The Pallbearers

Chapter 21

At seven thirty the next morning I was getting reach' to leave the house when the phone rang. Alexa was in the shower, so I picked it up.

"Scully?" a deep voice said.

"Yeah?"

"Sabas."

"How ya doing?"

"I need to meet with you."

"That's gonna be tough to arrange this morning," I said. "I'm running late. We can set it up for this afternoon or maybe tomorrow if you want."

"I'm parked outside your house. Let's do it now."

"Now's not convenient."

"I don't care."

This wasn't getting us anywhere.

"You better talk to me, Scully. You don't, I promise you're gonna regret it."

"I'll be right out."

I thought, Who does this guy think he is?

I grabbed my briefcase and jacket and walked out the door. A lowered five-windowed '53 Chevy pickup, painted bright yellow with a fifties-style flame job on the nose, was parked in the drive right across my rear bumper, blocking my egress.

Vargas was standing by the truck bed, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He had a BlackBerry in his hand.

"I don't have much time, so let's make this quick," I said.

"Scully, I did a little checking on you last night. Some friends of mine who work at the Public Defenders office say you have a very unorthodox style. You don't obey the rules."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You run stop signs, create legal messes."

"All that tells me is I musta put a bunch of good cases on your dirtbag friends in the PD's office."

"It's more than that."

"I don't need career counseling right now. Get to it. What's this about?"

We faced off over the bed of the Chevy.

"Where you going this morning?" he demanded.

"None of your business."

"If it's about Walt Dix, then I'm making it my business."

I stood there, trying to decide how to unload this guy. Then I pointed to his truck.

"You want to move that, or do I have to call for a police tow?"

"I know from my friends downtown that you're used to running things on your own, but with Walt's murder, that's going to change. I'm going to be taking the lead."

"It's an open homicide, Mr. Vargas. You hamper my active investigation, you're gonna eat a nice fat obstruction statute."

"Bullshit."

Try me.

"I'm not like the others," Vargas said. "The laws my beat too. I know how the game works. It's gonna take the coroner two, maybe three days to alter his cause-of-death finding. Until that happens, this is still officially just a suicide. That means you got shit. You got no case for me to hamper. I can do whatever I want."

He was right, of course, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of saying that. I was looking for a plan of action that didn't include letting some Fast L. A. gang lawyer get in the way on my murder case.

"For the next two days, I'm gonna check into this on my own," Vargas said. "There's nothing you can do to stop me."

"That would be a mistake. We could screw the case up, not coordinate on a witness, create future havoc for the DA."

"That's why I came over," he said. "I cleared my court calendar. I'm willing to cooperate with you. I'll meet you halfway. I have some unique street contacts that could be very helpful in a pinch."

"Sabas, I know you're a tough guy. I see the old scars on your knuckles. What'd that used to say, DEATH?"

He looked down at both his hands as I went on.

"I checked you out too. I got a call from my office at eight this morning. You used to run with the Latin Kings as a kid. Word I get is you've got a thick sealed file in juvie."

"Si, lo sabes," he replied softly. The words rolled off his tongue. It was obvious that Spanish was his native language. "You're right." He held up both hands. "I had DEATH on my right, MATAR on my left. I could kill you in two languages."

"I don't want your help," I told him. "If I see you anywhere around this case, I'll find some charge that works and lay it on you. Now move your truck or you'll have to pick it up in police impound."

He hesitated for a moment before moving to the drivers-side door. Then he stepped up on the running board and faced me over the roof of the cab.

"I talked to Diamond. She said you never came around, that you barely ever talked to Walt the last couple of years."

"See ya."

"Sounds to me like you're probably dealing with a heavy load of guilt right now because after all Pop did, you dissed him. Why was that? You been running away from your past and now you feel bad because you still owe him big and he's gone. That why you don't want to share this case with the rest of us?"

He'd come pretty damn close.

"Hey, I get it, Detective. Remember when I told you that Pop called me a few days before he died? That he wanted to set up a meeting?"

I looked at him and waited.

"He wanted to see me right away, but I blew him off. I was in court on a murder trial. Too busy. I told him I'd see him in a week. If I'd met with him right away like he wanted, then maybe he'd still be alive. Like you, I fucked up and didn't help him when he needed it. I'm not sleeping over it. Shit s been killin' me."

I only took a moment to think about it before I said, "Park your truck on the lawn over there, we'll take my car. I'll tell you what we're doing on the way."

Vargas moved his Chevy truck. Then he grabbed a worn leather briefcase from the front seat and climbed into the Acura beside me.

I put the MDX in gear and pulled out heading toward the 101 freeway and Rick O'Shea s house in Calabasas.