Wicked Break (2 page)

I asked Peter a few more questions about the guns he'd seen because I wanted a better idea of what I might be getting myself into. But he clearly knew nothing about guns and the tension on his face told me that finding them had really shocked the hell out of him. I knew I'd have to go look for myself. He gave me a wallet-sized photo of Linc and I told him I'd be in touch after I checked out the apartment.

I went back to my place, dropping my board on the patio that faced the beach. Carter had apparently anticipated my irritation with him and vacated the premises. Not as dumb as he looked.

I showered and changed into a pair of corduroy board shorts and a T-shirt. I grabbed an apple and a soda from the fridge and headed out to see where Linc Pluto lived.

I pointed my Jeep east, going past the Bahia and the bay, getting onto Interstate 8 behind the old Sports Arena. The freeway cut through Mission Valley, bisecting the giant canyon that now housed a golf course, several shopping centers, and Qualcomm Stadium. Just before I hit La Mesa, I took the College Avenue exit and headed south.

The area around San Diego State was trying to reinvent itself, just like other older parts of the city. The university wanted to sell itself as a destination school rather than a state school and they were hoping to create a college-town feel. Abandoned strip malls had been rebuilt with fast-food joints and cafés. But the new neon of the signs in the windows hadn't deterred those who had been used to the old ways of the neighborhood. You were safe during the day, but you didn't venture out at night unless you were with your frat pals.

I hung a left on El Cajon Boulevard and found Linc's address just past the old Campus Drive-in. His apartment was in an ugly L-shaped two-story building, with an old asphalt lot in front. The stucco exterior was painted drab brown and the doors were a shade darker. Could've been an old motel.

I parked in the lot and found Linc's door on the ground level. A small window sat just to the right of the door.

I knocked, but got no answer.

I tried the door, but it didn't open.

I looked in the window, but saw no one.

Nowhere fast.

I walked down to the next door. Bob Marley crooned softly behind it.

I knocked.

Footsteps came closer and the door swung open.

A girl of about twenty or so stood in front of me. A tight olive tank top hugged the curves of her chest, cutoff cargo shorts exposed long tan legs. Her hair was a mess of dirty brown dreadlocks piled on top of her head. The thin silver hoops in her earlobes matched the ones in her eyebrow and bottom lip. She was attractive in an I'm-in-college-and-rebelling kind of way.

Her emerald eyes flashed and she looked annoyed. “What?”

“I'm looking for your neighbor.”

“Did you try his place?”

I smiled. “Yeah. He's not there. Any idea where I could find him?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Who are you?”

“Noah Braddock. I'm an investigator. Who are you?”

“Dana Madison.” She looked at me with new interest. “An investigator. No shit?”

“None whatsoever.”

“And you're looking for Linc?”

“I am.”

“Well, I don't know where he is,” she said. “But Rachel might.”

“Rachel?”

“My roommate.” She looked me up and down with a confidence she couldn't possibly have been old enough to possess. A slow smile emerged on her face and she stepped to the side. “Right this way, stud.”

I felt dirty, but in a good way, and stepped past her into the apartment.

Dana went and turned down the stereo in the corner. The interior was sparsely furnished and the white paint on the walls was cracking. The aroma of freshly smoked marijuana filled the room. A small television sat on a banged-up hutch. A worn wooden coffee table stood in the middle of the room just across from a tattered brown sofa. A Donald Duck bong grinned at me from the table-top.

First Pluto, now Donald.

Disney appeared to be overtaking my life.

“You see where the spout is on him?” Dana said, coming over to the sofa and noticing I was looking at Donald.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Makes it look like you're giving him a hummer when you spark up.”

“Cool.”

“I know,” she said, missing my sarcasm.

“So. Rachel?”

Dana nodded, still looking at me. “You have to be in such a hurry?”

“Busy, busy.”

A smile curled onto her lips. “I'd like to see you get busy.” She turned toward the hallway that extended off the room and yelled, “Rachel. Somebody here for you.”

A scuffling sound came from down the hallway, followed by footsteps. Rachel emerged.

If Dana was attractive, Rachel was a flat-out knockout. A fiery mane of red hair cascaded around her tan, oval face. She wore jean shorts frayed at the ends and a tight black top, exposing a drum-tight abdomen and a tiny diamond in her navel. Her arms and legs were as tan as her face, toned like her stomach. The only imperfection I could see was that her large brown eyes were ringed with bright red blood vessels.

She looked at me, confused. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“This is Noah,” Dana said. “He's a private investigator.”

Rachel gave me a blank stare. “Oh.”

“I'm looking for Linc,” I said. “Next door.”

“Oh.”

“You know him?”

“Yeah, she does,” Dana said, then giggled.

Rachel looked at her. “Yeah, I do.” Then she giggled.

Stoners can be frustrating.

I took a deep breath. “How do you know him?”

Rachel folded her arms across her chest. “From school.”

“And you guys are friends?”

“Yeah, they are,” Dana said, and snickered again.

“Shut up,” Rachel said to her, then burst into giggles again as well. She composed herself quickly. “We're friends.”

“Friends?”

Rachel blinked several times. “He tutored me.”

Dana laughed out loud and rolled onto her side on the sofa.

“Tutored?” I asked.

Rachel looked down at her feet. “Sorta.”

I took another deep breath and tried to relax. “Look, Linc is missing. I'm trying to find him. He's not in trouble. And I don't care about the pot or anything else you two probably have stashed in here. Just be straight with me.”

It was quiet for a moment while they tried to process what I'd said.

“Just tell him,” Dana finally said.

“Shut up,” Rachel said, looking at her.

“He's not from the school,” Dana said, frowning at her friend. Then she looked at me. “Right? You aren't some kinda school cop?”

“I'm not.”

She looked back at Rachel. “See?”

Rachel frowned at her friend, but didn't say anything.

Dana turned back to me. “Linc wrote papers for her.”

“Dana! Shut up!” Rachel said, her cheeks flushing slightly.

“And she fucked him in return,” Dana said, smiling.

“You bitch,” Rachel said, shaking her head.

College had apparently changed since I'd been enrolled.

“It wasn't just like that,” Rachel said to me.

“Okay,” I said. “I'm not looking for an explanation. I just want to find him.”

Rachel's cheeks continued to flush. “I mean, I can't write very good. He offered to help. And it just kinda…happened.”

“Just once?”

Dana laughed.

“Well, no,” Rachel said. “A couple times. But not recently. The last time was like two months ago. I swear.”

“Okay. When did you see him last?”

She thought about it, lines forming above her perfect eyebrows. “Two days ago.”

“Any idea where he might be?”

She shook her head slowly. “No. Do you think he's in trouble?”

“No idea,” I said, wishing I hadn't knocked on their door. I pulled a card from my pocket and held it out. “If you hear from him or think of anything, call me.”

Dana lurched off the sofa. “Can I get one of those?”

I reluctantly withdrew another one and handed it to her.

She smiled at it, then winked at me. “Thanks, stud.”

I left before my head exploded.

I walked out to the parking lot to find a scowling, heavyset man next to my Jeep.

He was looking into the driver's-side window, a Louisville Slugger dangling from his right hand.

“Need a ride?” I asked.

He turned around. About five-eight with more than his share of weight around his gut and his neck, rings of sweat staining the armpits of his gray T-shirt. The brown hair on his head was almost gone. Sweat beaded down his wrinkled forehead into his small, dark eyes. A flat nose and a crooked mouth didn't improve his appearance.

“You a friend of that kid's?” he said, raising the bat up and pointing in the direction of Linc's apartment.

“No.”

“Then why were you at his door?”

“Why do you care?”

The small eyes narrowed. “You getting smart with me?”

“I was smart before I got here.”

He looked confused.

“I'm not a friend of his,” I told him. “I've never met him. I'm looking for him.”

The man relaxed and lowered the bat to his side. “You and me both.”

“I'm Noah,” I said, offering my hand.

He shook it, leaving a film of perspiration on my palm. “Sam Rolovich. Kid owes me rent.”

I casually wiped my hand against my shorts. “You the super?”

He frowned, like I'd insulted him. “Property manager.”

“Sorry. He owes you?”

He nodded, glancing up at the apartment. “Two months' worth.” His eyes shifted and he was looking at me with suspicion. “Why do you care?”

I pulled a card out of my pocket and handed it to him. “Linc's brother asked me to help him find him.”

He studied the card. “Hmm. A private eye. For real?”

“For real.”

“Never met one of you before.”

“Right. The rent thing—is that a regular deal for him?”

“No,” Sam said, hitching up his jeans with his free hand, exposing decade-old flip-flops on his feet. “Kid's lived here a year and always paid ahead a time. Last month, he gave me some story about having to pay tuition, said he was gonna be late.” He shrugged. “Me, I'm a nice guy, so I let it slide. I know where he lives, you know?”

Sam looked like anything but a nice guy, but I played along. “Sure.”

“So, then when I didn't get this month's rent on Friday, I came looking for him. He wasn't there. Then his brother showed up and said he didn't know where he was, either. Promised to find him.” He frowned and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Haven't seen the kid or his friends yet.”

I nodded at the bat. “Maybe he's scared.”

Sam looked at the bat, then looked embarrassed. “Hey, you never know who you're gonna run into.”

So true.

“You said friends. I thought he lived by himself.”

He made a face and the crooked mouth got more crooked. “He does, but all those fucking bangers are always hanging around with him.”

“Bangers? As in gangbangers?” I said, not sure I'd heard him correctly.

He nodded. “Yep. One of them used to live here, but I kicked his ass out. Got tired of all the bullshit.”

“Remember his name?”

A plane roared over us, headed to Lindbergh, the engines quickly fading in the distance.

He pointed toward the office. “Come on. Let's go take a look.”

I followed him to a door just off the side of the building. The room was about the size of a small closet. An old wooden desk sat in the middle, surrounded by two metal filing cabinets and two metal folding chairs. The desk was covered in piles of paper and manila folders. A calendar with a busty woman in a bikini leaning over the hood of a car hung on the wall behind the desk. An aroma of old popcorn and stale beer clung to the air.

“Have a seat,” Sam said, waving at one of the chairs. He stood the bat up next to one of the cabinets. “Ignore the mess.”

I wasn't sure what my other choice was, so I didn't say anything.

He opened up the middle drawer on one of the cabinets and rummaged through it for a moment, then yanked out a thin red folder.

“Here it is,” he said, turning around and sitting down in the chair on the other side of the desk. “Fucker's name was Deacon Moreno.” He handed the file across the desk to me.

The photocopied driver's license photo showed a young black man with a hard face. No smile, no trace of humor in his expression. His date of birth put him at twenty-four years old. Six-foot and 185 pounds. The address listed was in Logan Heights, a neighborhood even I wouldn't venture into alone.

“The address on the license was bogus,” Sam said. “He owed me rent. I went to collect but it's a laundromat.”

I handed the folder back to Sam. “Why'd you kick him out?”

“Oh, man,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That guy was a problem from the day he walked in. Late with his rent, that goddamned hip-hop music booming out of his place and car at all hours, all his hotshot homeboys hanging out in the parking lot all the time.”

“How did you know they were gang members?”

He rolled his eyes again. “Come on. What am I, an idiot? Bunch of fucking black kids in tricked-out cars, wearing Raiders jerseys and gold chains, smoking weed.” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “I know because I know.”

I wasn't so sure. There was a big difference between kids who acted like gangsters and those who actually lived the life. But I didn't want to insult Sam's astute observations. Afraid he might show me his white hood and cross-burning tools.

“And after you evicted Deacon, he came to see Linc?” I asked.

“Yep. Couple of times. Him and some of his buddies. Usually at night.”

The picture I was getting of Linc was far from the one his brother had drawn for me. Trading sex for homework wasn't the most ethical thing, but I could see where a guy his age would consider an offer like that from an attractive girl like Rachel. A serious kid who was trying to get his degree, though, didn't run with a gang or store guns in his apartment. Falling in with a bad crowd was one thing. Falling in with a gang was another.

“How about the girls that live next door to Linc?” I asked.

Sam laughed. “The stoner chicks? No problems with them. One of their rich daddies pays for them. Two months at a time. They don't bother me.”

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot outside froze us.

Sam stood up. “What the fuck?”

Tires squealed on pavement. I jumped up from the chair and shoved the door open to the parking lot.

The lot was empty save for my Jeep. I looked to the street and saw traffic moving at a normal pace. I looked back toward the apartments.

Rachel was standing outside her door. Her left hand was against the wall, bracing herself, and her eyes were wide, confused, and frightened. Her right hand was at her chest, blood spilling out over her fingers.

Sam burst out of the office behind me, the bat in his hand.

“Go call 911,” I told him.

But he didn't move.

We both stood there and watched Rachel crumple to the ground.