The Patrolman - 7 (2/2)

The streets were hot and sticky, pungent with marihuana. Bunker Hill used to be the city's choice residential district. A few old Gothic mansions remained, now existing as rooming houses. Flophouses, with shifty tenants. People who wrote fake names in ledgers. People with problems. People who were on the run and couldn't chance getting found. Geezers sat on the wide front porches with granite faces. Los Angeles was about progress, and these do-no-gooders were getting in the way. They'd get moved on sooner or later. Lacey felt their eyes the moment they arrived.

They cruised past the top of Angels Flight – the funicular railway. Carruthers parked at the end of West 2nd, and they walked to South Grand. The sidewalks were either cracked or crumbling.

A vendor stepped out from his newsstand. The buttons on his Hawaiian shirt were ready to pop. He waved them to his stall. It had around two dozen publications, everything from comic books to scandal rags. The hoarding showed the headlines, forming a ticker tape of the day’s events. The Tribune screamed: "PIGS FLY - DISGRACED COP INVESTIGATES MURDER IN HOLLYWOODLAND." Lacey paid him a nickel and read the paper, he handed it to Carruthers after.

‘Welles kept her word, he said. ‘Didn't mention the slashed tires though.'

'You put that guy up to it?'

'No,' Carruthers said. 'No, I didn't. If she'd written this crap before, then . . .'

Eyes followed them along the street.

'What's the deal with the Hartsfield dame?'

'What do you mean?'

'Come on, Lacey. I know that look. She show you a good time or something? Spill it.'

'She worked at the bank. The one Flowers mentioned in Hollywood. Hartsfield got taken hostage.'

'What happened?'

'Later,' Lacey said, seeing some approaching bluesuits. 'We've got company.'

And company they had. Two prowl cars full. They blocked the garage on both sides. Sitting on car hoods re-racking 12-gauge pumps. Lacey kept his distance. A plainclothes cop with big ears shook Carruthers’ hand.

‘I asked for support, Elmer. Not the whole of Central Station,' Carruthers said. ‘What is this? An Alien Squad reunion?’

‘C’mon, Georgie. These guys ain’t seen action in weeks.’

‘What’s the matter? You run out of Japs to round up? If I got anythin’ to say about it, they won’t see any more action today. We need to talk to the fella in there, so leave Flores in one piece instead of eight.’

‘You’re on our turf, Georgie. You’ve got 10 minutes to bring him out before “Saps” gets here.’

Lacey didn't like the look of them. Not one bit. If he hadn’t seen their badges, he'd have taken them for mob guys. Still, the badge didn’t make them impervious to moonlighting.

Carruthers turned so the rest of the squad couldn’t hear. ‘There’s a sawbuck with your name on it if you hold Moreau off.’

‘Sorry, Georgie. I can’t do it. You know what “Saps” is like.’

His shoulders slumped. ‘Fine. You ready, Lacey?’

‘Sure,’ he said. Lacey heard them talking as he walked. Someone said, ‘Ain’t that the kid who threw a guy out of an eight-story window?’

The garage was far recessed from the sidewalk. The sign read, "Flores - Motor Repairs & Painting". Doors shut tight, sandbags piled against them, but a Pérez Prado mambo came from inside. Good tune. Lacey and Carruthers went on past. A dented silver coupe stood by a chain-link fence. Flores' ride? The temp bartender remembered a silver car after all. Someone was outside the club behind the wheel, what if the drunk act was what it was, an act? Then Flores murdered his girlfriend and dumped her off Canyon Drive. They had means and opportunity, the missing link was a motive.

‘Who’s “Saps”?’

‘Lieutenant “Saps” Moreau, Ad Vice,’ Carruthers said. ‘Moreau is Elmer’s partner. Keep your distance when he gets here, the guy’s a firecracker.’

They hurled themselves over the chain-link fence. Sprinted across the gravel to a fire escape and clambered up a flight. From the little Spanish Lacey had, the radio now covered last night’s baseball game. The Yankees had played the Senators and won 8-2.

At the door, they tried Juanita’s key. No soap. They checked their guns. Lacey had one shot in the chamber, which made him feel better. He thought it all through. If Flores heard them coming in, there was nowhere for him to go but down. Down into the garage, a long dash across the shop floor to the exit on the far side if he could get out of it. The Alien Squad would come at him running, or shooting. But that all depended on how he acted when they got in there.

Carruthers punched his heel through the lock and burst in. Lacey was right behind him. Carruthers went deep. Lacey fanned out. The office looked more like a crash pad. A couch served as a bed, a desk for a dinner table, and invoices for blinds. The place was a total wreck. Flores was capable but slow. He’d been smoking and listening to the radio. He went for a bottle. Before he could throw it, Carruthers had him on the ground, jamming his gun into his neck. He dragged him into the middle of the room by his hair. Flores didn’t make a sound. He wasn’t the type. Tough. Carruthers pulled up a wooden chair and shoved him into it, but Flores tried to bounce back.  

His fist connected with Flores' throat. Soft tissue met hard knuckles, like a car hitting a brick wall. Flores was lucky his windpipe didn’t shatter on impact. He slumped off the chair and gave a painful gurgle. A tooth skittered across the carpet.

‘Time?’

‘5 minutes remaining,’ Lacey said.

They put Flores back on the chair, though he didn’t look like he’d manage to stay seated on it. Carruthers held him while Lacey took a look around.

It didn’t take long to establish that Flores was in debt. He found receipts in the name of another Flores, who he took to be Manny’s father. There was an unpaid invoice from Lorenzo’s Funeral Parlor, so the old guy had bit the dust. The liquor bottles scattered throughout the office told him he wasn’t taking the news very well.

‘Lacey,’ Carruthers said.

Flores was coming to.

‘Talk.’

‘Who are you?’ he said, slurring.

‘Los Angeles Police Department, shitbird. What did you get up to last night?’

‘I took my girl out.’

‘With what money?’

‘I made it down at the track, she’s class. Likes expensive places, you know?’

‘Then what?’

‘She went home, I came back here, then you cabrones broke down my door.’

‘You know what we’re doing here?’ Carruthers said.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Time, Jake?’

‘Two minutes.’

‘What’s happening?’

‘In exactly two minutes, the Alien Squad will charge in here. They’re packing shotguns, Flores. You know what they’re gonna do with them?’

Flores shook his head. ‘I ain’t done nothin’,’ he said.

‘Doesn’t matter to them. They don’t like beaners as much as I do. Tell us what happened to Juanita.’

‘What?’

‘You left her there, didn’t you? A beautiful girl, alone in a dive like that. What’s the matter? She wouldn’t put it in her mouth? Wouldn’t come back to this shithole? Did you lose that temper of yours, Manny? You take that beaten-up car outside and drive her into the hills?’

‘I got no idea what you’re talking about, vato.’

‘She’s dead, Manny. And you’re the last person to see her alive.’

‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,’ he said, sobbing.

‘Then you got nothing to fear. We’re taking you to Hollywood Station. Grab your shit. Time, Jake?’

‘About 20 seconds,’ Lacey said.

‘Cuff him. Let’s get him outta here.'

Lacey took him by the scruff of his vest, opened the office door, and brought him downstairs. There was only one car in the workshop. An old Plymouth P6. Lacey kept an arm’s distance behind him, in case he went for another headbutt. But the life seemed to have drained out of him now. There was remorse. There was the car outside. But still, no clear motive. A spotlight schvitz would get it out of him.

There was a clang on the stairs.

Lacey turned to see Carruthers coming down them.

Daylight flooded in. The silhouettes of a half dozen angry cops came crashing through the doors. 'Get him.'

‘He’s our collar.’

Flores panicked, and ran.

A shotgun boomed, blasting out a chunk of concrete near Lacey’s head. He went down on one knee. Dust rained. He touched his ear, feeling the warmth on it.

He watched Flores disappear around the Plymouth's trunk with his hands cuffed.

There was a screech and a sickening crack.

The world spun on its axis.

And Lacey went out, like a pilot light.   

 

© J. A. Stapleton 2025 - Image Source: Wikimedia Commons