Three Shirt Deal

Chapter 6.

"ALL THIS RAILROAD NEEDS IS TRACKS AND A WHISTLE," Secada said. We were in a Mexican restaurant on Olvera Street named La Golondrina. The food was always excellent and after six p. M. mariachis strolled between the tables and performed for the dinner guests. Olvera Street was the first street built in Los Angeles and is just a few blocks from both Parker Center and the Bradbury Building. We had agreed to meet here after work. Scout's black eyes danced in an almond face, framed by shiny, black hair that shimmered in low flickering candlelight. We had already ordered dinner and, while we waited, were on our first margaritas. "We need to get Hickman moved to ASU," I said. "I filed a request before I left, but it's gonna creep through channels. He could be dead by the time it gets approved." "I agree. Our best bet is to keep working and see if we can get him a writ of habeas corpus for a new trial." "I found the two hundred dollars," I told her. "The murder money? How can that be? Devine said Tru spent it on crystal meth the night of the murder." "It was in the court evidence room. In the side pocket of Olivia Hickman's purse." She put down her margarita. "No way." She looked puzzled, her brow furrowed. "So if Tru or Church didn't take the money, what's the motive for murder?" "Near as I can tell, it was over a six-pack of Bud Light that Church and Hickman bought that afternoon." I told her about the trip to the mini-mart, the two arguments with Olivia, and about Tru being on Antabuse. I ended by explaining how Mrs. Hickman threw a rock and hit Church in the chest, and how they left because the cops were called. "It sure ain't Leave it to Beaver," she said as she finished the last of her margarita and looked up. "A six-pack of beer, huh? Not much of a motive." "Rage was the motive," I said. "The six-pack of Bud Light was just a trigger. I've been worried about the twenty knife wounds. That kind of extreme overkill would seem to indicate a close relationship like with a son, but Tru said Church was on anabolic steroids. If he was popping Amies and having 'roid rage, then maybe the overkill actually fits him as well. I don't know." Our combo plate dinners arrived, along with a second round of margaritas. I love margaritas, but two is definitely my limit, especially when I'm with a beautiful woman who isn't my wife. Secada smiled and took a sip. "Mamacita, yo amo Cuervo Gold." "Aye, Chihuahua," I smiled back. We both dug into the huge enchilada-taco-burrito-and-bean dinners. She ate like it was serious business, holding her knife and fork like instruments of war-nothing dainty about Secada at meal time. "So, what're we gonna do with this buncha pendejos?" she asked between bites. "We got two doors here. Door One is we go check out Mike Church. See what kind of slime trail he's leaving behind him these days. Or we can go talk to the District Attorney who pled the case. Get the state's version of what happened." She thought about it for a minute. "How much cover is your wife going to give us?" she asked. "I haven't talked to her." "Don't you think you should? I mean, Captain Sasso took this off the board. If you and I ask the wrong questions of the wrong guy, this could snap up on us and we'll both be facing an internal review. If that happens we'll need Lieutenant Scully to shut it down." "I'll tell her when or if I feel we need to." "Look, Shane, I don't mean to tell you how to deal with your wife, but that's a mistake." "Drop it, okay?" Our eyes locked for a moment. I wasn't about to get into Alexa's problems with her. "The only real reason I came to you was because of her." "I thought it was because of my huge cajones." "I've been ordered off this case. If we go to Tito Morales and he makes a call to check on why, we'll be in deep grease." "Tito who?" "Morales. He's the D. A. who pled the case out for the State." "The Tito Morales?" "Yeah. But don't let it panic you. He's my carnal." She grinned and pointed to my plate with her knife. "The guy eats burritos just like us." "We're talking about the lead prosecutor for the whole damn Valley? Tito Morales? The guy who runs the Van Nuys D. A.'s office?" "It's why I think it's a good idea to have your wife riding shotgun." "Why didn't you tell me that up front? According to the L. A. Times, he's planning a run at the mayor's job in two months and has a great chance of winning." "Mexicans are eventually gonna run everything around here." She grinned at me. "Look out, Scully; you might have to get a Green Card yourself one day soon." I sat looking at her for a long time, trying to digest this. "Don't worry. Yo hablo espanol. Better still, I understand the culture." She was still smiling. "I'm glad you find this funny," I said. "It kinda explains a lot of this other stuff though. It explains why Jane Sasso pulled Townsend and Summers into that meeting to convince you to drop the case. Since Tito Morales cut the plea deal, and since he's the front-runner for the mayor's office, he undoubtedly won't want it to come out two months before the election that he sent a guy up on an incomplete investigation. He probably called Sasso when he heard you were looking into it." "Shane, I don't think the pressure is coming from him. He's a Democrat. Cops are mostly all Republicans. It's Plain Jane's doing. She's from the Dark Side. That woman is Darth Vader in sensible shoes. For all we know, Townsend and Summers were in her office on something else and for sport, she just let 'em sit in on my beat-down." "Get some rearview mirrors, lady, or you're gonna get run over by an I. A. dump truck." "This Hickman one-eighty-seven is a nothing case. Even if Church was the doer, it's still just some gang-affiliated tow truck driver who killed a supermarket checker. Despite Morales, this isn't the kind of case that gets the sixth floor's attention." "But even still, you think my wife needs to be involved to protect us? You're not being honest with me." She shrugged. I continued. "Brian Devine's head of Van Nuys Homicide. Tito Morales is head of the Van Nuys prosecutor's office. This is starting to sound like a lot more than some tweaker murder over a six-pack of beer." "I thought you were supposed to be a White Knight-a walk-alone who wants to get it right and doesn't sweat the fallout." "That's the Disney movie," I said. "In the Miramax version I shit my pants and run like a rabbit." "Okay, look. You don't want to alert Morales. I think you're wrong, but let's say I buy into that for the moment. So let's finish dinner and then go check door number one. Mike Church is a criminal dirtbag, so he won't call the police to complain." "How did you last in PSB for three years being this naive?" She looked angry, almost fierce. "My parents came from a country where the government is basically corrupt. My uncle disappeared into prison and never came out. My papa calls the Mexican government a criminal organization posing as a government. There's graft and corruption everywhere. My parents came across the border as braceros. They got their citizenship status under the Reagan eight-one amnesty. This country is a much, much better place than anywhere else. Better because Americans don't look the other way when there's injustice. Remember what Edmund Burke said. 'All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.' " "Let me write that down. It might work on my IRS review." "Make fun if you want, but I love this country. I love what it stands for. I love police work because I believe in the principles of the law. I know that sounds corny, but my family came from a place where evil reigns and good people did nothing. I don't want that to happen here. If you want to preserve what we've got, you gotta take on the shitty ones, Shane. You gotta fight evil one case at a time." We sat looking at each other. I wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or just give her a raspberry. "Mike Church," I finally said. "That's what you wanta do?" "Let's go brace the motherfucker."