Street Dreams (39 page)

“CALL IT OFF!” I shot a bullet past his temple. “CALL IT OFF!” Another bullet past the other ear.

“Don’ shoot!”

“OFF NOW OR THIS TIME IT’S YOUR FUCKING HEAD!”

He finally started making overtures to the beast, calling him by his name, Fuego, cooing at him like a parakeet. Although
Fuego was still pissed, he was disoriented from being slammed by flying furniture.

I was still holding on to Renaldes. “Put him in a closet!” I demanded.

“Get off—”

I zinged another shot past his ear.
“EL PERRO
IN THE CLOSET! NOW!”

At last my demand sank in. Pepe bent down, almost falling on his face under the burden of my weight, but somehow he managed
to grab Fuego’s collar and lead him into a closet. As soon as the pit bull was secured behind the door, I jumped off, and
at the same time, my father grabbed Renaldes by the throat. He pushed him down onto a tattered couch and tightened his grip.
Renaldes’s face started turning a very unhealthy red. With his right hand, Decker motioned for his weapon. I gave it to him
and he shoved it into Renaldes’s mouth. I do believe Pepe pissed in his pants.

I realized that my own mouth was open and closed it shut. I had never seen this side of my father. I must have looked as shocked
as Koby did when I took down El Paso. Behind the closet, Fuego started barking again—loud and angry, ordering a rematch with
my father.

Renaldes was struggling under Dad’s bulk, but he was clearly outmatched. Pepe had some muscle definition but was on the short
side—smaller than I was. He had a shaved head and dark eyes, which were popping out of their sockets. He had been wearing
a terry-cloth robe when we barged in. Now it had opened up, revealing a chest inked with tattoos—a devil, a snake, a spider,
et cetera, et cetera, yawn, yawn. It was hard to say anything about his complexion because he was bright pink from pressure
and fear.

Decker pulled the gun out of Pepe’s mouth and placed it on his forehead. He whispered, “You went after the wrong person,
amigo.
”

He choked out, “
No se—
”

“Shut up and listen!”

“
Por favor—
”

Decker tightened his grip. Renaldes was literally about to explode. “I said, shut up and
listen!
”

He was on the verge of passing out. I brought my hand over my father’s fingers and pried them open, just enough to loosen
his grip and give Pepe some air. Decker didn’t even realize I was doing it.

Decker spoke low and slow. “Someone shot at a cop last night. Someone in a bronze Nova with stolen plates. Now if you’re straight
with me, guess what, Pepe? You’ll live. If you give me bullshit, you’ll die.
Muy fácil. La verdad o la muerte. Comprendes, amigo?
”

The man’s head bobbed up and down. The dog was now thumping against the closet door. I looked around the room, then pushed
the coffee table in front of Fuego’s escape route. I pounded on the door to shut the beast up. It worked for a moment, but
then Fuego continued yelping.

“Who did it, Renaldes?
Quien?
”

“
No conozco.
I don’t know—”

Again the gun was shoved down Pepe’s throat. Decker counted to ten. “Let’s try it again.
Quien tiene un carro
—a bronze Nova?”

Renaldes’s eyes rolled back. My heart was beating a mile a minute, adrenaline pumping through my system. Fuego was damn near
hysterical. “He’s losing consciousness!” I called out over the barking. “Ease up!”

My father regarded my face, his eyes as feral as any zoo animal I’ve ever seen. I think he forgot about me.

“Ease up!” I repeated louder.

Decker lessened his grip and took the gun out of Pepe’s mouth.

“Sit him up,” I told my father. “I’ll get a glass of water.” I patted Pepe’s red and sweaty face. “I can’t control him for
too much longer. Don’t piss him off.”

I went into the kitchenette, banging on the closet door as I walked past it. My chest hurt and I could barely catch my breath.
The sink was filthy, filled with crusted dishes from the Jurassic age. Little black ants were crawling on the countertop.
I opened a cupboard and searched for a clean glass. I found a couple of blue plastic mugs and filled one with cloudy tap water.
I debated taking a drink myself but nixed the opportunity to hydrate myself, fearing unseen microbes. I brought it back to
Pepe, again banging on the closet door as I passed it.

I think Fuego started to get the hint. His resumption of barking was slow on the uptake.

Pepe was sitting on the couch next to my father, his bald head down, hands clasped and shaking. My father was standing over
him, the gun still in his right hand. I gave the small man the water. He drank greedily and actually thanked me.

“You okay?” I asked Pepe.

Renaldes eyed Decker. “He
es
crazy!”

“Excitable,” I corrected.

Decker growled at me. “You want to ask him about the Nova, hotshot?”

“Take it easy,” I responded testily.

“My finger’s getting itchy.”

I rolled my eyes at Pepe. His eyes said thank you. Somehow Decker and I had fallen into “Good cop/bad cop,” except it wasn’t
completely playacting. I sat next to Pepe.

“Sunset and Marchant … a little after twelve o’clock last night. Bronze Nova, tinted windows, primer on the driver’s door,
dented hood, stolen plates.” I gave him the numbers. “They shot out a ’92 black Toyota Corolla. There was a cop inside the
car. Big trouble, Pepe. You don’t want anything to do with it.”

“I don’t know nothin’.”

Decker shoved him against the back of the couch, water splashing all over his bare chest. Renaldes’s face went white with
fear.

“Will you stop?” I scolded. I got up to get a towel, banging the closet door as I went. I found several napkins purloined
from Tasty Taco and gave them to Pepe to wipe off the droplets.

Again I sat next to him. I said, “Renaldes, we have a credibility problem.”

He gave me a blank look.

I said, “I don’t believe you.
No creo
you.”

Decker smiled.

I said, “Look you are in very serious trouble.
Mucho problemos, usted tiene. Comprendes?
” I glanced at my father. “Could you translate this?”

“No need. He understands perfectly.”

“You’re a big help.” I turned to Pepe and pointed to Decker. “He’s crazy.” I pointed to myself. “I’m not. Work with me, Pepe.”

“I was no drivin’ last night. I here.”

“Who can alibi you other than Fuego?”

A blank stare.

My eyes went to my father’s face. “Please?”

Dad asked the question in Spanish.

Renaldes shrugged, shook his head. “I here,” he repeated.

“Alone?” I asked. “
Solo?
”

“
Sí, solo.
”

“Bullshit!” my father spat out. He placed his gun on the top of Renaldes’s head.

Gently, I pushed it away and touched my forehead with an index finger. I studied Pepe’s face. His complexion had gone from
fire to ice; it was now holding a sickly blue pallor. I said, “Renaldes, I believe you. But he doesn’t and that’s a problem.”

Pepe’s eyes darted back and forth. “I no there. I don’ know!”

Again my father showed him the gun. I chided him with a wag of the finger. To Pepe, I said, “Look, I got an idea. Tell me
who owns the car and maybe I can get this guy”—a thumb in Dad’s direction—“maybe I can get him off your back.”

His eyes went from my face to Decker’s. I’m not sure he understood everything, but he sure understood the tone. Dad translated
what I had told him. Renaldes turned his attention to me.

“Wha’ car?”

“A Chevrolet Nova. Bronze. Primer on the driver’s side. Tinted windows. Dented. Old.”

Renaldes said, “I don’ know de
carro.
I don’ know who drive … I no there.
Pero si el carro es caliente
… if eet’s hot, I know de peoples dat … de peoples dat chop.”

My father and I exchanged glances.

Pepe sensed a reprieve. “I give you de
numeros
… de address.” Dad said, “No, you’re going to
show
us the address.” Renaldes looked at me. I regarded my father. “We’re driving a two-seater.”

“So give him a thrill. Sit on his lap.”

P
epe told Decker
that he kept his clothes in a box under his bed. I pulled it out and the Loo selected a couple of items, keeping the gun
on Renaldes as he got dressed. I took the opportunity to look around the place, periodically knocking the closet door to keep
the dog quiet. I was beginning to feel sorry for the beast, but then I seemed to recall some trivia tidbit stating that a
pit bull’s jaw could apply around two thousand pounds of pressure. The image of half my face gone kept me honest.

Rifling through his drawers, I found a bag of pills and a pistol— a Colt .32, fully loaded. I showed it to my father while
Pepe tied his sneakers.

“Amigo,”
Decker said.

Pepe looked up.

“You’ve got a permit for this?”

No response.

“Didn’t think so. We’re going to borrow it.”

Knowing I was more familiar with the standard police issue Beretta, Decker and I exchanged weapons. He said, “You ever fire
this thing, Renaldes? Because I’m going to take this into the lab and it could give you problems if it was used in a crime.”

“I fin’ it,” Pepe told him.

“Yeah, like you found these pharmaceuticals?” I held up the bag of pills.

Renaldes regarded me with tired eyes.

“Hey,” I said. “You play nice, we place nice.”

Decker took one of Renaldes’s belts, pulled the small man’s hands behind his back, and secured the wrists together. “Don’t
take it personally.” He held one arm, I took the other, and together we spirited him to the door.

“Wha’ ’bout my dog?”

“If it doesn’t take too long, he should be fine,” Decker answered. “Let’s go.”

The Porsche had a micromini backseat. I squeezed in as best I could lengthwise; then Dad placed Pepe in the passenger’s bucket.
We undid Renaldes’s hands, then retied them around the seat back. I had a gun, so did Dad. The Loo started the car and we
were off.

In frank talk, we were kidnapping Pepe and that didn’t sit well with my inner child. It also gave me insight—just how easy
it was to justify jumping the line. My father wasn’t crooked—I was sure of that—but he seemed to have no problem disregarding
due process when it served his purposes.

So where did that leave me?

I stood loyal to my father, and to justify my uneasiness, I convinced myself that I was his imaginary angel sitting on his
right shoulder, telling him when to rein it in.

I was holding a gun, prepared to use it if I had to, but the guy wasn’t giving us a lick of problems—just the opposite. He
was a passive kind of guy who had lived in the same unit for almost three years. I was beginning to doubt that this wimpy
guy was really involved in raping Sarah Sanders. I wondered if maybe Germando El Paso had reversed it for his convenience.
Maybe Renaldes had been the lookout while Fedek and El Paso did the nasty. I kept that filed in the back of my head, should
we ever make progress on the case.

“You getting hungry, Pepe?” I asked him.

“A leetle.”

“You be good and I’ll buy you some food after it’s over.”

He nodded, his fingers constantly wiggling against the binds that tied his wrists.

Decker was silent, driving deep into the industrial part of L.A. County, going east on the freeway to the address given to
us by Renaldes. We passed a skyline of old buildings, some of them abandoned with shot-out or boarded-up windows. The sky
was dull and smoggy and I had to fight to stay awake. I closed my eyes for just a second, then yanked open the lids when I
realized I’d fallen asleep. Pepe apparently had the same idea. He was snoring, chin to his chest. I hadn’t noticed it before
but he had a pencil mustache as well as a little swatch of beard under his lower lip.

As soon as Pepe had entered the picture, I hadn’t addressed my father by name or title. He had been equally circumspect with
me. Even while Pepe snoozed, we didn’t chat; both of us knew people heard things in their sleep. It was a tense ride and I
was dreadfully tired and sorely uncomfortable. Another ten minutes went by before Decker took the off-ramp into the heart
of L.A. County industrial life. The air was thick with slag, smelt, and pollutants, and it hurt to breathe too deeply. The
blocks were long—warehouse after warehouse—all of it monotonous and ugly.

The address Pepe had given us corresponded to a body-and-paint shop, and from what I could tell at first glance, it seemed
to be a legitimate one. If it had been a chop shop, it would have been hidden. But it wasn’t. Also, there were no large semis,
which provided the usual method for transporting stolen wares. But there were stacks of cars in an open lot, many of them
in various states of disrepair. Nothing vintage, just worn and cheap. Renaldes jerked his head up and blinked several times.

He spoke to my father in Spanish. Dad nodded and parked across the street in another open lot. We sat for a moment, thinking
about a game plan. Pepe had slumped low in his seat. Again he spoke in Spanish. I recognized anxiety in his voice. My father
translated.

“He said the owners of this garage are subcontractors for some used-car sellers. They do the painting and bodywork for the
dealers. Sometimes they smuggle the hot cars in with the legit cars. Sometimes the dealers buy them. They don’t ask questions.”

More Spanish.

The Loo said, “The guys have guns. He told me to be careful.”

Renaldes said, “
Habla con Señor Angus o Señor Morton. Yo no puedo entrar
. … I no go inside. Dey keel me.”

“Let him stay here,” I told my father.

“All right,” Decker said. “Just keep an eye on him.”

“I’m going in with you. They have guns, you need backup.”

“I’m not planning on a shooting match.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on getting shot at, either.” I leaned over the passenger’s seat and flashed Pepe three 20s from this
morning’s ATM withdrawal. I tore them in two and put half in Pepe’s pocket. “You stay there nice and quiet, you not only get
to go home, but you’ll be sixty bucks richer.” To my father, “Can you translate that?”