinterested moon.

26

Noah flopped onto Frank's couch. Draping his long arms across the back, and sighing for emphasis, he announced, 'Tito Carrillo's dead.'

Frank rested her chin onto her good hand.

'What happened?'

Noah shrugged.

'Echevarria's wife called while you were in the meeting. She was all hysterical and wanted us to come over ASAP. We get there and there's this cow tongue hanging on her porch, all wrapped up in leaves and twine. Lewis bagged it. We got it off her porch and asked where her husband was. She said he split. Went to Arizona for a couple weeks to hang with a cousin. Since he heard about Tito.

'I said 'What about Tito?' and she looks at me all amazed. 'That he's dead,' she said. Turns out he got lit up in an alley two nights ago. I'm gonna call LAFD, and the Sheriff's, see what I can find out. Did the doc mention anything about a crispy critter?'

Shit, Frank thought, that had been Carrillo. Gail had trailed the job home with her the other night and Frank had complained about the smell.

'She mentioned something about it. It wasn't one of ours so I didn't pursue it. I'll give her a call, see what she's got. Where's Lewis?'

'We thought in light of Carrillo's immolation we should have SID look at the tongue. We might find some trace in it. Who knows?'

'Good. Anything else?'

Noah shrugged. 'Lewis is running those names you gave her. I'm still trying to talk to the managers at her other businesses. They all think she's a fucking saint. They don't see her too often. Seems like one of the twins— Marcus, it sounds like—handles most of the business.'

'You gonna talk to her sometime? She knows we're asking around about her.'

'Yeah, I know.' Noah stroked his chin. 'But I want to get as much as I can on her before I hit her with anything. This way she's sweatin'. Not sure what we're up to.'

'I don't think this woman sweats much. I'm sure she's got her legal team marshaled by now.'

'Yeah, but if we can get something tight on her, even God won't be able to help her.'

'I don't think that's who the Mother's bankin' on. Hey. You want to go by her church with me? See her in action?'

'When?'

'I don't know. I'd have to check her schedule. See when she does her gig.'

'Yeah, let me know.

' 'Kay. Keep me posted.'

'Aye, aye,' Noah saluted, rising.

'How's Trace?'

'She's good. Kids are good. It's all good, baby.'

Lewis pranced into Frank's office.

'S'up?' Frank asked, irritated at the intrusion into her quiet time.

'That nasty old tongue at Echevarria's house? Turns out there was a note inside. SID lifted a print off it. You ain't never gonna guess who it belongs to.'

'How the hell'd you get that back so quick?'

Lewis batted coy lashes.

'I got my ways,' she answered.

Frank gave her diamond in the rough a smile.

'Must be the Mother's print.'

Lewis deflated like a popped balloon, demanding, 'Who tolt you that?'

'You did. Why else would you be bouncing in here? What'd it say?'

'Nothing,' Lewis pouted. 'Just had Echevarria's name on it.'

'That's good,' Frank encouraged. 'Evidence she knows him and of mal intent.'

'It doesn't give us nothing for Duncan though.'

'Patience, Lewis. You're in homicide now. Collars come slower. Go home and start working jigsaw puzzles. Find the right pieces, put them together one by one. Eventually you'll get the whole picture. Just a matter of time.'

Frank knew Lewis didn't want to hear this horseshit. She hadn't wanted to hear it a decade ago either.

'What else you got for me?'

'I found Eldridge Jones's bunkie when he was at Soledad. Name's Darryl Little. He's up in Bakersfield. I want to go up and talk to him, if that'd be all right.'

'Can't do it by phone?'

'I think it'd be better if I talked to him in person.'

That was true, but Frank couldn't justify the expense.

'Try the phone first, see what you can get.'

Lewis nodded.

'What's Hernandez say about all this?'

'He won't talk to us. Yelled at us to go away. He's got nothing to say. He's freaked.'

'We're gonna need him.'