The Parker Trilogy Page 16

  Guero smiled his big-teeth smile. “Allll the time.”

  Traffic on Fourth was heavy, the sound of car tires cutting through water puddles growing louder and then fading with each passing cluster of traffic.

  As the smile faded, Guero spoke again. “But I think you’re mistaken, Padre.”

  “How so?”

  “I never threatened you, Father. Only others if you didn’t speak up. I thought, in light of the lovely weather today, I’d give you one more chance to do so before that actually starts to happen.”

  Father Soltera nodded grimly. “You did, now, did you?”

  “Actually, it was at the request—you might say pleading—of my sister. She’s family, you know. That doesn’t mean as much to me as it once did.” He chuckled, bobbing his head first to the right and then to the left. “But it still means something.”

  “And how did Luisa feel about this?”

  He grew defensive. “She’s a child. It doesn’t matter what she thinks. I’m actually shocked you’re being so stubborn about this, Padre.”

  Father Soltera was genuinely surprised by this comment. Taking a few steps down the stairs so that he could hear Guero better, but still remaining safely under the front awning of the church and out of the rain, he replied with a shrug. “And why is that?”

  “This boy, whoever he is, has committed a grave sin, has he not?”

  Father Soltera nodded. “Yes. He has.”

  “He has taken my niece’s honor.”

  “And yet she is equally responsible for that act, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Guero screwed up his face. “Please, Father. She’s a woman. They are nothing but a bundle of emotions. This boy took advantage of her. And, let’s be honest . . . women”—he waived his hands in the air and laughed—“they are mostly naïve and stupid . . . on their best days.”

  “Naïve . . . and stupid,” Father Soltera scoffed. “Funny. I don’t generalize people, Mr. Martinez. But I can say that those are two words I’d never use to describe Luisa—on her worst day.”

  A man in a raincoat holding a briefcase came racing down the sidewalk, catching the attention of Guero’s bodyguards, who turned their shaved heads to watch him. He passed by and jogged to the corner, where a blue Ford Edge was waiting for him. It was a short run, but the man was still soaked by the time he got there. When Father Soltera returned his gaze to Guero he was greeted with the same mean stare that had been thrown at him in the market.

  “So. Once again, you’re going to disrespect me.”

  “No, Mr. Martinez. I am not. You keep making it about me and you. This is about me and Luisa.”

  “What? C’mon, Padre. You’re kidding me, right? I mean . . . do youuu, ya know, have the hots for her too?”

  “That is despicable.”

  “Ah. Because you’re a man of the cloth and all, you don’t have those urges, do you?”

  Father Soltera shook his head and turned to walk away. “This conversation is over.”

  “No!” Guero replied sharply, his voice cutting through the raindrops and bouncing off the church. “It is over when I say it is over, Padre.”

  The clouds above were smeared in grays and black.

  Father Soltera sighed. “Mr. Martinez, you say you barely care about family, so why all of this concern about Luisa?”

  Guero took a few impatient steps forwards, but stopped at the bottom of the steps. It dawned on Father Soltera that Guero had deliberately avoided coming up them this whole time. It’s sacred ground. Just like those faceless men last night, he won’t cross the threshold.

  “Do you see that bird over there, Padre?” Guero said with a sigh as he pointed at a brown bird that was next to a trash can beneath a large acacia tree, pecking at the remnants of a soggy hot dog bun that had spilled out.

  “Yes.”

  “It must be so hungry to have braved the rain, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not sure I—”

  It was not a grand gesture, simply a raising of his right hand up to his waist, open fingered at first, before he slowly closed it into a fist. Still staring at the bird, Guero said, “It’s a shame.”

  The bird jumped, then staggered and tried to take flight, but it couldn’t. Its wings seemed pinned to its body, as if it were being gripped by an invisible hand. Guero’s hand. Panicked, it spun and fluttered and cried out. First in confusion, then in fear.

  Which suddenly morphed into terror as a murder of crows appeared in the tree overhead. The brown bird cried louder as two of them dropped to the ground and moved in.

  This can’t be really happening. But it was. Father Soltera had seen enough. “Stop this!”

  “Innocent things get hurt aaall the time,” Guero said with a chuckle. “And you know what? Crows get hungry too.”

  With that, two crows began to stab their beaks into the brown bird. The others dropped in to feast as well, squawking and fighting over the tiny scraps of what was left as they tore the little brown bird asunder.

  Father Soltera watched the carnage with a churning stomach.

  Guero was now looking right at him again. Smiling, he added, “Let’s get one thing straight. This doesn’t involve you, Padre. You’re just a good little brown bird trying to make his way through the day. But if you keep this up, Father? If you keep getting in my way? Next time, I’ll call the crows to you.”

  Father Soltara looked at Guero intensely. Then, against all logic, he began walking down the stairs towards him. Not against his will, but in the face of his fear. He had to see this man one more time and up close, because the truth was, at Father Soltera’s age, without his glasses and at this distance, people could get blurry around the edges.

  As his feet carried him down, he reminded himself that he’d seen plenty of Guero at the market. This was completely unnecessary and dangerous, as became evident in the happy expression that came over Guero’s face, as if he was witnessing a very pleasant surprise.

  Like a snake, his beady eyes watched Father Soltera’s descent the whole way, taking only a split second to glance down at Father Soltera’s shoes, as if hoping beyond hope that he would step onto the sidewalk.

  But he didn’t. He stopped short. Four steps away.

  Guero Martinez looked at him intently. “Ah. I see.”

  “What?”

  “You’re brave now, huh? Because you’ve got a guardian, don’t you, Father?”

  “If you say so.”

  “I can smell him. This explains your sudden machismo, huh?”

  “No, Mr. Martinez. I’m simply trying to respect your niece’s—”

  “Respect! Please. You know nothing of respect. If you did, you’d know that a man of my stature, in this community, in the world I live in—you know, the real world, not some fantasy land like the one you espouse, with your saints and holy water—a man like me, I have to command that respect, I have to have it at all times.”

  “So, again, this is about you . . . and your pride.”

  “It’s about a lot of things, not the least of which is you don’t go screwing my niece like a cheap corner whore and then try to bail by threatening her.”

  Father Soltera said nothing, but his body language must’ve betrayed his thoughts.

  “How’d I know that, Father? I got a call, from my sister’s neighbor. We’ve never met. I never go visit there, they always come to visit me, but the neighbor, unlike you, knows how to play his cards right. Some people of mine put him in touch with me, and voilà! I come to find out that just yesterday, not long after we talked, who shows up but some pince pendejo telling my niece to get an abortion!”

  “I don’t—”

  Guero’s indignant rage was growing. “And who shows up shortly thereafter? Why? A priest. Old guy. Luisa’s priest. You! Imagine that.”

  “I can’t—”

  Guero gritted his teeth and took another step forwards, but it was obvious now that the church was off limits. He stepped back immediately and growled with rage. “Fine. We’re do
ne here.” He turned towards the Escalade, his bodyguards now walking next to him, one to open the door and the other turning around to make sure he made it safely inside. Guero looked one last time over his shoulder. “And Father?”

  “Yes, Mr. Martinez?”

  “Don’t think that just because I can’t take a stroll up to the door of your glass house, that I can’t find someone—or something—that can.”

  The threat was palpable as it was sinister, but Father Soltera barely heard any of it.

  He was too stunned after seeing the face of the bodyguard who had just turned around.

  It was Felix.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Parker watched as the Impala pulled up and parked. It was two-tone, with the purple fading into a dark blue. The small tires were almost all rims and it had a custom suspension that made the front end higher than the rear, which nearly touched the ground. The chrome was all shiny, and Parker stifled a laugh at the pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror. Some clichés were worth embracing, evidently.

  The man that got out appeared to be in his twenties. He was thin but not skinny, fit but not muscular, with wide shoulders and a thin waist. He also had a swagger about him that Larry, Mo and Curly here didn’t have. Bennie nodded the man’s way, as did Alex. Chico was the first to speak. “Hey, man. These two detectives are looking for Hector Villarosa.”

  Parker smirked. Well played. Now, if this guy was Hector, it was his choice to name it and claim it or—if he wanted to buy time—introduce himself as Juan Valdez or Ricky Ricardo.

  Instead, he looked with hard eyes right at Parker and said, “Well. Looks like it’s your lucky day, guys. That’s me. How can I help?”

  “We have some questions we’d like to ask,” Campos said, stepping into the driveway. Parker noticed that he did not extend his arm for a handshake. Neither did Hector.

  Note to self: in the land of no respect, handshakes will not be granted, Parker thought.

  But sometimes it was good to go with what you knew, and Parker decided that if shaking hands of tribal leaders in small Muslim towns in order to earn their trust and dig for dirt sometimes paid off in Afghanistan, then maybe it could pay off here too.

  Stepping forwards, he brought his hand out. “I’m Detective Parker. This is Detective Campos.”

  Hector looked at his hand warily for a second, then shook it. He looked at Campos and motioned his head towards Parker. “He ain’t from around here, is he?”

  Campos did not reply or smile or look away. Parker was going to have to ask him later just what approach he was using. Everyone on the planet knew the old “good cop, bad cop” routine by now, so that option was out the window, and it was fine to establish authority over a conversation, but Campos was doing it with a very heavy hand.

  “You have someplace we can talk?” Parker asked.

  “What’s wrong with right here?” Hector replied.

  “If here was fine, he wouldn’t have asked,” Campos shot back.

  Now, for the first time, the two of them locked in on one another, as if sizing each other up for real. Hector, only a day or so out of prison, was evidently in no mood to push things, though. He rolled over. “Sure. There’s an office just inside.”

  Alex shifted nervously on the balls of his feet. Looking at Hector he said, “The office is kinda flooded right now. Damn pipe in the bathroom busted again.”

  Looks were passed around quickly between the Hector and his three cohorts that were almost raptor-like. One did not have to be a graduate of Oxford University to know that they did not want them looking around the property. Parker figured it was just like some of the “auto shops” in South Central, where he’d worked patrol for two years. Almost all of them either moonlighted as “chop shops” for stolen cars, usually after hours, or were solely dedicated to that task around the clock.

  “Well. You guys should go inside then, so I can talk with these nice detectives in private,” Hector said before he looked at Parker and then Campos, “Is that okay with you guys?”

  Campos sighed. “Sure. They can all leave if you want. We’re just here to talk to you.”

  Then Hector got cute. “Uhhh . . . on second thought, I dunno, officer. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like at least one of my homies here to stick around.”

  “Why’s that?” Campos asked. He was chewing a piece of gum that Parker had never seen him put in his mouth.

  “Well.” Hector chuckled and shrugged sheepishly. “Ya know. No offense, but sometimes my chats with the police? Words get put in my mouth later and shit. Alex and Bennie? Go. Chico. Stay.”

  Alex turned and walked back into the building, Bennie right behind him. A second later there was a whistle. Whoever else was in there was no doubt starting to help with whatever they were trying to cover up.

  “They was asking how busy we were before you got here,” Chico said calmly.

  Well played, again. Parker took note that Chico was a real calm one. The slick one. He had just coyly warned Hector not to invite them into the office, which was the same as inviting them onto the property, which would technically allow them to look around. Now, he was flagging Hector that that was their intent when they first arrived.

  “We busy today?” Hector asked.

  “Nah,” Chico replied. “Slow. Only a few customers.”

  “You guys have the customers wait in the lobby or something? I’d love to meet them,” Campos asked, officially issuing the first threat of the day.

  Chico looked hard at Campos. There simply was no hiding his hatred. “Nah. We call them when we’re done.”

  Campos sighed. Parker intervened. “Well. If you want Chico here to hang around, that’s fine by me if it’s fine with my partner, but this chat is kind of personal.”

  “I dunno,” Hector said, looking to the ground as if he were mulling it over. Then, looking back up and directly at Campos again, he said, “My lawyer says I should always have a witness around when I talk to you guys, ya know what I’m sayin’?” Parker had to give it to the guy, he had balls. He had just issued an informal threat of his own.

  What was supposed to have been a simple chat with someone who may have issued a hit on his own cousin—Parker knew that sounded ludicrous, but it was true—had somehow turned into a good ol’ fashioned showdown.

  Campos didn’t flinch. “Well. We could always just take you to the station house and ask you there. But then we might have to hold you awhile, ya know, while we wait for your attorney to drive in from his house in the hills or some shit, then, well, my partner and I might need you guys to wait four, maybe five hours while we finish our work in the field before we have time to get back to the station to do the interview and . . .”

  Hector said nothing but was bobbing his chin with frustration now, his jaw clenched as he looked off down the street.

  Again, Parker moved to defuse the situation. “How about you tell your buddy here to just let the three of us have a chat?” This was the best Hector was going to get before shit got ugly, and Parker prayed he would understand that. He did.

  “Okay. Fine. Hit it, Chico. Go do you your thing.” He looked at Parker with a smirk. “Did you just say ‘buddy,’ man? Really?”

  Parker couldn’t help himself, he liked the smirk. Hector wasn’t a dick, he was just a leader. A leader of criminals, yes, which made him a not-so-honorable or worthy-of-following leader, but a leader nonetheless. “In case you didn’t notice, Hector,” Parker said, putting his hands out, “I’m a white boy. We don’t say ‘homie.’”

  Hector laughed. Even Campos smiled slightly.

  Chico now gone, Hector changed his tune. “Okay,” he said to Campos, “what’s this all about?”

  “We wanted to ask you a few questions about your cousin, Hymie.”

  Hector raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? To what end? I mean. Last I heard, nothing was being done about what happened to him. So, my family and me, we’ve had no closure.”

  “Well. We’re trying to fix
that,” Parker chimed in.

  “Good. I mean, you both know I was just released from prison yesterday, right?”

  Parker nodded.

  “I lost a lot of sleep in lockup over what happened to him,” Hector said with a sigh as he looked back out over the city skyline.

  Campos stole a glance at Parker and nodded, motioning him to continue taking the lead.

  “Here’s the thing. We’re trying to get a line on who may have done it.”

  No look of surprise. No hard swallow. Hector’s gaze simply stayed fixed on the city, moving here and there as if he were tracing its outline. “Yeah. I figured you would. Someday.”

  Parker thought he saw a slight tremor of remorse come over Hector’s face, but he could’ve just as easily have imagined that. “If you know anything that can help the investigation, we’d appreciate it.”

  Hector nodded and looked back to Parker. “What do you guys know so far?”

  “We can’t really discuss that.”

  Campos put his hands on his hips. “You know why he was over there—in Koreatown, I mean?”

  Hector shook his head. “Nah. Just . . . I dunno. He was dumb, man. He was trying to impress us.”

  “Us?”

  “The crew.”

  “Why?” Campos said with a squint. “I mean, he was already in.”

  “Yeah. He’d run the row and taken his shots. Still . . .”

  “What?”

  “He’s my cousin. He felt he had to impress people because of it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Hector shrugged. Parker smiled on the inside. There was no way Hector was going to claim leadership of the gang.

  A moment of silence crept by, then Hector finally replied. “He thought he could pop over there, do his thing and score points.”

  “Why over there, though?” Campos mused, his posture passive now, his face quizzical, as if he were including Hector in on the investigation.

  “You know, man. Shit. We doing this for his sake?” Hector asked, tossing his head in Parker’s direction. “I mean, you know how this goes, but maybe white boy don’t? Hymie goes over there, scores some lana in a hold up, there’s not likely to be repercussions. He pulls that shit around here? People gotta balance the books, ya know what I mean?”