Killer Swell

31

I knew Carter would still be in surgery, and since I couldn’t think of any valid reason to avoid talking to Liz, I headed downtown.

My new best friend was waiting at the elevators to go up when I arrived.

“Detective,” I said, resisting the urge to pat him on the head.

John Wellton, white dress shirt, red tie, gray slacks, glanced in my direction, did half a double take and scowled. “About damn time.”

“For what?”

“For you to get your ass in here and do the report,” he growled.

The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and we stepped in. I pushed three and he looked at me.

“How’s your pal?” he asked.

“In surgery.”

We stared up at the changing lights that illuminated the floor numbers. The wheels and cables hummed, and we slowed down as we approached the third floor.

“Liz is out right now,” he said, stepping off.

“Should I come back?” I asked, knowing the answer.

He grinned, shook his head, and motioned for me to follow him.

His office was across the hall from Liz’s, exactly the same except that he didn’t even have the calendar on the wall. He pointed to the empty chair opposite his desk. I refrained from asking if he needed a booster seat.

Wellton shuffled some papers on the desktop, then looked at me. “Liz says you’re a pain in the ass, but that you’ll be pretty straight up.”

“I’ve heard that about me,” I said.

He shook his head, unamused. “You’re not nearly as funny as you think are. Most people aren’t. Whatever. Tell me what happened.”

I told him what happened. He listened intently, making a few notes every minute or so. No head nods or shakes, just sat still, listening.

“You hadn’t seen the shooters before?” he asked, when I’d finished.

“No.”

“Not at San Ysidro?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective,” I said.

He leaned back in his chair. “Fine. Off the record.”

“No, they weren’t there. These guys didn’t look like part of Costilla’s regular hitters.”

He picked up a pencil and clenched it in his fist. “I’m gonna assume your friend will tell us the same story.”

“Don’t see why he wouldn’t. It’s the truth.”

Wellton nodded. “Sure. Wanna know what I think?”

“Not really.”

“I think Costilla’s gonna kill you, Braddock,” he said. “Each time you scamper away from him, you make him look bad. And he gets more pissed. You shot up his guys twice now. No way he’s gonna forget you.”

I let that sit in my stomach for a moment. It didn’t feel good. But I knew he was right.

“That’s not enough to get you off all this?” he asked, raising a dark eyebrow. “To just walk away?”

I knew it was a rhetorical question, but I answered anyway. “No, not now.”

“Now?” he asked. “Why now?”

“I may have gotten his guys twice,” I said, “but he put one friend in the hospital and I think he put another in the trunk of her car.”

Wellton stared at me for a minute. “I guess. With your buddy in the hospital, you got others to hang with?”

I knew that he was asking if I had some other protection. “I’ll be alright,” I told him.

He shrugged. “Okay. But Liz’s rules are still on the table. You fuck it up, we’re gonna bring you in.”

I stood up. “We’ll see.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I’m sure we will.”

I turned to go.

“Braddock.”

I turned around.

“Last night,” he said, leaning forward, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t need to get all over you like I did, with your friend and everything.”

His remark caught me off guard. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

A flicker of a smile danced at the corner of his mouth. “But I don’t trust tall suckers like you.”

I didn’t want to reward him with a laugh, but it was tough keeping it out of my voice. “And I’m not comfortable with anyone looking me right in the knee.”

He raised his middle finger, and I waved good-bye.