The Gentlemen's Hour

80

Johnny Banzai gets the call.

Truth be told, he’s almost relieved that it’s not another gang slaying, more fallout from the Baja Cartel reorganization. On the other hand, the murder of a middle-aged white guy in a nice Del Mar neighborhood brings a lot more heat than some dead teenage Mexican gangbangers in Barrio Logan.

He pulls up to 1457 Cuchara Drive.

The neighbors are out on the sidewalk, looking concerned. They have those “this kind of thing just doesn’t happen here” looks on their faces. Yeah, but it does, Johnny thinks as he gets out of the car. Gangbangers lop each other’s heads off, surfers beat another surfer to death, men get shot in “nice” neighborhoods, and it all happens here.

“This is going to be a major pain in the ass,” Harrington mutters as they walk up to the house.

Yes, it is, Johnny thinks. The recent killing spree in San Diego is bad for a town that depends on tourism. The City Council rags on the mayor, the mayor passes it down to Mary Lou, Mary Lou hands it off to the chief, and then the shit flows downhill to me. Why, he wonders with rare self-pity, do people have to kill each other on

my

shift?

The victim lies on his back in the living room.

One entry wound square in the forehead from close range.

Harrington’s examining the front door. He looks down where Johnny’s squatting beside the body and shakes his head. They’ve worked together for a while now, so Johnny knows what he means—there are no marks on the door around the lock.

The victim opened the door for the shooter.

“Stop ’n’ Pop,” Harrington says.

Sure looks like it, Johnny speculates from the placement of the body. The victim opened the door, the shooter pulled the gun, walked the victim back a few steps, then shot him. Not your hot August night sudden flaring of violence, but a premeditated, cold-blooded murder.

Still, it doesn’t have the look or feel of a professional hit. Contract killers don’t normally do the job at the target’s home—more often at their place of business or on the way to or from it. And they usually take the body, dump it somewhere, or destroy it.

So what you have here is probably an amateur, most likely a first-time killer angry enough to make a decision and then act on it.

The crime scene boys arrive so Johnny gets out of their way and goes out on the street to help Harrington with the canvas. There are certainly plenty of neighbors standing around to interview, but most of them have nothing useful to offer.

Some heard the shot and called 911.

No one saw anybody come to the door or leave.

One older guy, from across the street one door down, says that he’s noticed a “weird” vehicle hanging around the neighborhood lately.

An old Dodge van.

Wary of burglars, he even jotted down the license plate.

Johnny recognizes it.

Boonemobile II.

Aka the Deuce.