L.A. Boneyard (14 page)

“Sure.” Jairo held his eyes for a single heartbeat, then took the proffered bottle and followed David into the media room.

He whistled at the sixty-four inch plasma screen Chris had treated them to late last year. “Living large agrees with you.”

David found the Laker’s game and sat in his lounger. Jairo took the love seat Chris and he often shared on evenings they were both home. At the end of the second period, David stood up.

“Want another?” He held up his empty bottle.

“I’m driving, I shouldn’t...”

David got one for himself. The game was tight and fast paced. The kind of game that reminded David of why he loved basketball. He had one more beer, offering Jairo another chance, which he declined.

“I’ll have a water, though.”

David came back with both. Jairo seemed antsy. He played with the label on his bottled water.

“What’s your gut say about this case?”

“Which one?”

“Weren’t you the one saying you thought they were all linked?”

“Okay, I agree. So do I think we have any hope of solving any of them?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

L.A. BONEYARD
109

“There’s always hope,” David said dryly, knowing it wasn’t the answer Jairo wanted. He added, “We’ve got some promising leads. Don’t believe everything you hear about it having to be solved in forty-eight hours or it’s bust. Sometimes the turtle really does win the race. So yeah, the short answer is I still think it’s solvable. I’ll let you know when I change my mind.”

David could tell Jairo doubted that, but kept his disbelief to himself. David didn’t bother telling him that the only thing that made the job bearable was the prospect, sometimes so distant it didn’t even appear on the horizon, that this case was solvable, that this case would be closed to his satisfaction, that kept him slogging through the daily crap. Jairo would have to make that discovery himself. David watched Jairo, but when he maintained his silence he went back to watching the game. It was the second half and the Lakers were doing well.

They finished the game in companionable silence. The Lakers won.

David collected their bottles and took them into the kitchen.

Jairo followed. David dropped the two into the recycling bin under the sink, and turned to lead Jairo to the front door.

Jairo stepped in front of him. David looked down at the shorter man. “What—?”

Jairo put his hands on either side of David’s face, leaned forward and kissed him.

Thursday, 9:15 PM, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles
David meant to push him away. Instead he opened his mouth and groaned when Jairo’s tongue invaded his mouth.

This was wrong. He couldn’t let this happen—but even as the thought skittered through him, he was aroused, his erection pressing against Jairo’s belly, his hands winding through Jairo’s short hair, pulling him closer.

Their tongues tangled and he could feel their hearts beating a ragged matching tattoo. His smell was intoxicating and even the feel of Jairo’s rough face was arousing.

David was barely aware of Jairo shoving his sweats down his thighs, then he was kneeling on the floor with his hot mouth wrapped around David’s erection. David cried out.

He had no idea how far it would have gone. If the woman hadn’t knocked on the door, he might have let Jairo finish what he started, to his eternal shame.

At first he thought the thunderous pounding was his heart, but when the dog started barking, he realized someone was there. He pushed Jairo away and stumbled back, catching himself on the counter. Jairo looked up at him, eyes glazed, lips parted and breathing hard. His shirt was askew and the flat expanse of his belly was exposed to David’s hungry eyes.

“David—”

“Cover yourself,” David said in a strangled voice. At the same time, he shoved his cock back into his sweats so hard he pinched himself in the process. He sucked in his breath, welcoming the pain. It brought him back to his senses, which had deserted him so completely. He left Jairo in the kitchen and grabbed Sergeant’s collar, telling him to sit before he threw the door open.

112 P.A. Brown

A short-haired Latino woman stood in their courtyard, a frown on her round face. She smiled when she saw Sergeant.

“Well, aren’t you looking handsome?” She raised her eyes to David’s. “From what you told me I was expecting... well, I don’t know what I was expecting. Nothing good.” She held out her hand. “I’m Karla Fortunesca, the breeder.”

David dropped his hand to the dog’s head and rubbed his warm flesh. “He was in pretty rough shape when my partner found him...” He trailed off, not at all sure how this woman might react to his living arrangements. “I think you can see he’s quite at home here. Ah, why didn’t you call, I wasn’t expecting anyone...”

“I guess you can say I wanted to see you unprepared. People put on a face when they’re expecting company. My dogs are too important to me to be fooled that way.”

David suspected this woman was fooled by very little. “I think you’ll find Sergeant is very happy here.”

“Sergeant, huh? Funny, it suits him. Yes, I can see he’s happy. So,” she grew more serious. “Tell me about yourself.

You’re a police officer?”

“Detective,” David said, all too aware of Jairo coming up behind him with Popeye. “I’m currently assigned to the Northeast Division. This,” he indicated Jairo, “is my partner and his dog, Popeye.”

“Have you ever owned a dog before?”

“When I was younger. I own cats right now.”

“And how does Zeus get along with them?”

“Zeus?”

“That was his kennel name before Mr. Simons bought him.”

She frowned, clearly unhappy with that memory. “I’m usually pretty good at seeing through people like that, but I missed it this time. I’ve never had one of my dogs abandoned like that.”

“No, ma’am. But I assure you, we’re serious about giving him a good home. And I think he and the cat have reached an understanding.”

L.A. BONEYARD
113

“Is your, ah, partner home right now?”

“Sorry, he’s back east on business.”

Her frown deepened. “I’d like to meet with him before I make a decision, if I could.”

“I’m sure he’d be glad to come out and meet you at your convenience.”

She seemed to abruptly make a decision. “I’ll leave it as it is for now, but I will insist on meeting both of you together before I agree to sign the AKC papers over to you.” She threw an enigmatic look at Jairo, who returned the look coolly.

David extended his hand. “Agreed.”

She shook his hand, then paused to pat Sergeant and Popeye one more time, and left. David closed the door and stood staring at it for several heartbeats. Behind him he heard Jairo step closer.

“Get out,” he said, his voice flat.

“David—”

“Get out, now. Before I do something I’ll regret and it won’t be what you want.”

Jairo collected his dog and left. David locked the door behind him and stood there for a long time.

Sergeant came up beside him and shoved his nose into David’s hand, whining softly. David dropped into a crouch and hugged the dog to his chest. He buried his face against the dog’s neck.

“God, how did I mess up so bad?”

Sergeant licked his face and pressed closer. David raised his head and looked down at the animal.

“Is that your answer to everything?”

Sergeant wagged his stubby tail. Before he could change his mind, David grabbed Sergeant’s leash and headed outdoors, jacketless, hoping the cool temperature that had fallen over the area earlier, replacing the unseasonal warmth, would clear his head and chill out his overactive imagination. He could all too easily see Jairo in his bed, rising to meet him, impaled on his
114 P.A. Brown

cock. What was it Jairo had said:
Incendio y hielo
. Fire and ice. He wasn’t used to being the object of anyone’s desire. Even before he had met Chris, he’d rarely been tempted by any of the pretty boys who were into cops or bears. Sometimes his needs overcame his natural distaste for the fumbling mess of unfamiliar partners, and he had picked one of them up. It never lasted more than a few sweaty hours. Not until Chris forced himself past all of David’s carefully erected barriers.

So what had possessed him to respond to Jairo’s clumsy seduction? What possessed him to want so much more?

A cold wind blew off Silver Lake, and despite the sweat he built up, or because of it, he was shivering by the time he and the dog stumbled back into the house. The phone was ringing, a persistent burr that forced a response. He snapped it up and barked, “Yes.”

“Jesus, did I wake you up?” It was Chris. “I didn’t think it was that late back there.”

David sank into Chris’s I-Ching chair. “I—” God, he thought he’d have more time to wrap his head around what had happened. Or
almost
happened, he reminded himself. He fumbled to hold the phone in his suddenly sweaty hand. “I—

oh, hi.”

“Were you in bed? I’m sorry to wake you—”

“No, that’s okay. I had the dog out for a run...”

“Oh good. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. The flight leaves here eleven-forty-five, I’ll be in Burbank at one-twelve.

Can you pick me up or should I grab a cab?”

David rubbed his temple where a headache was starting to bloom. “I can pick you up.”

“Miss me?” Chris whispered. “I missed you. Make yourself available tomorrow and I’ll show you how much.”

David closed his eyes. But he couldn’t shut out the image of Chris’s beautiful face, or the look of revulsion he could expect if he revealed what he had nearly done. But how could he not tell? He wasn’t a liar, and he’d never hidden from the truth before. Was he going to start now?

L.A. BONEYARD
115

“I’ll be there. Maybe we can eat out tomorrow, since we missed supper.”

“We didn’t miss it. It was for this Sunday. Geez, do I need to send you an invitation to get your attention?”

“We can still go out tomorrow,” David said, knowing damn well he had to be ready to face Chris tomorrow and school himself not to give his betrayal away. How was he going to do that when every bone in his body demanded he confess? Could he live with himself if he told the truth?

Could he live with himself if he didn’t?

Friday, 7:25 AM, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando
Road, Los Angeles

David arrived at the station while the graveyard shift was wrapping up. He huddled over his desk while the day shift drifted in and the squad room came alive with chattering voices, shrilling phones and the smell of fresh brewed coffee. He took several phone calls related to various cases and drank copious amounts of coffee before the morning shift officially started.

It was five minutes past eight when Jairo threw his coat over the back of his chair and set his laptop case on the floor beside his chair.

“You’re late,” David said.

“Traffic—”

“Then leave earlier.” He stood up and grabbed his jacket, making sure his Smith & Wesson was secure in its shoulder holster and slipped the coat on. “We have a call-out to Glassell Park. A drive-by on Drew. You’re the senior on this one.”

Drew had become the most notorious area in the Northeast division, full of Avenues gangbangers and
Las Sureños
who had turned the never peaceful neighborhood into a gang and drug riddled enclave, ruled by AK-47s, Tek-9s and meth. Nearly three years ago, a combined force of cops and federal agents had stormed Drew Street and cleaned out the worst of the viper’s nest, snagging the gang leaders and sending the rest scattering. They hadn’t scattered very far, and those that hadn’t been picked up in later raids had regrouped, and were trying to own the street again. The cops at Northeast were just as determined to keep them out.

“Ah,
el barrio bajo
,” Jairo said.

David looked at him. “The low neighborhood? Don’t tell me you’ve got family there, too?”

118 P.A. Brown

“Nah, not immediate family. Distant cousins from Tlalchapa. Rough place, I’ve heard.”

“So’s the home they made here.”

Jairo grabbed a coffee on the way out, and nursed it in the car while David drove the car he’d signed for.

“I hear they got ties to the Mexican Mafia. The
Sureños
want to rule the world.”

“You heard right. We still got our gang injunctions in place against them.”

“That really work?”

“It gives us a bit more leg to stand on.” David stared into the distance. “It’s still hard.”

It was too much to hope Jairo would keep his mouth shut about last night. But if nothing else, David had learned Jairo could be as stubborn as he was.

“We need to talk,” Jairo said as they turned onto San Fernando Road, yielding to a produce truck.

“No, we don’t.”

“I’m being real with you,” Jairo persisted. “You’re the one pretending this doesn’t exist.”

“I’m not pretending anything. We are going to be professional about this.”

“You lost that claim when you kissed me back.” He flashed a satisfied smile. “And when you shoved your dick down my throat. Tell me that was a mistake. If that woman hadn’t come by right then, you’d have had your cock up my—”

David’s hands closed around the steering wheel, so hard his knuckled were white. “I made a mistake. I admit that. It was my fault—”

“Not anybody’s fault. It happened, we need to deal with it.”

“We need to forget it.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Yes,” David said. “It is.”

L.A. BONEYARD
119

South on industrial San Fernando Road and through the gray, rundown streets to Drew. A line of parked cars in various states of decrepitude sat in front of row after row of long, tall apartment buildings. As they approached, David could see the streets clear, doors slam shut and shadowy figures vanish down narrow alleyways. Business was shut down for the day.

Sometimes, Drew was little more than an open air drug market.

David pulled up behind a radio car with its bar lights still flashing. Barrier tape had been strung up around the vacant lot.