The kid was hinky: parked in a brown van, sunglasses on, smoking a cigarette. There were another seven or eight butts smoldering on the ground. He set off my alarms right away. I decided to take my groceries for a long walk around the block and see if he was still there when I got back.
I'd been off the force for five years, but it was in my blood, and I knew this scene was wrong. Maybe you'd say all those years on the job had made me paranoid. You might be right. Crime can be like a disease, and when you're as exposed as the average cop is, it's easy to pick up a case of the weirds. Me, I think you have to be a little wrong to be a cop in the first place.
When I got back, the scene was the same, but he was on another cigarette. The neighborhood was good--white, upper-middle class. He could be casing something. I stood on the far corner of the intersection and stayed behind a bush. I don't think he saw me, which told me that if he was casing, he wasn't too sharp.
I memorized the tag: DP1-42Y2. Then just to be safe, I scribbled it on the brown grocery bag. I'd run it by Danny Wunsch later and see if it set off any bells.
That's when the answer came running and giggling right by me. Little kids--some dashed directly out into the street, some looked both ways like I used to teach them to on safety awareness days. The public school was three blocks behind me. It was too early for classes to be out, but it was Wednesday so I figured they were Catholics. On Wednesdays, the Catholic kids got out early and went to St. Dom's, which was two blocks up on Arroyo, for religion classes.
When the kids were gone, the brown van started up, crawled through the intersection, and turned on to Los Olivos. I had a pretty good idea what he was looking for.
Danny picked up on the second ring.
"Detective Wunsch."
"Danny Boy, it's Rusty Tucker here. How's it hangin'?"
"Down by my knees, Rust. How are you doing?"
"Takin' it easy," I laughed. "You know me."
"Sure do, and I'm surprised I still talk to you." That was his turn to laugh. "You haven't called your old friend Danny Boy in a coon's age. What¹s the problem, a parking ticket?"
"Danny, you insult me, but you're right--it's no wonder you made detective." I wondered if that sounded too jealous.
There was a pause, and finally he said, "Rust, you know if things had been different--if it hadn't been for that prick, Evans--we'd still be working together. You'd have been a damn fine detective yourself." Danny was probably wondering if that sounded too guilty.
"Hell, it's water under the bridge," I said. "I'm long past it, and I wish you'd get over it, too. I'm working and I've got a badge, but I don't have to put up with any of Evans's small change shit. I'd say things are pretty good."
Wunsch's voice dropped a bit. "Well, I just wanted to let you know that you'd have made a good detective. I've told you that before, but this time I'm sober."
"Sober? Danny Boy, by my watch, it's almost three o'clock; you should have hit that bottle of vodka in your desk about five times already."
Danny laughed a bit. "And are you going to tell me you don't have a glass of Southern Comfort and Pepto-Bismol right in front of you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, pulling a fresh bottle of So-Co from the grocery bag. "Anyways, Danny Boy, I do have a favor to ask. It's a tag I want you to run."
I read him the info, and he took it without asking any questions. We shot the shit for a while, and then tried to find a way out of the conversation that wasn't too awkward.
"You know what we should do, Rust? We should go hunting like we used to."
"That sounds fine to me," I said. "I've still got that cabin up at the lake. Sure could use some company."
"A little hunting and fishing. That sounds good," Danny said. "I'll be in touch about the tag, and we'll make plans then."
"Damn straight," I said and told Danny that I had to run off to work. We said adios and hung up. I actually didn't have to be at the mall for another hour. There was nothing to do but kill time--I was even in my uniform already. I poured a So-Co and Pepto and waited.
Wednesday nights are always dead at the mall. To be honest, it never gets too busy, but you do have to keep your eyes open. Twin Lakes isn't one of those swanky malls like they've got over East Benencia. I've seen that place. It's feels like a museum, and I swear the girls behind the counters fart potpourri. And the guards there...surfer body-boys with no experience. They hire them because they look good in blue uniforms.
I know what people think about rent-a-cops. Christ, I used to make fun of those retired, broken-down alcoholics myself. But things at Twin Lakes are different, and it's not just the brown uniforms. We're not in Compton or anything, but I do have to keep a handle on the situation. Gotta make sure the white trash locals don't mix it up with spic trash from the hills. (I don't care if they turn each other to hash out on route six, as long as they keep that shit out of the food court and off of the parking lot.) Also, I gotta make sure that none of the transient element beds down on the benches or in the toilets for the night. And that's another thing: Gotta keep the pervs from hanging around the lingerie stores, and stop the faggots from doing bag tricks in the toilets. I'm not saving the world, but I keep the peace. In most ways, my work these days is no different than when I was on the force.
They played the recorded announcement that the mall would be closing in a half hour. That was my cue to start the sweep. I walked around the second level, making sure no one was getting too comfortable. At the edge of the food court I spotted a young girl, sixteen years old at most. She had dirty brown hair, a tie-dyed tee shirt, beads, and a denim jacket tied around her waist. I made her at once: hippy-chick runaway. Maybe she was heading down to L.A. to be a star, or maybe up to San Fran to get free. Either way she was a user and on her way to being a pro. This was more than a hunch--I could see it those black eyes. I've seen a lot of lost girls like her. She hadn't had a real meal in a week, and she wasn't at the food court for dinner. She was looking to get well. Failing that, she'd let someone take her home for the night. If that didn't happen, she wanted to go unnoticed and slip into the ladies room or sink behind a rack of dresses for the night. She just wanted to fade away, and it really made me ache.
I stood off to the side but made my presence known. She took the hint and moved on. I followed as she checked her reflection in a window, then caught an escalator down. Ben and Karl, the type of the guards you'd expect to find in a mall like this, were heading up. They nodded at me. The fifteen minute warning announcement was made.
The girl kept moving. She was a cute kid--a damned shame. I didn't want to go heavy on her tonight. If she kept hanging around, I'd do something about it. Hopefully, she'd just move on. Tonight I gave her a get out of jail free card. I think she knew it, too.
When I got back from my shift there was a message waiting for me from Danny. Prick. He knew I wouldn't be around. At least he left the information I wanted and didn't insult me with that hunting crap again. I played the message and wrote down the details: Williams, Martin Warren; DOB 4/18/71; Three convictions: Two B and Es, one possession; The van was registered in his name, but the address was way up near Sacramento; There were three parking tickets, too; These were closer to home, Buena Vista.
I erased the message, dialed information, and asked for Martin Williams in Buena Vista. No dice. On a second call I tried William Warren. Still nothing. On the last try I got a Martin Warren. 1432 Los Verde Circle and a phone number.
I sat back in my dark living room and lit up a smoke. It was too easy. I connected the dots and got a picture of one dumb bastard. The B&Es told me he probably started off as a third rate panty stealer. The drugs told me he was a weak bitch, and the parking tickets told me he was stupid. If he's some perv who gets off on little boys, he shouldn't be inviting police activity like that. I wondered if this Warren guy had snatched any kids yet. My guess was no. If he had, he probably did it sloppy and left clues everywhere. But that didn't mean anything. The only people dumber than your average crooks, are your average cops. This chickenhawk could have left a business card in a kid's ass and the jerkoff cops wouldn't even notice...cops like Danny Wunsch and Carl Evans.
I fumbled in the dark for a moment, found a bottle of Jim Beam, and started to laugh. It would be funny if I caught this bastard and turned him in. It would really be something. It would probably get me back on the force--if I wanted that. I'd do it just to see the look on Evans's face. That little weasel dick always had it in for me. If he spent a tenth of the time watching the streets the way he watched hard-working cops, trash like that kiddie-perv wouldn't be driving around. Evans boy-scouted and ass-kissed his way up the ladder. He reported more CUBOs than he wrote tickets: So-and-so had two beers over lunch; what's-his-name smacked a pro around; shorty's got some sideburns that need trimming. And once he became a detective, he set his sights on me. He stuck so close that if I took a piss, I could ask him for a shake. And to show you what a crappy detective he was, when he finally did nail me, it wasn't for anything that half the other cops weren't doing too. I have to laugh.
To be honest, I'm glad I'm off the force. Now I'm my own man, and no one's hanging on my shoulder. I wouldn't go back if Evans got on his knees and begged. But it would be funny to show him up with one last bust.
Somewhere just before dawn I passed out with the empty bottle in my lap. It was a deep, dreamless sleep, and I deserved it. It had been a good day of work.
Copyright © 2001 Geof Smith.