Street Dreams

25

Wednesday morning’s e-mailsimply read:

Still working overtime. Talk to you soon.

Koby

He didn’t even bother to address it with my name.

And not evenloveKoby-just plain Koby.

I could take a hint.

I knew a brush-off when it smacked me in the face.

I didn’t bother to answer.

Another one bites the dust.

“Fuck him,” I whispered as I wiped away the tears.

?

I was exhausted doing paid patrol-officer work and detecting on my own time, but work was a good substitute for a life. I debated making an appointment with David Tyler’s conservator, but decided to show up in the flesh.

Century City is L.A.’s attempt at a business district. The entire area had once belonged to Fox Studios and there still was a mammoth-size location back lot. But most of the neighborhood was dominated by office high-rises with underground parking that charged outrageous rates.

Raymond Paxton’s office was on the twenty-second floor, an ear-popping elevator ride that I wouldn’t have taken, had I been afflicted with a cold. I got off, turned left, and walked through a door embellished with a brass nameplate that told me Paxton was a legal corporation. The secretary, a twenty-something Asian with her hair tied in a ponytail, greeted me with the typical “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Paxton,” I told her. “I don’t have an appointment.”

“That could be a problem” was her response. “He’s booked straight through until one. Then he has a lunch meeting.”

This meant he was in the office. Opportunity presented itself. I showed her my badge.

Now she looked worried. She had on a red silk blouse and she fingered the corner of the collar. “What’s this in regards to?”

“David Tyler. And it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

“I’m not sure I know the name,” she told me.

“But Mr. Paxton will know it.”

She picked up the phone and spoke into the receiver with muted tones. Paxton came out a moment later. He was around five-nine, dressed in a silver suit with a black shirt and tie. He was also black, and when I realized that I had made that immediate distinction, I sort of realized my father’s point. I had also identified his secretary as Asian-using race as a descriptive factor. Confession wasn’t easy for me.

“You’ve heard from David?” Paxton’s voice was anxious.

“No, I haven’t heard from him. Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”

His expression fell. The lawyer frowned and checked his watch. “Five minutes?”

“More than enough time.”

I followed him through the interior of his firm, down hushed and carpeted hallways. These places were labyrinths to me, and I always thought that such convoluted pathways were meant to confuse the enemy. Disorientation distracted from the purpose at hand and gave a home-court advantage when doing depositions. Eventually, we came to an open space. It wasn’t his office. It was a conference room, and a small one at that. He was kind enough to offer me coffee and I was smart enough to refuse politely. We sat down across from each other.

He said, “Is he all right? David?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. I take it you haven’t heard from him since Mr. Klinghoffner called you.”

“If I had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He leaned over the table. “Why are you here?”

“I have a story that might interest you. David had a girlfriend at the Fordham Communal Center, where he worked as an art instructor. Her name is Sarah Sanders. They used to go to the park and have sex. One day, a gang of punks walked in on them, raped Sarah, and beat David. They left him in a trash can. I believe that was the last time anyone who knew him has seen or heard from him. Forgive me for encapsulating this in a blunt manner, but you told me to be quick.”

His face registered pure shock. “Is… is this true?”

“I don’t have any reason to doubt it. Sarah Sanders gave a statement to the police just yesterday, although the incident happened about six months ago. This information was just given to me a couple of days ago. Why? you may wonder. Because Sarah Sanders was the girl in the paper who dumped her baby in a trash can. I found the infant and have taken a personal interest in the outcome and in everyone’s welfare.”

“Wait a minute.” He brought a finger to his forehead. “This is all coming way too quickly for me to absorb.”

“What would you like me to repeat?”

He stared at me with dark piercing eyes. “You haven’t found David?”

“Not yet. But I haven’t started looking for him.”

“Okay. And you think he was beaten up and… then what?”

“Sarah told us-us being the police-that they beat him and stuffed him down a trash can. Being frightened and retarded, she left not knowing what happened to him. She never told anyone because she was just too scared.”

“So are you saying that David is dead?”

“No, not at all. I suppose I was hoping you had heard from him.” His expression turned a mite hostile. “I haven’t.”

“He hasn’t called at all?”

“I said no.”

“No other kind of communication? A letter perhaps?”

“Are you accusing me of holding back?”

I was taken aback by his vehemence. I said, “Sir, all I’m trying to do is get some information on David Tyler’s whereabouts.”

“And I’m telling you I haven’t heard from him.”

“Fine,” I said coolly. “We can leave it at that. But there is another point to this little tête-à-tête. The baby that Sarah Sanders gave birth to. I think she’s David Tyler’s offspring.”

That gave Paxton pause.

“I know that there was money in a trust fund for David. Should it be determined that something happened to David, the money should go for the care of the child. The funds are legally hers-”

“Wait a minute! You come in with this fantastic story of crime and then lay a baby on top of it? Who are you?”

“Would you like to see my badge again?”

“What is this to you, Detective…”

I didn’t correct him. “Decker.”

“Detective Decker, where is the proof of this rape story? Where is the corroboration? And then how do you know that this child is David’s offspring? What is this to you?”

“Just doing my job. So there’s been no request for funds from David?”

“No. I told you I haven’t heard from him!” Paxton got up and went over to the coffee table. Out of nerves, he poured himself a cup.

“So his money is still in the trust?”

He spun around and glared at me. “Of course, his money is still in the trust! Are you implying some illegality on my part?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just trying to be brought up to date.”

He stared at me. “I did this as a personal favor to the Tylers. All I take out of it are small processing and conservator fees. And I wonder if you’d be grilling me so extensively if I were one of the big shots from Frisby, Mathews, and Young.”

“I didn’t realize I was grilling you, and truly I don’t understand what you’re driving at, Mr. Paxton.”

“Deny what you will, Officer, but I know intimidation when I see it.”

“Intimidation?”

“You know what I mean. I know how you people feel about minorities!”

I jerked my head back in shock. “You people” being the police. He thought I was riding him because he was black. Man, was he off target. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to shout:I’m not a racist, you jerk! I’m just trying to do a job! I’ve dated black guys!

Actually, it wasablack guy-in the singular-but that didn’t sound as good.

I softened my tone, trying to get him on my side. “You’re entitled to be compensated for the paperwork. If you think I’m implying any wrongdoing on your part, you’re mistaken.”

It mollified him, but not by much.

I pressed on. “What would happen to the money if there isn’t any offspring and David doesn’t surface?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” He sat down again. “If David passes on before I do, the money is supposed to be distributed to various charitable institutions. Of course, if there is a legitimate offspring, that would change everything.” He regarded my face. “But I would need proof, Detective-a blood test, a DNA test. I hope you understand this. I can’t give away hundreds of thousands of dollars based on some disabled girl’s fantasy.”

Hundreds of thousands of dollars.Sarah had chosen well. “That’s going to be hard to do with David missing.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see what choice I have.”

“Maybe if you saw the baby, you’d change your mind. She’s half black and the mother’s white. She’s a mosaic Down’s syndrome. I understand David had the same genotype.”

He stared at me. “Did you go to college?”

Now who was letting his prejudice show? “Columbia University.”

“And you’re a cop?”

“Excuse me?” I replied.

I couldn’t swear, but I thought I saw him blush.

“You know, it is possible that David’s genetic profile has been mapped,” I stated. “Maybe at a hospital. Mosaics are rare. Maybe we can determine paternity based on some previous medical results.”

“We’re getting way ahead of ourselves. At this point, I’d say you’re stepping into personal territory. I’m not saying I wouldn’t permit it, but this is all too premature.”

“Not really. There’s an infant out there who could use some money.”

“Who has the infant?”

“The mother, but the baby is under the care of Sarah’s older sister. Would you like to see her?”

“Perhaps eventually, but not now. Not until we determine other things. If you want David’s medical information, you’re going to have to come back with a warrant.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to make sure that this girl isn’t scamming me to get money.”

“I don’t think she has the mental capabilities to scam.”

“You’d be surprised.” He checked his watch. “It’s been over five minutes.”

“Yes, it has been. Thank you.” I stood up and gave him my card. “You will call me if you hear from him?”

“Yes, of course. And I expect the police to call me as well.”

“Yes, I will.”

He read the card. “It doesn’t say here that you’re a detective.”

“I never said I was. You did.”

“Talk about scamming.” He gave me a critical look. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Dismissed again.

Getting it from all sides.

?

In civilian clothes, on my way home from my shift, I saw her rooting through the garbage. I pulled my Lexus to the curb, got out of the car, and called her by name. She looked up with that stunned deer-in-the-headlights look. She was wearing layers on layers, the top stratum being an old gray knitted sweater filled with holes. When she recognized me, she visibly relaxed and went back to her Dumpster. I took out a ten-spot, flicked it with my fingers, and pulled her aside. Her focus glommed on to the money with feral eyes. Her mouth spread into a gap-toothed smile.

“What?”

I crushed the bill in her dirty hands. Her hair was soiled and greasy but not matted. “Nothing. Go buy yourself something decent to eat.”

She stared at her good fortune. “And you don’t want nothin’ for it?”

I held up my hands. “See. There is such a thing as a free lunch.”

Alice Anne didn’t get the joke.

“I don’ like sompin’ for nothin’. Makes me nervous.”

“I could take it back.”

She shook her head and deposited the bill between her pendulous breasts. “Wanna know anythin’?”

“Want to tell me anything?”

This time, she shrugged.

I thought a moment. “Gangs, Alice Anne. Mixed-race gangs. What do you know about gangs who jump their marks in MacFerren Park, specifically in the bathrooms?”

“Lotsa gangs, Officer Cindy.”

“I know that, honey.” It seemed they changed every week. You cleaned up one gang and then another moved in to take its place. When you cleaned up that group, the original gang moved back to its original turf. “I was just wondering if something came into your head. Mixed races, Alice Anne: white, Hispanics, maybe Asian. One white guy has lots of pimples; another is bald or has a shaved head-”

“Lotsa shaved heads.” She wrinkled her nose. “You mean gangs with whites and Mexicans together?”

“Yes.” Alice Anne didn’t subscribe to political correctness. “I’m looking for two Mexicans who hang around a white bald guy and a white guy with pimples. The bald guy might be the leader. Any ideas?”

“Lotsa ideas.”

“Share with me, Alice Anne.”

“There’re lotsa gangs working MacFerren, sure.”

“Do you have any names?”

“They bother me, too, Officer Cindy. Once they took my shopping cart.”

“Did you report it?”

Alice Anne smiled. “Aaahhh, now you’re jokin’.”

I smiled to show her I was. “So now we both got problems with these people. Names?”

“I seen a gang… Mexican and white… some Orientals, too.”

“Blacks?”

“No blacks. They don’t live here no more. But there’s more than four of ’em… mebbe like twelve of them shootin’ off guns at night. I stay away.”

“Well, these guys that I want, they could be part of that gang. Tell me about it.”

“Part of the BBs.”

Blood Bullets.I didn’t think they operated this far west-a recent development.

Alice Anne said, “I knowed one boy. They call him Hermano.”

“‘Hermano’means brother in Spanish, Alice Anne. That could be like, you know, ‘Bro.’ ”

She stared blankly.

“‘Hermano’is not necessarily a name.”

“Maybe it was Hermando.”

Herman in English. In Spanish, it was Germando, theGpronounced as a soft gutturalH. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “Thanks.”

“He has this”-she scrunched up her face as she talked-“has thisbigtattoo of a tiger on his neck. Open mouth… teeth showing. You can’t miss it.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “That’s good, Alice Anne. Anything else?”

Her head bobbed up and down. “I seen him around.”

“Where? At MacFerren Park?”

“At the park, yeah, but also at the coffee shop. Late at night. Sometimes twelve, sometimes one. Sometimes even later. I seen him ’cause I check the garbage there. Twenty-four hours, so lots of fresh garbage.”

“That makes sense. Which coffee shop?”

“Boss’s.”

“The place about five blocks down on the corner?”

“That’s the one. I seen Germando there. Lots of times. He likes the banana pancakes.”