Street Dreams (29 page)

“No.”

I tapped my foot. “It’s on the screw but not on the license plate.”

“Right.”

Suddenly sparks popped in my brain. “If there were no prints on the license plates, maybe instead of just wiping it down,
he wore gloves. Thing is, license plate edges are sharp. Could be the plate cut the latex while he was fiddling with it. Maybe
the edge was sharp enough to cut through the latex and exposed part of his fingertip—hence the partial. Maybe it also cut
skin. But he didn’t notice it because it was only a few droplets. The blood could have leaked out onto the screw as he attached
the plate to the bumper.”

Brill stared at me.

I shrugged. “You asked what I thought. It’s a theory.”

The nod came slowly. “Yeah, it’s a theory.”

That was as much of a concession as I’d get from him.

He gave me a wise-guy smile. “You know what? When I find out more, we’ll discuss it over a cup of coffee.”

Why was it that every time a guy wanted play, he offered me a lousy cup of coffee? What ever happened to dinner and a movie?

“Thanks for filling me in, Detective.”

“We’ll keep in touch, Decker,” he said. “You’re good.”

I smiled. I had so wanted things to work out with Koby. I had genuinely liked the man. But even if I hadn’t, he would have
been worth dating just to keep the others off my back.

G
ermando El Paso’s
juvenile officer hadn’t returned my call, so I figured I might as well spend another fruitless night following up theories
that evaporated like steam. I headed for Boss’s twenty-four-hour coffeehouse, a place that catered to freaks, chumps, hypes,
and other ne’er-do-wells who couldn’t hack it in daylight hours. I was hoping to espy “Mr. Tiger Tattoo” himself. Alice Anne
had produced a solid hit, so I made a mental note to slip her another ten-spot the next time I saw her.

I was seated by a toothpick of a guy with bad acne who appeared to be coming off a bad jones. Lucky for me, he was the maître
d’ and not my server. That position was given to a captivating lady with blue spiked hair who dressed in black vinyl. She
had a pierced upper lip and a pierced nose and small silver chain connecting the two metal studs together. I wondered if it
hurt when she sneezed.

She poured me some coffee and left me the pot. I had brought the morning paper and was skimming the usual bad news, having
made myself comfortable in a torn Naugahyde booth in the far end of the restaurant after sweeping bread crumbs off the tabletop
with my hands. I kept a sharp eye out for my prey, and though I saw a good sideshow, Germando wasn’t part of it. I sipped
coffee and munched on dry lettuce leaves of what was professed to be a dinner salad. When my cell phone rang, I jumped. I
had forgotten to turn it off.

“Decker.”

“I just got off shift. Are you still in the neighborhood?”

The voice from the netherworld. I didn’t want to lie, but I definitely did
not
want to see him. “It’s late.”

“You could come to my place,” Koby purred. “I’ll fix you something to eat … give you a massage. …”

As anger played inside my gut, I tried to keep my voice even. “Sounds like a booty call.”

Silence over the line.

“No, Cindy, not at all.”

“Then explain it to me.”

The seconds ticked.

“Let’s try it again.” His voice was more somber. “I’m off all day Sunday. I’d love to see you. How about brunch and we go
from there?”

That meant spending money on me. A step up, but I still
wasn’t
interested. So now I did lie. “I’m working Sunday.”

“Actually, I’m off Saturday night through Monday morning. Actually, Friday night through Monday, but Saturday is
Shabbat.
But if Saturday is your only time, I can see you then. Please. Just give me a time.”

What in the world was going through that man’s head? Nothing for four days, then “Mr. Solicitous.” More than likely, he was
horny. “Saturday I meet my mother for lunch. It’s sacrosanct.”

Another pause. “What does that mean … the word?”

“‘Sacrosanct’? It means if I miss a weekend with her, she goes ballistic.”

“Maybe after lunch, then …”

Not missing a beat. Tenacity had probably been a very useful asset for him. I relented, probably because he had asked me what
“sacrosanct” meant. For some reason, I found it endearing. Still, I was cautious. “Actually, I’m still in the neighborhood.
I’ve got a couple of odds and ends to pick up. How about I call you in a half hour? If I’m up to it, we’ll meet for coffee.
All right?”

“Fine … anything. Great. Terrific—”

I hung up before he could think of more adjectives.

After forty-five minutes, the phone rang again.

“Are you still working?”

“Yeah, just like you’ve been doing for the last four days.”

Silence.

I felt bad, not because he didn’t deserve it, but because it was unbecoming to be rude. I tossed him a bone. “If you come
to Boss’s within the next half hour, I’ll still be here. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll see you later.” I disconnected the call.

He showed up twenty minutes later. The first things I noticed were his eyes. How could I not notice? Usually luminous, his
pupils were polluted brown muck, the formerly white irises were a combination of jaundice yellow and bright red bloodshot.
He liked colors. He certainly had them.

I immediately thought of a drug binge. It wouldn’t be the first time that a health professional had dipped into the locked
cabinet of a hospital. He smiled sheepishly as he sat across from me. I slid my coffee cup over to him and watched him closely.
When he picked up the mug, I saw that his hands were as steady as rocks.

“I was supposed to meet someone,” I told him. “I think I got stood up.” I smiled. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

His tired eyes took in mine. “I’m sorry I haven’t called you.”

“S’right. You’ve been busy.”

“Who were you supposed to meet?”

“A felon.”

“I hope I’m better company, even if the margin is small.”

Despite myself, I smiled. “You look exhausted.”

“I am. I finally told them that if I didn’t get some time off, I would collapse.”

“You should be home sleeping, not drinking bad coffee that’ll probably give you heartburn.”

“Yes.” He tried eye contact but couldn’t pull it off. “I’d like to make up my bad behavior to you. Can we see each other this
weekend?”

“What bad behavior? All you did was work.” I paused, thinking of Nurse Marnie’s possessive voice over the line. Once there
had been something. “Unless you have something else to tell me.”

He looked up. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Busy with someone else?” I was trying to sound casual. “What happened, Koby? Did she flake out on you or something? Call
me for backup sex?”

His eyes swung back to mine. “No. It is
nothing
like that. I really have been working—three 12-hour shifts and one 16-hour shift.”

I was silent.

“Ask anyone at the hospital,” he insisted. “And you can ask many people because I’ve practically lived there this past week.”
He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. They watered with irritation. “Cindy, I have cash burning holes in my pockets. Please let me
spend it on you.”

I studied his face.

“Please?”

I shrugged. “Sure. Let’s go out Sunday night.”

He blew out air and leaned back in the booth. “Thank you. I will try to redeem myself.”

“I’m tired. I’m going home.” I stood up, pitched a ten on the table, then walked away.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I’m fine, Koby. I carry a gun.”

“I suppose I should keep that in mind.” He caught up with me, held my arm. “I really missed you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

He held the door open for me. “I know.”

“So what was that all about?”

“Some other time, please? I’m so tired.”

I took pity on him. “Sure.”

As we walked out the door and onto the sidewalk, I saw the tiger tattoo before I saw the face. I broke away from Koby and
took a couple of giant steps forward. “Hey!” I shouted. “Police!”

Germando took off.

I tore after him, grateful for my rubber-soled shoes, but I was out of my league. Koby however was a lightning bolt. A dozen
long strides and he landed within striking distance. He whacked Germando between the shoulder blades and my traffic felon
stumbled forward, falling flat onto his face. When I caught up, I was panting like a dog. Koby hadn’t broken a sweat. I leaned
my knee between Germando’s shoulder blades and whipped his arms around his back.

“I said, ‘Police!’ That means you
stop!
”

“I no hear—”

“Well, now you hear! I am a police officer, Germando. Hold the
fuck
still or I’ll break your
fucking
arms!”

“That’s brutality!” He craned his neck to look at Koby. With my knee in position, he was pretty well pinned. “You hear her—”

“You’re talking to
air,
my friend,” I yelled at him. “There’s no one here!” I retrieved the gun from my purse and held it at the base of his head.
“Hold still, Germando. I’ve got bullets about an inch from your brain stem and I don’t want any accidents. I am going to cuff
you.”

Out came the cuffs from my purse. As soon as he was in manacles, I felt my heart rate drop. I looked up … Koby staring at
me, shocked and wide-eyed. I took out my cell and called for police backup and a transport.

His mouth was still agape. I said, “You can go now. In fact, it would be real good if you went now.”

He closed his mouth and turned to walk away.

“Hey,” I shouted.

He pivoted around.

“Thanks,” I told him. “But don’t
ever
do my job for me again, okay?”

He didn’t answer. He stared, blinked, then jogged off. I saw his Toyota hook a U, just as I caught the flash of a cruiser’s
crossbar.

Good thing the occupants of the black-and-white were on a case. Otherwise a cop could have given him a ticket for crossing
a double, double yellow line.

L
et’s go over
it again, Decker.”

I threw my head back, squirming in the hard seat, and studied the ceiling’s fluorescent lighting in the interview room. This
wasn’t so bad, I rationalized. It gave me empathy with the scumbags that I’d be grilling one day. “What specifically, Detective?”

“You went to Boss’s because …”

“I went to Boss’s because I was looking for Germando El Paso, who often eats the banana pancakes there. I was looking for
him because he had outstanding warrants.”

“Traffic warrants.”

“Warrants just the same.”

Brill rubbed his forehead. “And this is what you do on your off-hours? Hunt for dudes with unpaid tickets?”

“I consider it a civic duty.”

His smile was wry. “You need a life.”

“I agree,” I answered. “But that doesn’t change this situation. It was a righteous bust and I did not plant that bag of X
on him, no matter what he says.”

“You’ve got no witnesses to back you up.”

“Neither does he.”

“He claims you were with someone.”

“He claims a lot of things.” I looked at the one-way mirror. “Who’s back there?”

Brill followed the direction of my eyes. He wore a black suit and a white shirt. A badly knotted red tie ringed his neck.
He had dressed hurriedly. “Someone from the DA … the Loo.”

“Detective or uniform?”

“My Loo.”

“He can come in and ask his own questions, if he wants.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.”

“Believe me, Detective, I’m not trying to be snide.” I looked at my watch. It was two in the morning. At least, Koby was home
sleeping. Thinking about him depressed me. “I’ll start from the beginning—again. I’ll repeat it as many times as you want
me to repeat it.”

Brill gave me a hands-up.

I started to talk, then stopped. “Let me start from the
very
beginning. This whole thing has its roots in the abandoned baby I pulled out of the garbage a couple of weeks ago. All right?”

“Go on.”

I glanced at the tape recorder in the middle of the Formica table, which was scarred and scratched and held a dirty ashtray.
“I found the mother on my own, I’d like to add—”

“Not the time to brag.”

“I’m only mentioning this to show the DA on the other side of the mirror that I am obsessive.”

“Seems to be a family trait,” Brill answered.

“You said it, sir, not I.”

He smiled. “You found the baby; you found the mother.”

“I pulled out the baby; I found the mother.” I readjusted my weight for the millionth time. “So now we’re up to date on that.
After I found the mother, I wanted to know about the father—”

“Why?”

“I thought this poor little baby from a retarded mother deserved to know her entire genetic history.”

“Why?”

“Because I became attached to her. I visited her a couple of times in the hospital—on my own. This whole thing didn’t come
out of nowhere.”

Brill waited.

I said, “So I went to the mother’s home to interview her about the baby’s father. I did this with Detective Van Horn’s permission
and
with Detective MacGregor’s permission. I visited her on Sunday. I took my father, Lieutenant Decker, along with me because
I knew I needed somebody experienced, and Detective Van Horn had gone on vacation. Detective Russ MacGregor, who had been
assigned to the case, was away for the weekend.”

“And it was during this discussion that the girl”—Brill flipped through his notes—“Sarah Sanders … she mentioned being gang-raped
and her boyfriend was beaten up and thrown into a trash can.”

“Exactly. But because the case was six months old, Lieutenant Decker suggested that I don’t act on my information until I
informed Detective MacGregor of this latest development. Which I did.”

“And?”

I smiled. “He thought it could be a fantasy. Still, the girl came in and made a statement. On the off chance that her story
might be true, I asked MacGregor if I could look into it. He said that if I wanted to find the father on my own time, he wouldn’t
have a problem with that.”