Arsonist

CHAPTER 12

Stanton heard the pounding on his door but didn’t move. He hoped that whoever it was would go away. One of the perks of living on the eleventh floor of a secure high-rise was that people couldn’t drop in unannounced. He wondered who it was that had made it past security without having to buzz up.

The knocking got louder and he pulled the covers up over his head, staring at a spot on the sheets, holding his breath and waiting for the next knock. It didn’t come for a long time, but when it did, he took a deep breath and rose to answer the door.

Stephen Gunn stood there with two coffees in his hand.

“What the fuck? It’s like one o’clock. What’re you still doin’ in bed?”

“I just wanted to sleep in today.”

“You been sleepin’ in a lot these past few weeks,” he said, brushing past him and into the apartment. He placed the coffees down on the table. “Brought you some joe.”

“Thanks,” Stanton said, sitting down on the couch.

“Don’t you want it?”

“No, I can’t drink coffee, Stephen. You knew that.”

“Oh, yeah, guess I forgot.” He came and sat down next to him. “Still gettin’ used to the Mormon thing. Weren’t any Mormons in East Brooklyn when I was growin’ up, I can tell you that.” He took a sip of coffee. “So what happened with that arson expert you were gonna bring in?”

“She cancelled because of some emergency. I’m meeting her at the Yazzie’s house tomorrow afternoon.”

“What’s she look like?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Don’t be a fag, come on. What’s she look like?”

“She’s hot.”

“No shit. How hot?”

“Out-of-your-league hot.”

“Pss, you forget who you’re talkin’ too, son.”

Stanton yawned. “She’s too smart for you, Stephen. She wouldn’t be interested.”

“Yeah? And how the hell would you know?”

“Because I know. She wouldn’t be interested.”

“You, my friend, have never seen the attraction a bad boy has over shy nerdy types. I will bet you dinner I can get her to go out with me tonight.”

“She might just do it out of pity. Although I think you’ll be revolting enough to her that she won’t even do that.”

“Bet?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, cool. Now get your ass dressed we got a meetin’.”

“With who?”

“CI. She’s got some info on that homie we found in the dumpster.”

“Michael Cisneros.”

“Whatever. One junkie’s just like the next to me.”

Stanton got up and walked to the bathroom and started the shower. He went to his closet and took out jeans and a button-down shirt with a sports coat. “How’d you hear about this CI?” he shouted as he undressed and stepped into the shower.

“She called me. It was an old one I was usin’ back in Narcs. They called her Super BJ Jones.”

“Why?”

“Seriously?”

“Nevermind.”

“If you want, I could give you two some privacy and you can find out why they called her that.”

“I can do without gonorrhea, thanks.”

“You can’t get gonorrhea from a blow job, man.”

“Of course you can. It can infect the throat and can be passed to the genitals of another person.”

“Well, I’m tellin’ you. It’d be worth it with her. I had a sample back in my Narcs days and Super Blow doesn’t begin to describe it.”

Stanton got out of the shower and began to towel off. He was dressing in front of the mirror when he heard his fridge open and things being unwrapped. Then the balcony door slid open.

When he was done and came into the living room, he saw Gunn sitting on the railing of his balcony with his feet dangling over, eating a sandwich.

“This view, man. It’s somethin’ else. I don’t know how you got this place on a cop’s salary. If you was anybody else, I’d say you was takin’ cream.”

“I haven’t stolen anything since I was sixteen years old and even then I was terrible at it and got caught.”

“What’d you steal?”

“Pack of condoms.”

“You’re kiddin’? Did you use ‘em?”

“No. I just wanted some of the other kids in gym to see them in my locker. I thought that might make me seem cooler.”

“Did it work?”

“I don’t know ‘cause I got busted walking out of the store. That’s what happens when you act like something you’re not.”

Gunn bit down into the sandwich. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You ready?”

“You drive.”

Stanton checked his watch and saw that it had taken them thirty minutes just to get to the freeway onramp. The traffic was so congested from an accident up ahead that people were standing outside of their cars talking.

“Shit,” Gunn said. “Super Blow ain’t gonna wait forever.” He tapped the steering wheel a few times with his index finger and then said, “Hang on to your balls.”

He swung the car over to the shoulder and one of the tires went up on the small cement curb leading up to the freeway. He sped past the other cars and forced his way in between two SUV’s. Horns were blaring and Gunn hollered as he weaved out from between the SUVs and lightly bumped a car forward by hitting them from behind.

“Pull over,” Stanton said.

“They’re fine.”

“Stephen, pull over. We need to cover that damage.”

“There was no damage, now pull your tampon out and relax.”

Gunn got on the far shoulder and zipped past the other cars. If anyone opened their door at any time, they would ram right through it.

They reached the scene of the accident and a uniform was standing there directing traffic. He grew furious when he saw their car barreling toward him until Gunn held up his badge out the window. The uniform immediately stopped other traffic and created an opening for them to slip through.

“Come on through, Detective,” the officer shouted.

Gunn thanked him as he whizzed past and onto the open left-hand lane. He sped up to eighty miles per hour and began shouting like a cowboy riding a bucking horse. Stanton watched him until he noticed. Gunn laughed.

“You know what, Jon? You gotta get more fun outta life, man.”

They took exit 239 to Palameno Street and found an old bar and grill named Ex-Wife’s Place. The exterior was brick and worn brown wood and there were neon beer signs up in the windows. After parking, Stanton checked his firearm’s safety and then stepped out of the car, following Gunn into the building.

The interior was as depressing as the exterior. It was dark and smelled like cigarettes and spilt beer. The only customers here were a few drunks sipping away their hours at the bar. Stanton felt for them; they couldn’t escape.

In the corner booth was a woman with chocolate skin and ruby red lips. Her hair was straight and fell over her lean shoulders. She was strikingly beautiful and didn’t fit in with this environment. Gunn sat across from her in the booth and Stanton stood by, pretending to keep watch. CI’s, particularly females, were jumpy and didn’t talk freely in front of strangers.

“How you doin’, sugar?” she said to Gunn.

“Good as can be. How ‘bout you, Nicky? You gettin’ by?”

“I’m always gettin’ by, sugar. Just a matter a how well.”

“You still with Pauly over there at Sherman Oaks?”

“Pssh, that broke-ass nigga couldn’t keep a job much less a woman such as The Nicole. I kicked his ass to the curb and sent him packin’.”

There was a pause and Stanton looked back and saw Gunn smiling.

“Is that what really happened?”

“Yes,” she said. “Why? You don’t believe me?”

“Well it’s just weird ‘cause I heard Pauly was doin’ twenty for armed robbery.”

She shrugged. “Well I don’t know about all that. All I know is I threw his ass out. I can’t keep track of what he doin’ when I ain’t there.”

“So no more Pauly. Who you got protectin’ you now?”

She reached into her purse and brought out the handle of a pistol. “I got Mr. Browning watching my back.”

“That’s good. But you need someone out here watchin’ your back, makin’ sure you’re not left alone with the sick fucks.”

“I got my girls; I ain’t need no man lookin’ out for me.” She rubbed his hand. “But you sweet for worryin’ ‘bout me.”

“So what’s the info you got for me on the body in the dumpster.”

“Cisneros? I was with this john the other night. We was in the Wal-Mart parkin’ lot up there on Treemont and he started talkin’, right. I was blowin’ him and he just started talkin’ and callin’ me bitch and sayin’ all sorts a crazy shit. Then he said, ‘I’m a shank you like I shanked Mike’s ass.’ And he went off after that ‘bout all the shit he was gonna do to me. Cuttin’ me up and hangin’ me, all sorts a ignorant shit.”

“Did he try to hurt you?”

“No, he was just talkin’. Once he bust a nut he just paid me and be on his way. But I remember that ‘cause I remember Cisneros was shanked.”

“Yeah,” Gunn said, “you could say that. He was stabbed over twenty times.”

“Yeah, so I took down this dude’s license for you.”

“Well, it could be nothin’, but I’ll take it. How much?”

“Six hundred.”

“Shit, I ain’t no rook out here tradin’ blow jobs to not cite you, Nicky.”

“Three hundred then. I gots to pay my rent.”

Gunn pulled out three hundred dollars from his wallet. “How’s your son?”

“He good. He’s in first grade now.”

“No shit? Time just flies, huh?”

“Believe that,” she said, taking the cash and stuffing it into her bra. She handed him a slip of paper with a license plate number on it.

Gunn rose. “If you need anything, you call me.”

“I will, sugar. Thanks.”

Gunn slapped Stanton’s shoulder. “Let’s go. We got a john to discuss his pillow talk with.”