'Hey, Dr. Delaware, look at this fucking police brutality!'
His beard was purpled with blood, as he talked, he emitted a fine pink spray. Craning back to look up at Milo, he taunted:
'Ooh, sweetie pie, such fury!'
'Beretta nine-two-six,' said Milo, ignoring him and examining the gun. 'Sixteen rounds. Figuring on a shoot- out, Ernie?'
'It's registered and legal, faggot.'
Milo pocketed the weapons and drew out his service .38. Standing, he jerked the bearded man to his feet.
'Stay back, Alex,' he said, and jabbed the revolver into the man's kidneys.
'Alex?' the man giggled. 'How cosy. He's one, too?'
'Move it,' barked Milo. With one hand on the scruff of the man's neck and the other on his weapon, he prodded his prisoner down the hill. I followed several paces behind.
Two cars were parked on the turnaround: Milo's unmarked bronze Matador and the grey RX-7 I'd seen at the Chancellor house. Milo's eyes searched the area, then settled on a eucalyptus. Keeping the .38 pressed into the bearded man's sacrum, he pushed him against the trunk of the tree, face forward, and kicked the insides of his feet until they spread. Then he undid the cuffs and slammed one of the man's arms around the tree.
'Hug it,' he ordered.
The man embraced the eucalyptus, and Milo cuffed him again and slipped his hand inside a pocket of the man's jeans.
'Ooh, feels heavenly.' The man laughed.
Having taken out a set of car keys, Milo walked to the RX-7 and unlocked the driver's door.
'Illegal search,' hollered the man.
'File a complaint,' said Milo, squeezing his big body inside the sports car. After several minutes of rummaging, he exited empty-handed and walked around to the rear. After opening the hatchback, he lifted the storage deck and pulled out a hard-shell case. He put it on the ground and unlatched it.
Inside was a disassembled Uzi.
'A regular arsenal, Ernie. Concealing this is going to get you in deep shit.'
'Fuck you. It's in Mr. Chancellor's name. He got it okayed by the muckamucks.'
'Chancellor was a gun freak?'
'No, asshole. He wanted first-class protection.'
'Which you really gave him.'
'Go butt-fuck yourself, Fruitfly.'
Milo smiled tightly.
'If I were you, I'd worry about my own anal sphincter, Ernie. You'll be spending tonight behind bars, and we both know how former gendarmes do in lockup.'
The man clamped his jaws shut. His eyes were wild.
Milo took the weapons and locked them in the trunk of the Matador. Then he got into the front seat and called for backup.
The man started growling. He looked at me and laughed.
'You're a witness, Alex. I just came here to talk to you and Fruitfly sucker-punched me.'
Milo came out of the car and told him to shut up. The man responded with a stream of invective. I tried to talk to my friend.
'Milo-'
He held up his hand to silence me, took out a notebook, and started writing. A moment later a black-and- white with its lights flashing roared up the hill and came to a sudden stop. A second squad car followed seconds later. Two patrolmen jumped out of the first car, one out of the second. All three had their hands on their holsters. Milo waved them over and gave them instructions. As he talked, they looked at the man cuffed to the tree and nodded. The man started swearing. One of the cops went over and stood by him.
The prisoner started to laugh and taunt his guard, who remained impassive.
The conference broke up. A second patrolman joined the one guarding the bearded man. Together they unlocked the cuffs, freed his arms, drew them behind his back, recuffed him, and pushed him down into the rear of the Matador. One of them got in next to him. Milo waited until they'd settled, then slid across the front seat. The remaining
officer walked toward me. He was young and dark and had a strong cleft chin. His badge said DesJardins.
'I'd like to take your statement, sir.'
'There's not much to tell.'
'Whatever, sir.'
I told him the little that I knew and asked him what was going on.
'A little disturbance, sir.'
He turned to leave.
'Who's the guy with the beard?' I asked.
'A bad guy,' he said, and walked away.
Milo got out of the Matador. The uniforms removed the bearded man from the car and transferred him to one of the black-and-whites. One cop got in the back with him; the other took the wheel. Milo gave Desjardins the weapons he'd confiscated, and the young officer put them in the trunk of his black-and-white, closed it, and got into the driver's seat. Both drivers started up their engines and drove off.
The road was suddenly silent. Milo leaned against the Matador, let out a deep breath, and ran his hands over his face.
'What the hell was that all about?' I asked.
'His name's Erno Radovic, and he's a first-class psycho.'
'Chancellor's bodyguard?'
'Yeah?' he said, surprised.
'Horace Souza mentioned his name. Said he was unstable.'
'That's an understatement. He followed you home from Chancellor's place. I saw him and tagged along.'
'You were there? I didn't see you.'
'I was parked around the corner. Radovic's still a suspect, and I've been keeping my eye on him.'
'When you were calling in, he said he came here to talk to me. What did he want?'
'For what it's worth he claims to be investigating Chancellor's murder on his own and wants to pump you for information about the kid.'
'He's got to know I wouldn't talk to him.'
'Alex, with this guy, logic doesn't enter into it. I've known him for a long time. He used to be a cop; we were in the same class at the academy. Even as a cadet he was a John Wayne crazy, used his gun as a dick. Once he got out on the streets, he was a disaster waiting to happen - five fatal shootings in seven years, a whole bunch more borderline assaults. All blacks. They put him in Vice, and he roughed up hookers. Gave him a desk job, and he alienated the brass. No one wanted him, so he was transferred from division to division. West L.A. was his last stop; he spent three months there in Records, before they kicked him out on psych disability. The day he showed up he got on my case and never got off - perfumed notes in my locker addressed to Detective Tinkerbell, that kind of crap.'
'Sounds like a strange one to be working for a guy like Chancellor.'
'Not really. I always figured him as latent. Maybe he got in touch with it, and it blew his mind. That's only one of the reasons we're looking at him closely. In any event, he's dangerous. If you see him, stay away.'
'What's his supposed reason for investigating the case?'
'He says it's out of loyalty to Chancellor, that your guy, Souza, is setting up to sully the boss's name and he wants to keep the record straight. But who the hell knows? On top of being crazy the guy's a noted liar. Maybe he's covering his own ass 'cause he knows we're still interested in him, or maybe he's just floating through fantasyland, playing detective. He used to be a PI - after he was booted off the force, he wangled himself a licence - and before Chancellor took him in and made the city a safer place, he did some work for lawyers. But he didn't last at it. Too
