Sin City Homicide

32

Stanton woke, his hand on the firearm he kept on the nightstand. His eyes were wide open as he listened for the sound that had awakened him. He heard it again: knocking.

Holding his weapon behind his back, he rose, went to the door, and looked through the peephole. Mindi was outside. He placed the gun down on top of the television and opened the door. She opened her mouth to say something then just ran at him and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek and pulled away.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. But you don’t have to worry. I’m fine.”

“I tried to see you at the station, but Al wouldn’t let me. They wanted some time alone with you, they said.”

“Yeah, we had our time alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“They think I killed somebody. A burn victim in a car.”

“That happened days before you flew out here.”

“Apparently, there’s someone out there saying it was me.”

“That’s ridiculous. After everything you’ve been through, they interrogate you?”

“That’s not important now. I need your help. Orson’s forcing me to leave in a week. There’s a lot we need to do before then. Have you heard anything from the lab about that DVD?”

“Oh, yeah, they left a message saying to call them, but I haven’t done it yet.”

Stanton checked the clock on the dresser. It was almost six in the morning. “How far a drive was the compound Freddy Steed lives in?”

“About an hour. Two if traffic’s bad.”

“Give me ten minutes to shower. Then we’re heading out there.”

Stanton showered, shaved, and put on a fresh shirt and pants before fixing his hair. He looked at himself in the mirror for a while. The work had aged him past his thirty-four years. Wrinkles were beginning to appear around his eyes, and he had found a few gray hairs. Stress. Humans were not supposed to experience the type of stress that modern men did. It was the true killer of civilizations, a quiet one that few suspected. Stress drove presidents and kings to madness and made entire nations fall. Stanton fought stress as best as he could, but in the quiet morning hours, he sometimes woke with a pounding heart and butterflies in his stomach. He knew he wouldn’t make it to retirement. He would have to quit soon or die doing it.

He stepped out of the bathroom and saw Mindi, still in uniform, lying on the bed, flipping through the channels.

“You can’t wear that. We’ll have to stop by your apartment and have you change.”

“Why?”

“If these guys are real white supremacists, they’re also anti-government. Any representation of government will set them off. We’re not cops today.”

“What about our backup?”

“Call in for at least one unit, but we’re gonna have them park half a mile away from the compound. You ready to go?”

“Yup.” She hopped off the bed.

They left the hotel, and Stanton went to the valet to retrieve the Cadillac, but Mindi informed him that his Cadillac had been returned to the car rental agency. So they got into Mindi’s squad car and pulled onto Las Vegas Boulevard.

“We need to find another car. Can we use your Jeep?”

“No, it’s in the shop for the transmission. My sister has a decent car, though. She’d let us borrow it. She has clothes that could fit me, too.”

“How far away does she live?”

“Twenty minutes. It’s in North Vegas. Practically on our way.”

Mindi left the strip and headed toward Heather Lakes Drive, where trailer parks sat to the right and used car dealerships on the left. The dilapidated park sat empty, except for a few homeless men drinking on the playground.

Mindi turned up a winding street and parked in front of an old stucco-and-brick apartment building.

“Do you wanna wait or come in?”

“I’ll come in.”

Mindi led him to the third floor, where she knocked on a door with chipped paint and a rusty doorknob. Stanton could hear kids screaming from inside.

A woman who somewhat resembled her, with the addition of perhaps thirty pounds and bleached-white skin, answered. “What you doin’ here?” she asked.

“I need to borrow your car. And some clothes.”

“What for?”

“It’s for a case. I didn’t want to drive all the way back. We’ll pay.”

“How much?”

“Fifty bucks.”

“Hundred.”

“Fine.”

The woman fully opened the door, and Mindi walked in, motioning for Stanton to follow. He stood by the couch as the woman shut the door. Mindi went into a bedroom and told him she would be out in a minute.

The woman was looking him up and down, and Stanton noticed that the cigarette dangling from her fingers had the distinct odor of tobacco mixed with marijuana. Many people used the trick to make their pot last longer.

“So, you a cop?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Our daddy was a cop. We got different mamas, but the same daddy.”

“She didn’t tell me that. Was he here, with the sheriff’s office?”

“Yeah. He died when we was kids.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How did he pass, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He busted some meth house, and they started shootin’. He got hit in the neck. Died ’bout an hour later.”

“I’ll pray for him tonight.”

She gave him a quizzical look and took a drag of her cigarette. “Was your daddy a cop, too?”

“No, he was a psychiatrist, a shrink.”

“I know what a psychiatrist is.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

Two small children poked their heads out from the kitchen. Stanton waved, and they disappeared.

“How many kids do you have?” he asked.

“Four. Little shits, all of ’em. You?”

“Two.”

Mindi stepped out wearing jeans and a blue short-sleeved shirt.

Her sister eyed her. “Don’t go ruinin’ my clothes.”

“I won’t. Where’re your keys?”

“Bowl on the TV.”

Mindi grabbed them and reached into her purse. Stanton took out a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and gave it to the woman.

“I got it, Jon.”

“It’s fine. We should get going, though.”

“I’ll be back after work,” Mindi said. “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” she said.

They left the apartment and didn’t speak until they were driving away. Stanton began checking emails on his phone.

“You can say it,” Mindi said.

“Say what?”

“That you didn’t think I came from a family like that.”

“Family like what? She was friendly.”

“She’s trash. Those kids-she’s not sure who the father is for either of them. She sells pot on the side to pay her bills. Not in front of me, but I know she does it.”

“It’s easy to judge other people.”

“So, you don’t judge the dirtbags you bust every day?”

“No.”

“I call bullshit on that.”

“It’s not my place. It’s between them and the Lord.”

Mindi pulled onto the interstate heading out to the desert. A semi nearly cut her off; she flipped off the driver then sped ahead and cut him off.

“Do you really believe in that… in religion?”

“Yes.”

“So, you really believe that the earth was created six thousand years ago?”

“The earth, no. But mankind, I do.”

“And you believe in Adam and Eve and how she’s responsible for all the evil by eating an apple that a snake gave her?”

“No, I think she understood the divine plan and ate the fruit on purpose, so that she could have children, namely us. I see Eve as very courageous, not at all how she’s historically been perceived.”

“I’m not talking theology. I’m asking if you actually believe a snake gave an apple to her? And that Jonah sat in the belly of a whale and that Noah put two rhinoceroses on a boat?”

Stanton held up his hand. “Look at this.” He wiggled his fingers. “My hand and fingers move because a thought I had in my mind moved them. They’re connected by nerves, sure, but it was just a thought, something that’s considered immaterial. Something immaterial moved something material. It’s a miracle that we see every day and take for granted. Compared to this, putting two fat rhinos on a boat doesn’t seem so miraculous.”

Mindi smirked.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just kinda cute when you get all passionate about Noah’s Ark.”

Stanton waited a few beats then said, “Your sister was talking to me while you were changing. She told me your father passed away when you were young, that he’s the reason you became a cop.”

“I don’t know-I guess. I don’t think about it much. It just seemed like what I wanted to do since I was a kid. Hey, there they are.”

A police cruiser was waiting alongside the interstate. Mindi honked as she passed, and the cruiser pulled into traffic and began to follow them. They drove through empty desert. Stanton counted one rest stop and one gas station in fifty miles. They turned off the interstate onto a partially paved road and headed northeast. The land was barren, occasionally dotted by an abandoned car or motorhome. It was tough, desert country, the kind captured in early westerns like The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

“There’s a rumor,” Mindi said, “that they used to do nuclear testing out here in the ’50s. I’ve never seen any evidence of it, but some of the old-timers on the force swear it. They say the government’s covered it up because the radiation affected families who lived nearby.”

They pulled off onto a dirt road that led them between two large hills. On the other side, a huge structure came into view. Several smaller buildings surrounded it, and the compound was all walled in by a fence that Stanton guessed was probably nine or ten feet high.

“Tell the unit to wait for us here.”

Mindi dialed a number on her cell phone. “Hey, it’s me. Wait for us here… no, no. I don’t think so…. Yes, I’m sure. We’ll be fine.… Half an hour.… Okay, okay. Bye.” She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“You’re going to be waiting in the car.”

“What? No, I can help. What if something goes down?”

“Nothing’s going to happen. They’re probably going to have a few choice words for me and send me on my way. Just in case, I want you in the car. Leave it running. If you hear anything out of the ordinary, you pull away as fast as you can and call the unit to come meet you.”

“I think this is a stupid decision, Jon. I really do.”

“If it is, then I’m only exposing myself to it. Park here.”

She pulled to a stop in front of the gate. A large Confederate flag was draped over it, next to a sign warning trespassers to stay away. Stanton stepped out of the car and shut the door behind him. He checked his watch.

“Half an hour. After that, call it in.”

He turned toward the facility. The fence easily circled a quarter of a mile. The gate, made up of several interlacing steel bars, was the only place to pass through. He peered in. A couple of women were tending to a massive garden. A row of Jeeps, motorcycles, and trucks took up a wall on the south side. A pirate flag flew over the entrance to one of the smaller buildings.

There was no intercom at the gate. He glanced around and saw a foot and a half of space underneath the gate. He got on his belly and crawled in. He stood up on the other side and went to dust himself off but changed his mind. He began walking toward the women in the garden. They stopped talking as soon as they saw him. One of them ran to the building behind them, and the other stood and faced him.

“Who are you?”

“Jon Stanton,” he shouted. He took out his badge. It said San Diego Police Department on it, but he figured no one would look too closely. “I’m with the police.”

Several men rushed out of the building the woman had run into. Some looked like stereotypical neo-Nazis with shaved heads and red shoelaces on black boots. Others looked as though they could have been hanging out at any mall in the country, wearing polo shirts and jeans with Nike sneakers. A younger one in a white polo shirt stepped forward. The woman shouted to him that Stanton was a police officer.

“What the fuck you want, policeman? This here’s private property, and you’s trespassin’.”

“I just need a couple of minutes of your time, and I’ll be outta here.”

Two men came out of a building, holding assault rifles. The young one waved them back. They stood their ground but lowered the rifles.

“What the fuck would I wanna talk to you about?”

“Fredrick Steed. I understand that he lives here. I need to speak to him about his parents.”

Another man came outside. He was tall and gaunt, with blond hair that hung to his shoulders. He appeared incredibly fit, and his countenance wasn’t angry like the others’. In fact, he was smiling.

“Get outta his face, Curly Boy,” he said to the young man. He walked over to Stanton and held out his hand. “I’m Brody.”

“Jon. Are you in charge here?”

“Nobody’s really in charge, but I’ll speak for us. We can talk inside.”

Stanton followed as the crowd separated to let him through. The men and women glared at Stanton as he passed, and he saw that many of them had the dark ink and unsteady tracing of prison tattoos. Several of the women held babies in their arms.

Brody led Stanton into the building with the pirate flag. It was a bar. On the north side sat the actual bar, packed and messy. There were tables with worn leather chairs, Ping-Pong and pool, arcade games, and several dartboards. A massive television taking up a wall in the back was turned to a college rugby game. Brody got behind the bar and poured himself absinthe and lime juice. He poured Stanton one as well. He took it to be polite and placed it in front of him.

“I appreciate you talking to me.”

Brody took a sip. “I can tell pure Aryan blood when I see it. See, if you’s was a nigger, we would’a shot you dead for trespassing. But I can always tell pure Aryan blood.”

“I’m here about Fredrick Steed. Is he here right now?”

“What do you want with Freddy?”

“It’s about his parents.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, he didn’t talk much about that, but we heard. Some fucker popped ’em both on the tram.”

“I just need to talk to him about it. Nobody’s interviewed him.”

“Nah, and I don’t think anybody’s goin’ to. Freddy took off ’bout a week ago.”

“Do you know where?”

Brody shook his head. He sat up on the bar, letting his legs dangle off the edge. “People come’n go here. Some of us are permanent, but most of the people stay a few weeks and move on. Or they get busted and spend some time in the can and come back after. Or don’t. Freddy hung out here ’cause he and Tyler was really tight. They spent some time together in the can for burglaries.”

“Is Tyler here?”

“Yeah, he’s here.”

“Do you mind if I speak with him?”

He took a long drink and placed the glass down. “Now, I start letting the police talk to my men, people start asking questions. They think I’m weak, that I gave in to ‘the man.’ But if you was to gimme something, then I could say that I got the better deal.”

“That sounds like the words of a leader in a place that’s not supposed to have any.”

Brody grinned. “You wanna deal or not?”

“What do you want?”

“Simple thing, brother. Nothing you wouldn’t do anyway.”

“What is it?”

“There’s a shipment of coke coming in on Saturday to the Black Guerrillas. You heard’a them?”

“Vaguely.”

“They a nigger gang. That coke, they’re gonna sell that and buy them some weapons. None of that Tech-9 shit. They want some serious gear. I want you to send a word to the Narcs.”

“There’s no guarantee Narcotics will move on it. That’s not how government works. If someone can’t take the credit in the newspapers, they won’t do anything about it.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t ask you to bust it. I just said to pass the word on. There’s a captain in Metro named Stewart. You pass it on to him, and he’ll move on it. I’d bet my nuts he’ll move on it.”

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t just tell him yourself.”

“I got my reasons. That’s all I’m asking, brother. Simple.”

“Okay. You have my word, I’ll tell him.”

“Good. Curly Boy’ll get you the address and the time of the drop.” He hopped off the bar. “I’ll get Tyler.”

Stanton watched as he left. He ran his fingers over his firearm and looked over the room. He wasn’t entirely certain that someone wasn’t about to rush in with an assault rifle. He waited a few minutes, and when no one came, he relaxed a little. He pushed away his glass and stood up. He walked over to the bookshelf against the wall and browsed the titles. They were mostly books about Nazi Germany, biographies of Hitler and Stalin, and technical manuals on warfare and farming.

The door opened, and a slim young kid walked in. He couldn’t have been older than twenty, and he looked frightened. He stood near the entrance as Brody looked at him and said, “You got five minutes, Jon. Then I’m gonna need you to leave.”

After Brody had left, Stanton walked toward the young man. He would have offered to shake hands, but Tyler’s eyes were darting around the room, and he was jittery. Stanton could smell a stink that he knew well. It was somewhere between burnt light bulbs and glue that had been set on fire-the smell of recently cooked and smoked meth.

“How are you, Tyler?”

“Fine. Fine, I’m fine.” He reached to the back of his head and scratched furiously. “Brody said you wanted to talk to me about Freddy. He was a good guy. We was at HD together.”

“Is that a prison?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he was a good guy. We was cellies. I don’t know what happened to him.”

“Did he just leave one day?”

“Yeah. Yeah, didn’t say nothing to nobody. He just took off.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Few days.”

“Brody said he left last week.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant. He left last week. I don’t know. I’m not good with time,” he said with a slight chuckle. “Anyways, he ain’t here.”

“Is there a way you can reach him?”

“No. I don’t know where he is. He’s gone.”

“Yeah, you said that.” Stanton watched him as Tyler glanced around the room and tried desperately to avoid his eyes. Stanton ran his eyes along the door and over the walls. Behind the bar, a door led to the back. It was open a few inches, and Stanton could see the shoulder of someone who was listening in. Stanton took out his card and a pen from his pocket. He wrote “call me later if you can help” on the back of the card and set it on a table. “Doesn’t sound like you know anything, Tyler. I appreciate you speaking to me, though.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

Stanton walked past him and toward the door. He looked back and saw Tyler grab the card and slip it into his pocket. Outside, Brody was standing with his arms folded, a smile on his face. The men with the assault rifles had disappeared, and everyone in the commune had seemingly gone back to whatever they were doing before Stanton’s arrival.

“Get what you need?” Brody asked.

“No, he didn’t know anything. Is there anyone else I can talk to that you can think of?”

“Sorry, brother. Freddy kept to himself mostly. Tyler was his only friend.”

“Well, I’m grateful just the same. Thanks, Brody.”

“Curly Boy wrote the address down on this.” He handed Stanton a slip of paper.

Stanton realized for the first time that Brody couldn’t read. “Thanks. The narcotics detective was named Stewart, right?”

“Yeah. Ian Stewart. White dude, goin’ bald. Kinda greasy lookin’.”

“All right. I’ll give him this.”

As Stanton walked toward the gates, his back felt itchy. He was nervous that one of them might open fire, although he knew that wouldn’t actually happen. For whatever reason, Brody needed him to talk to Stewart.

Curly Boy opened the gate and waited until Stanton stepped outside to shut it. “Don’t you be comin’ back now. We love us some piggy barbeque.”

Mindi sat in the car, biting her thumb nail and spitting out little pieces through the open window. Stanton climbed in. She started the car and took off without saying a word.

“Well?” she said after they had put some distance between themselves and the compound.

“Doesn’t look like we’re going to be talking to Freddy.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think he’s dead.”