Guilt By Degrees

88

Morning came a little too early, but then, for me, it always did. I wanted to go back to sleep, but the clock said it was already seven thirty a.m.

I dressed for work in slacks and a blazer, put on heels just for a change of pace, and packed my sneakers in a bag. I went out to the living room and found that Bailey’d ordered a devastatingly evil breakfast of French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon and sausage. I lifted the silver cover on my dish. Instead of my usual egg-white extravaganza, there was a plateful of the best-looking pancakes I’d seen in quite a while. And a side of bacon. I tried to act pissed off, but a big smile spread across my face, which undermined the effort considerably.

“Just enjoy it for once,” Bailey said.

“How can I ignore such sage advice?”

I sat down, snapped open my napkin, and spread it across my lap. Then I got busy with my pancakes. They tasted even better than they looked.

I noticed Bailey had a copy of the Daily Journal open in front of her. “What’re you reading that thing for?” I asked.

“Toni told me the story Hemet gave to the press about you being a useless goldbricking Special Trials cherry picker-”

“You are allowed to abbreviate now and then,” I said, stone-faced.

“-was supposed to come out today,” Bailey finished.

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She didn’t want you to stress over it,” Bailey said. “And now I’m really glad she didn’t.”

“Because?” I prompted.

“Because it’s not here.”

I stared at Bailey, perplexed. Good news might evaporate, but bad news rarely did. “Why?”

She shrugged.

Bailey dropped me off at the courthouse and headed for the cop shop. Though I’d been working through the stacks of motions, reports, and messages that’d accumulated during my stint in the field, I still had a daunting array to get through, so I decided that today would be the day I got caught up all the way. I kept my head down, not even breaking for lunch, until eight thirty that night.

When I’d finished, I leaned back in my giant chair and took in the scene with satisfaction: it was only a temporary condition, but my in-box was empty and several clean square inches of desk had emerged. I stretched and looked outside, surveying the view of downtown L.A. at night. The glowing windows in dark buildings, the faint hum of traffic, the stars hanging like silver dust in the night sky. I never tired of the view.

But it was time to pack up and get out. It was Wednesday night and I had a date. I put my files in order, tossed my heels into the bag, pulled on my coat, and picked up my purse. I made it down to the lobby in mere seconds and trotted out to Chinatown, my destination the Oolong Café. I ordered double helpings of orange chicken, fried rice, beef chow mein, and steamed vegetables, and added an order of chow fun. They packed it up neatly in a grocery bag with handles, and I headed back down Broadway. Though Chinatown still had some action, the streets got emptier as I moved south. By the time I passed Temple, I was the only one on the sidewalk.

The stretch between First and Second Street was the darkest, and I started to feel shaky as I drew closer to the corner. I considered going back to the courthouse, but that didn’t feel any safer. I started to fish out my cell phone, but using a cell would only distract me and keep me from hearing an approach. And I couldn’t hold the food and my gun in the other hand. I had no choice but to keep moving. I stood at the intersection of Broadway and First and peered into the darkness but saw no one.

The light turned, and I stepped off the curb. I moved as quickly as I could on the uneven sidewalk, paying attention to every step, every second, and every inch of the space around me. I crossed the street and forced myself to move forward, into the darkness ahead. My throat felt tight, my mouth dry; it was an effort to swallow. I’d call it a panic attack, but there was nothing irrational about the fear I was feeling.

Slowly but deliberately, I moved down the street, seeking out the one particular spot that was my destination. When I got to the middle of the block, I saw it. There, in the doorway on the corner, was the pile of blankets with the Lakers hat on top-my friend Cletus’s rig. I owed him big-time for his help on Simon’s case, and this was his Wednesday-night spot, where I usually brought him Chinese.

I started to head for the blankets when suddenly there was a whoosh of air behind me, the precursor to a lethal swing. I ducked down and turned to see a slender man in dark clothing and a watch cap. Without thought, I doubled up and threw my body into his solar plexus. A black sap flew through the air where my head had been and landed with a heavy thud on the pavement. The flight of the sap drew my eye, and I reflexively looked up. A lucky move, because it pushed me back just as I felt his fingers reaching for my neck. I spun away and dug into my pocket for my gun.

But he saw my move and knew what it meant. Before I could get it out, he lunged forward. I lifted my knee and swung out my foot, putting all of my body weight into a vicious kick, not caring where I connected. My foot hit his body with force, and I heard him grunt, but when I tried to pull it back, he grabbed and yanked. I landed flat on my back on the concrete, the wind knocked out of me. Momentarily stunned, I saw the glint of a knife in his hand and tried to pull my gun, but it was caught in the lining somehow.

My hand trapped, I had to improvise. I put my finger on the trigger, did my best to aim, and fired from inside my pocket. And missed. The shot startled him, causing him to drop his knife. But he only paused for a second before reaching into his own pocket. I heard sirens in the distance. I hoped they were headed our way…and that they’d get here in time.

Before he could withdraw his hand, two shots exploded from under Cletus’s blankets farther down the street. The man turned and fell back a step, momentarily stunned. Bailey burst out from under the blankets and raced toward us as she fired another round, hitting him in the thigh. That stopped him cold. I scrambled to my feet and had just regained my balance when he reached out and grabbed my arm. He pulled me toward him and went for his pocket again. Acting on pure instinct, I wrapped my hand around the barrel of my gun, turned into him, and smashed the butt of it into the side of his head-once, twice…by the third time, he let go and fell back.

Bailey slammed him to the pavement and rolled him onto his stomach. Pinning him with a knee on his back, she ground his face into the concrete as she pulled out her zip ties. Just to be on the safe side, I held my gun to his head while she cuffed him. When he was thoroughly trussed, I patted his jacket pockets and found a.38 revolver. I slid it on the ground, out of his reach. Police cars arrived in a screaming phalanx, responding to the sounds of gunfire. Bailey and I held up our shields. The police moved in fast and took over. As Bailey quickly explained the situation, I had a chance to get a clear look at our attacker, who’d lost his watch cap in the scuffle. He had the sinewy appearance of someone who was strong but flexible, and the watch cap had fallen off to reveal a shock of curly dark hair. There was something feral about his features-what I could see of them through the blood coursing down his face.

Bailey pointed out the knife and the sap that’d fallen to the ground during the fight and made sure they got bagged and tagged. It looked like the kind of combat knife that’d been used to kill Simon. I doubted there’d be anything left on it to allow for DNA testing, but it was pretty distinctive. If all the other evidence panned out, it’d be a nice addition. After the police had loaded the suspect into a car, Mario, one of the investigators, showed up, looking like a balloon that was about to burst.

“You two okay?” he asked, concerned.

Bailey nodded.

“Yep,” I replied. Though it hadn’t gone exactly as planned. We’d thought the attacker wouldn’t make his move until I had stopped at Cletus’s rig. Bailey would’ve been able to take him down before he knew what hit him. It was a flawless plan. Except, of course, it wasn’t. All he’d had to do to derail it was what he did: jump me a little sooner-just a half-block away from the blankets. Only now did it begin to hit me how crazy this whole idea had been. I decided I didn’t need to tell Mario every little detail.

“Good,” he said flatly. With our welfare out of the way, he was free to let go of one giant hunk of pissitivity. His nostrils flared, and he put his hands on his hips and fixed me with an angry glare. “You were supposed to call me before you left the office.” He turned to include Bailey. “And you two idiots obviously planned this-”

“Hey!” Bailey interjected.

But Mario was on a roll. “What the hell did you think you were doing, setting this up without telling anyone? And you”-he turned to Bailey-“I know you know better than this. So what the hell…?”

Bailey ground her lower jaw. Her voice was harsh and raw. “I tried to talk her out of it, okay? But she wasn’t listening. She would’ve done it alone. How’m I going to let her do that?”

I opened my mouth to protest, then clamped it shut. Bailey was right. I’d always had a tendency to push the envelope, riskwise-I called it tenacious. Carla the Crone diagnosed it as survivor’s guilt. But even for me, this plan was a bridge too far. This time it wasn’t just me; I’d endangered Bailey’s life as well. How could I have done this? Why on earth had I taken it so far? Gary’s death, this case-something about Lilah-it all had me more unhinged than I’d realized.

Mario turned on me, eyes blazing, then stormed off, venting, “This is why no one wants to guard you-no one!”

When he was in a more receptive mood, I’d explain that we didn’t think we could tell him about the plan because we suspected that Lilah had a source somewhere in the police department or the DA’s office-maybe both. By then maybe he’d be able to hear me, and even agree. But maybe not.

The bags of Chinese food I’d been carrying were splayed all over the sidewalk. Crows had already found the banquet and were cawing their victory over the orange chicken.

“Bailey,” I said, “where’d you put our buddy-?”

She motioned to me to follow her. “Be right back,” she called after Mario.

One of the police officers yelled out to us, “You’ll have to give statements, so don’t go far.”

We moved quickly down the street and turned the corner. Bailey led me to her car. There, stretched out in the backseat with a feast of Chinese food, was Cletus. Bailey knocked softly to warn him we were there, and he sat up and gave us a semitoothless grin. She opened the door.

“How you doing, Cletus?” I asked.

“Just fine, missy. Cletus’s just fine,” he replied in the gravelly voice that seemed to come from the middle of the earth. “Not as good as yours, though,” he said, pointing to the boxes of food.

“I had to make do,” Bailey apologized.

“Cletus, you might want to get inside tonight,” I said. “There’re going to be cops all over your space.”

He frowned. “What’d you two get up to?” he said suspiciously.

“Don’t ask,” Bailey said.

He shook his head. “Got to bother an old man like this. Ain’t right, ain’t right.” He sighed. “I got a ride,” he said, looking around the interior of Bailey’s car. “May as well use it. Take me to Johnnie’s.”

I looked at Bailey. We weren’t exactly Johnnie Jasper’s favorite people at the moment.

“You mind if we let someone else give you a lift there?” I asked. “We’ve got to hang around for a bit.”

“Sure, sure,” Cletus said, digging into his fried rice.

We headed back to the crime scene to find someone to give Cletus a ride. And to spend another million hours giving statements.