Loading...Los Angeles, California, 1992
It’s ironic that LA is known as the City of Angels. Work the streets and you see there is nothing angelic about it. It’s a Gemini; the LA that tourists love, and the LA that cops know. Now Detective Bobby Morgan, a fifteen year vet, worked with seven other officers in the NGH Unit, working cases with three consistent elements; narcotics, gangs and homicide.
Bobby worked South Central LA, where violence, drugs and money seemed to go together. If it wasn’t bodies, it was drugs, if it wasn’t drugs it was gangs. South Central was spiraling out of control. Bobby knew it, every cop in the unit; hell every cop in the department knew that they were chasing their tails half the time.
He worked six days a week and was none too pleased when he got a call ordering him downtown; he played through various scenarios as he waited with the rest of his team in the third floor conference room at the Central Community Police Station.
“Why are we here?” complained Rich, a 20 year vet of the department. “Why the fuck did we have to come down here, and where the fuck is Lieutenant at?”
“Good question,” answered Louis “all I know is if one of you mother fuckers did something to get us in trouble I will shoot you myself. Me and the old lady were supposed to spend the day together and when I told her I got called in she said I wasn’t getting any for a month. That shit is not cool.”
“My guess is someone got caught in a net you know, politician’s kid found dead in the wrong part of town, something like that.” Bobby said, “Now they want us to play TV cops and find the killer and bring him to justice.”
“No, that’s too easy,” Louis insisted, “someone in this room took a bribe from a dope dealer, that’s what happened, and when I find out who it was, I’m whoopin’ their ass, that’s all I have to say.”
“Maybe we’re all on the take Lou, did you ever think of that?” Rich teased.
The door to the conference room swung open and Lieutenant Wallace strode in, shutting the door decisively behind him. He smiled at his team, tossing a file on the table in front of him. “Good you’re all here, we can get started,” he said as he sat down.
“Yo Lieu, I just want to say, whatever the rest of these fools did, you know I didn’t have anything to do with it. If you need me to testify against them, just say the word.”
“Shut up Louis, this is serious.” Wallace opened the file in front of him. “Here’s the situation; in the past two months there have been twelve homicides in South Central that are nearly identical. The victims were all under the age of 21, each was a known dealer, known gang member, and each was shot execution style in the back of the head. Here’s the kicker. Half of the guns used have been found near the victims. The other half were traced by running the bullets through our database. Each weapon used in these murders originated from the Los Angeles Police Department.”
“What the fuck did you say?” Rich said, sitting up.
“Twelve guns, each confiscated in the last year by this department, held in evidence by this department, and are no longer in the custody of this department.”
The guys looked at each other, the severity sinking in. “Lieutenant, are you saying that someone in the LAPD is running confiscated guns back to the streets?”
“The ATF believes this to be the case.”
“Whoa, whoa, the ATF? Who the hell brought in the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms?”
“Chief.” Morgan said bluntly.
The men exchanged looks again, silent thought heavy throughout the room. “Does the ATF suspect someone?”
“No, not at this time.”
“No one in this room is under investigation?”
“Of course not. If you were I’d have personally taken you into custody. That’s not why you’re here.”
“Then why are we here Lieutenant?”
“Because Chief wants each of you to get to know the ATF.”
“Oh no, no, I can see where this is going,” Rich said standing, “this doesn’t have shit to do with getting acquainted or making new friends.”
“You’re absolutely right. Effective immediately, on order from the Chief, each of you will be partnered with an agent from the ATF, so consider yourselves a new task force. They aren’t going away until this issue is resolved, and we figure out who the fuck is putting these guns back out there.”
Bobby stood, “Lieutenant, how is this supposed to work? We’re supposed to partner with a bunch of high horse mother fuckers who don’t know shit about what we do, how we do it, or why? And what do they know about Central? How many times do we get shot at in a given week, hell, a given day? I’m supposed to put my life in the hands of someone I don’t even know? Someone who sits behind a desk all day pushing paper?”
“Let me be clear, in case I wasn’t before,” Morgan said, “no one in this room has a choice, including me. Yes, Morgan, you are expected to work with and entrust your life to a complete stranger. Your every day activities will stay the same, you’ll run down suspects, serve warrants conduct surveillance, and go under when needed. Most importantly, you’ll be using every connection you have to figure out where the hell the guns are coming from.”
“Seems we already know that, they’re coming from the LAPD,” Rich said.
“That’s right, they are coming from the LAPD. Let me ask you this; how will you feel if one of your brothers in this room goes down, and you find out later that the gun that was used to kill him was confiscated by this department, but someone who claims to protect and serve this city, put it in the hands of a killer, because I’ll tell you what, it’s only a matter of time before something like that goes down. Having the ATF onboard provides us with cover; we need an outside agency to be a part of this investigation. No one in the department, with the exception of the Chief and the assistant Chiefs, knows what is going on. The outside story is that this special task force will work to decrease the number of underage shootings, deaths and drug involvement, but we won’t point to any of these cases; unfortunately there are enough underage shootings that we won’t have to. We don’t want to spook the rat, we want to catch him. You cannot discuss this with anyone outside this room.”
“I agree with all of that,” Louis said, “but if I get shot because one of these mother fuckers freezes up, that’s it, I’m shooting somebody’s ass my damn self, and I’m serious about that.”
“Lieutenant when is this investigation supposed to start?” Bobby asked.
“Right now.”
***
“Losing a child is every parent’s worst nightmare. It hurts the family, the community, it hurts our entire city. The Los Angeles Police Department is dedicated to protecting the children of this city. We are dedicated to protecting our children from those who seek to do them harm, from those who work to ensnare our children into a life of drugs or violence…” Bobby hated being paraded in front of the press, yet there he was. Members of NGH stood in a row on one side of the podium, while the agents from the ATF stood in a row on the other side. In the long line of uniformed men, Bobby noticed one petite, dark haired woman towards the end of the row. He recognized her immediately.
Driving through the parking lot at police headquarters just a half an hour before, he’d rushed to an open parking spot, but a dark blue sedan with tinted windows beat him to it. He slammed on the breaks behind the car, and instantly recognized the government license plates. The dark haired woman stepped from the car clad in black stilettos and a black suit. Bobby knew he could be somewhat of a jerk at times, but he didn’t care. He rolled down his window and ripped into her.
***
“Guest parking is around the back!” He shouted.
She turned, expressionless, and seemed to size him up for a moment.
“Whatever happened to interdepartmental cooperation?” she asked.
“Detectives usually park here.”
She scanned the row of cars, “I don’t see a reserved sign.”
“It’s an unwritten understanding sweetheart.”
“Well unwritten understandings aren’t legally binding in this case, so why don’t you part around back.”
“You must be new.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said you must be new to whatever government agency you represent because you still have that bitchy, I am woman hear me roar attitude about you. Girls who have been around don’t talk like that.”
“Girls? Girls? They don’t talk like what? What you mean to say is they swallow your male domination bullshit because we live in a male dominated society, where a man can say, ‘eh bitch, move your car’, and she actually will.”
“Alright, if that’s how you want to look at it fine. So why don’t you move the damn car?”
“Because I’m not a girl, detective, I’m a woman.”
***
“…to announce a new task force, in conjunction with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Fire Arms. Together we will restore safety for our children, free of gang violence, and free from the pressures some may face to sell or use narcotics. We have selected officers from our renowned Narcotics, Gangs and Homicide Unit; some of the best of the best…”
Next came the sensational questions from the press: “Chief, should Los Angeles’ children worry that they will be forced into a life of crime and drug use?” “Chief, did you bring in the ATF because you aren’t confident in your department?” “Chief, when will we see concrete results, if another child dies, is this entire effort for nothing?”
The officers made a beeline for the door as soon as the press conference was over, but now matter how quickly they moved, it was never quick enough.
“Excuse me, Detective Morgan?” Bobby turned around to find a young woman smiling up at him, her hand extended, “My name is Laura Wells, with the Times, I was wondering if you might answer a few questions?”
“Well honey the people you want to talk to are over there,” he said pointing towards the Chief, still at the front of the room.
“But I think you have an interesting take on the situation,” she pressed. “Your daughter attended Carson Elementary, right? Ella Morgan, that’s your daughter?”
“Why don’t you get the fuck outta here?” Rich said bluntly, stepping to Bobby’s side.
“I just wanted to ask Detective Morgan…”
“You’re not asking him shit sweetheart, so take your pen and your paper and your little Sharper Image digital recorder and get the hell outta here, alright?” Rich smiled at her, then grabbed Bobby’s elbow, turning his back to the reporter. “You good?”
He nodded, “I’ll meet you all back upstairs,” and walked from the room.
***
When Bobby came through the double doors of the third floor conference room, the Chief, Lieutenant Morgan, agents from the ATF and the rest of his unit were already inside. Bobby moved to the end of the table and listened with disinterest. He’d learned a long time ago that police Chiefs were nothing more than politicians; they’d long since forgotten what it was like to be outside and on the street, what is was like to have bullets flying all around you, and what it was like to see death, day, after day, after day.
“You missed the best part,” Louis said, edging closer to Bobby, “this mother fucker just finished telling us that those bastards are now considered de facto members of the LAPD. He gave each of them a badge.”
“Great, two badges means twice the ego,” Bobby replied.
The Chief finished his remarks, shook hands with each ATF agent, and left. Lieutenant Wallace stepped to the head of the table.
“This is how it’s going to work. Each LAPD Detective will be partnered with an ATF agent. Each team will get two of the cases to work from. From this moment on we work out of the SCPS in Watts, believe it or not they have room for all of us. We will meet every day at 7:00AM to debrief the previous day and prepare for the day ahead. Now, as for partner assignments. Louis, you’ll be partnered with Agent Williams, Rich, Agent Marcos, Dave, you’ll be with agent Hollins, Mark, Agent Dain, Drew, Agent Thompson, Tim, Agent Hants, Walter, Agent Anderson, Bobby, Agent Davio. I know that this is a unique situation we are all in. But one thing we have in common is that we are all members of law enforcement, and we all want to catch the son of a bitch who’s putting guns on our streets. I requested that each ATF agent assigned to this case be a long time resident of LA to help offset the learning curve. You’re to watch each other’s backs, take care of each other; we’re all here for the same purpose, and there’s no time like the present. So,” he said rubbing his hands together, “find your new partner, grab two of these files and get to it. Any questions? No, well let’s go then.”
Lieutenant Wallace left the room and the Detectives and ATF agents worked to figure out who was who, and which case files they would take on. Bobby watched the row of Agents, seven men and one woman, trying to figure out who Agent Davio was. Just as he’d pegged the taller one for his new partner, he noticed the busty, petite, dark haired woman cross the room directly in his path.
“Which one are you looking for?” he said, trying hard not to think about their first exchange in the parking lot, and equally hard to not focus all of his attention on her soft, pouty lips.
“I’m your new partner. Case Davio, ATF”, she stuck out her hand and he shook it warily, and noticed the guys from his unit stealing glances his way. It would be Bobby’s luck that’d he’d get stuck with the new girl.
***
The ride from downtown to Watts was quiet, and Case could sense that Bobby was silently steaming over his partner assignment. Not knowing him from a can of paint, she opted to wait the silence out. She guessed he was in his forties, probably on the force for more than 15 years, judging by the lines at the corners of his eyes. He was handsome; six foot three or so, brown eyes and a buzz cut. In the end looks didn’t matter; he could be incompetent in his work, or a total ass, which meant the next six months or so could be hell for her, hence, staying quite on the ride to the Watts station.
***
“Is this some kind of fucking joke?” Bobby said, bursting into Lieutenant Wallace’s office.
“Take a breath. Where’s your partner?”
“She is not my partner, she’s not even old enough to be on the force!”
“Where is she Bobby?”
“Inside, probably filing her nails or something. Lieutenant, a girl? Are you serious or is someone crazy? And what the hell kind of a name is Case Davio? It sounds like a stripper; don’t tell me you didn’t notice. Case? Case?”
“Bobby,” Wallace said, his tone stern.
“I can’t ride with her.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Sure I do. I could refuse.”
“Which would get you suspended. And when they ask you why you refused, and you tell them because she is the opposite sex, you’ll lose your badge. You can’t discriminate against her for being a woman.”
“She’s barely four feet tall!”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. Sit down.” Bobby crossed his arms. “I said sit down Robert.” Bobby took the chair across from Wallace’s desk. “Alright now listen to me. There is no way in hell that I would agree to send anyone from my team out there with dead weight. Agent Davio is not a glorified paper pusher. She’s worked field ops for the ATF for six years. Before that she was with the NYPD. She worked narc for three years and was a detective for four before going to the feds. Her files are clean; she’s good at what she does. And for the record it says here that she’s five foot six inches tall.”
“So how long have you known this was coming down?”
“A week.”
“And you didn’t say shit to any of us until now?”
“I was a little busy checking out these agents and pushing back on the Chief’s office for making this move, so yea, I didn’t tell you. And what if I did? This was inevitable. Once Chief made up his mind, that was it. Now you have to take a breath, and not be such as asshole. If you have a shit attitude about this, it isn’t going to work. More importantly, if Agent Davio feels like you’re not treating her like one of the team, or that you’re keeping her out of the loop of this investigation, you know good and well there will be hell to pay, and none of us can afford that. Davio is your partner, so kill all that other stuff. I expect you to make it work, are we clear?”
“Oh yea,” Bobby said standing, “crystal.”
***
Seven weeks had passed at an agonizing pace.
Bobby and Case were responsible for two of the twelve shooting victims; Oscar Vasquez, age 17, and Darren Williams, 15. So far they’d found no connection between the two. In fact, no connections could be made between any of the victims, and Bobby’s patience was wearing thin. They’d interviewed families, friends and teachers, but still nothing connected them beyond the manner of death or the weapons used to do it.
They were driving the streets of Compton while Bobby looked for an informant, hoping to squeeze some information out of him, but in three days of looking, they’d come up empty.
“Stop the car,” Case said suddenly.
“What?”
“I saw something in that alley we just passed, stop the car.”
Bobby pulled to the curb and they got out, walking to the alley between the drycleaners and the pay day loan office. Halfway down was a man, holding a woman by the throat, screaming at her as she coughed and gasped for air. Bobby drew his gun and they rushed forward.
“LAPD! Let her go and step back!” he shouted as they moved closer. The man looked up, shocked, and then dropped his hand from the woman’s throat, his arms up. “Step away from her!” he yelled again.
The man took two steps back as Bobby and Case closed in, then turned and bolted in the other direction.
“Shit!” Bobby said, holstering his gun.
“I got it!” Case yelled and shot after him.
“Davio!” Bobby shouted, but it was too late, in a matter of seconds she was out of his sight. He took off running, passing the victim; “stay right here!” he yelled as he ran out of the alley. He could see Case ahead by about thirty yards, the suspect another twenty or so, and the pursuit was on; down Central avenue, across 103rd street, south on Wilmington, then over to 105th street before cutting down Juniper. Bobby’s lungs were burning, but he kept his tread steady, his eyes on Agent Davio’s back. As she and the suspect rounded a corner about fifty yards ahead of him, Bobby heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. His mind froze while his body kicked into overdrive, and he sprinted around the corner. Agent Davio was on the ground, the suspect was on top of her. She had one arm linked in a tight half-nelson, the other wrapped forcefully around the man’s throat as he struggled to get free; a handgun about five feet away. Bobby pulled his gun and pointed it at the suspect.
“Don’t you fucking move!” He looked at Davio, her face bloody, “are you hit?”
She shook her head, out of breath, and with a new wave of energy, flipped the suspect onto his stomach, and pulled handcuffs from her belt, securing them around his wrists before falling back against the nearest wall.
Bobby grabbed the man by the shirt and pulled him to his feet, pushing him against a dumpster.
“Yo that bitch is crazy man, she tried to choke the shit outta me, man, she kicked me in my fucking nuts!”
“What bitch would that be?” Bobby asked.
“That bitch right there!” he yelled.
“Oh her? That’s no bitch man, that’s my partner; did you try and shoot my partner?”
“I ain’t saying shit, I want a lawyer!”
“I bet the hell you do.” He looked over at Case, “what happened to your forehead?”
“Elbow,” she huffed, motioning to the man. She pulled out her cell phone and called dispatch for backup.
“That’s assaulting an officer, as if attempting to kill her wasn’t bad enough, boy you’ve gotten yourself into some shit!” Sirens echoed nearby. Bobby patted the man down, checking for weapons, and pulled a wallet from his back pocket. “Julio Rodriguez,” he said reading the name on the ID card. “You hear those sirens Julio, they’re coming to give you your own special escort to county jail, you lucky bastard.”
“I didn’t do anything man!”
Three squad cars pulled into the alley and screeched to a halt. “I need a first aid kit!” Bobby yelled. Two officers came forward and took the suspect, while a third rushed over with a first aid kit.
Bobby bent down in front of Case, who was holding her hand against her forehead, opened the kit and grabbed the largest gauze pads he could find. “Let me see,” he said. She took her hand away and bright red blood streamed down her cheek. He pushed the hair from her face and held the bandage against the cut.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“Bullshit, we’re taking you to get checked out.”
“It’s a scratch,” she said.
“Well your scratch might need stitches. I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No, no ambulance, that’s too much.”
“Alright, I’ll take you myself.”
***
Lieutenant Wallace and Bobby stood in the exam room with Case while the doctor applied adhesive stitching to her cut.
“We’re going to run a CT and an x-ray, just to be certain there’s not internal cranial damage,” the doctor said, taping a bandage in place, “I promise you’re at the front of the line, we’ll get you in and out as quick as we can. In the mean time, take this,” she said handing her a small white cup and a second cup with water, “I suspect you’re going to have a very bad headache. Don’t worry, I’ll get you a prescription.”
Wallace sighed and shook his head, “we’re glad you’re alright Agent Davio. Can you tell me what happened when you caught up to the suspect?”
“He was ahead of me, ran into an alley. By the time I caught up to him he had the gun drawn, he fired; I dropped to sweep his feet. He went down, the gun fell out of his hand, and he elbowed me. It happened pretty quickly.”
“Where was your partner?” Wallace asked.
“He was right behind me.”
“That’s not true,” Bobby said as Lieutenant Wallace turned to look at him. “She was well ahead of me. When I got into the alley she had the suspect subdued.”
“How did you manage that?” Wallace said, turning back to Case.
“With respect sir, I stomped on his testicles and then put him in a hold.”
Wallace smiled, “I see. Are things working out with you and Detective Morgan?”
“I disagree that Detective Morgan was more than 20 feet behind me during the pursuit. As soon as I went down, my partner was there to back me up.”
“Good,” Wallace said. ‘Well I have some good news for the both of you. The two of you managed to find the needle in the haystack. The gun you retrieved from Mr. Rodriguez was previously confiscated by the Los Angeles Police Department.”
The partners exchanged looks. “When can we question him?” Bobby asked.
***
The Doctor had been right; Case had a screaming headache by the time she and her partner left the ER and headed back to Watts to talk to Julio Rodriguez. She sat with her head against the seat and her eyes closed.
“You should have let me take the suspect,” Bobby said.
She didn’t bother to open her eyes, “why because I’m a girl?”
He sighed impatiently, “because you are of a smaller stature.”
“Because I’m a girl,” her tone matter of fact.
“I’m not saying you can’t do the job.”
“But you didn’t want to be partnered with me because I’m a girl, right? Worried that I might be too concerned with breaking a nail, I might avoid actually doing my job because of it.”
Bobby winced. “How did you know that?”
“I didn’t…but I do now.”
“Look,” he said, “I’ll admit that I am probably old fashioned with my thinking. Girls are not as physically strong as boys. Plus there’s the whole protective factor.”
“And what is that?”
“Men can tend to feel and act protective of their female partner.”
“You never felt protective over a male partner?”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Well why not. He’s a cop, I’m a cop, what’s the difference?”
“You’re a girl.”
“I give up,” she said.
“Women are distracting by nature.”
“How do you figure that?”
“It’s the ass, the breasts, poofy lips, hair that smells like some kinda berry. You walk by and men forget their names.”
“Well then men should learn to control themselves and not look at women as pure sex objects, which is clearly what you’re doing. I didn’t realize you were such a sexist.”
“I’m not sexist. I know you can do the job. I’m just saying that others around you might not be able to.”
“Right, because the ways a bullet proof vest fits me is just so sexy!” she said in a dramatic whisper.
“Oh hush it. Then, if it’s not feeling protective it’s…You know…partners of the opposite sex fuck up and wind up in the sack together. After that, your judgment is completely shot.”
“Are you saying you want to sleep with me Detective Morgan?”
“Of course not! I’m saying I’ve seen it happen, that’s all. Besides, you’re not my type.”
“Why not?”
“Federal agents tend to repulse me.” Case burst out laughing while Bobby smiled.
***
“Julio!” Bobby exclaimed as they entered the interrogation room. “Long time no see man, how are you? Are they treating you okay in here? Do you have everything you need? If you’re feeling lucky, really luck Julio, we’ll give you some KY and let you roll the dice and take your chances.”
“Fuck you,” Julio said.
“No, it’s actually fuck you; you’re the one going to prison.”
“I already told you I don’t want to talk to you.”
“You don’t? I don’t remember you saying that, Agent Davio, do you remember Julio saying he didn’t want to talk to us?”
“I sure don’t.”
“Fuck you punta I said I want a lawyer!”
“Are you sure about that?” Bobby said. “You stop talking to us now, and you’re guaranteed to get the needle.”
“What the fuck are you talking about man, you’re trippin!”
“I know you didn’t get an opportunity to talk with my partner before, after all you were too busy trying to shoot her in the face, but I really think you should listen to what she has to say. I want you to listen close, and if you need me to take notes for you, just let me know. Agent Davio?”
“Thank you, Detective,” Case said, sitting across from the suspect. “Here’s the situation Julio. First of all you have assault and domestic violence charges against you for choking your girlfriend Veronica. Then you have the assault of a police officer, compounded by the fact that I am a federal agent, which is further compounded by the fact you tried to shoot me in the head. Then we have the gun. Julio, the gun we took off of you today is linked to twelve murders.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“Am I? Well, this is where we come to an interesting point, Julio. The gun was in your possession, so that makes it yours. That means that you, better than anyone, would know that it has been used in twelve murders. I wonder if you can get consecutive death sentences for that?”
“I already told you, I didn’t kill nobody!”
“But it’s your gun Julio.”
“That shit ain’t mine!”
“Oh?” Case said, sitting up, “it’s not yours? Whose gun is it, Julio?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Well, if you don’t tell us, we have to go with the assumption that it’s yours.”
Julio was quiet while he searched for an answer. “The gun ain’t mine. I ain’t never killed nobody and you can’t prove I did.”
“Yes we can Julio, we can. See, funny thing about how small the world is, how we’re all linked together in some way. We’ve already found out your connection.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“What’s your girlfriend’s name again, I forgot.” Bobby said.
“Veronica.”
“Veronica what?”
“Veronica Vasquez.”
“That’s it! Vasquez! Does she have a brother, Julio?”
“I didn’t kill him!”
“Kill who?”
“Oscar, her brother! I didn’t kill him!”
“That’s not what the gun says.”
“I wasn’t even there, I swear to god, I wasn’t there when it happened I was at home with my lady! Tyrone shot Oscar, not me! I swear to god!”
“Tyrone who?”
“The fuck if I know! Tyrone Anderson, I think. He did it, he had to!”
Case and Bobby exchanged a quick glance; Tyrone Anderson was one of the 12 dead on their list.
“Why?” she asked.
“I…I can’t fucking tell you! If I tell you he’ll kill me, he’ll kill my family!”
“Who?” Case pressed, but it was too late, Julio clammed up. “Julio, if you don’t talk to us, you’re taking the wrap.” He stared down at the table in front of him, crying…and saying nothing.
***
The next morning Case headed to the Vasquez home solo; Bobby would meet her there.
She sat in front of the house, thinking back to the alley…the crack of the gun firing, the bullet close enough to warm her head as it whizzed by… blood in her eyes, the taste of it on her tongue. She rubbed her head gingerly, then got out of the car.
“Agent Davio!” came a voice from across the street. Case squinted in the bright California sunshine; a young woman was headed right for her. “Agent Davio, I’m so glad to have finally caught up with you! My name is Laura Wells, from the LA Times? I understand the task force had made some headway in recent days and would like to get an idea of what that is.”
“You’ll have to go through downtown to get that information, sorry.”
“Oh I’ve already done that. I’m interested in talking to you about your partner, Robert Morgan? I can only imagine how passionate he must be about protecting children from unnecessary gun violence.”
“We’re all passionate about it, that’s why we do what we do, now if you’ll excuse me…”
“But to lose his entire family the way that he did, I mean, your wife walks your daughter to school in the morning and in a matter of minutes they’re both killed? It’s been three years, I know, but how does he handle it from day to day?”
Case stopped walking and faced the reporter, stoic.
“I’m sure you two talk about what happened right, since you’re partners? This new taskforce must be close to his heart.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Three years ago Detective Morgan’s wife and daughter were killed in a random drive-by shooting outside her elementary school; seven were killed, fifteen injured. Most of the officers in the department responded, including his unit. His wife was dead when he arrived; his daughter died a short time later. I’m sorry, I was sure you’d have heard about this by now, given the nature of your assignment. Do you think his emotions negatively impact his ability to work in the field?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Is that on the record?”
“No. Look, I am very busy, you need to go now.”
Case looked up just as Bobby pulled in. He got out of his car and walked purposefully to Laura. “What are you doing here?”
“Detective Morgan, how good to see you. I was wondering if you’re ready to go on record about this investigation and your personal ties to gun violence?”
As Bobby moved closer Case stepped between them, facing Laura. “Get out of here,” she said, her tempter rising. She pointed to the car across the street, “go, right now!”
“This is a public sidewalk; I’m not breaking the law.” Case was incensed and grabbed Laura by the front of her blouse.
“If you don’t get the fuck out of here right now I am personally going to arrest you for interfering with a federal investigation, do you understand me?”
“The people have a right to know…”
“The people don’t have a right to know shit about this man and his family! All they need to know is that we are doing our jobs, now so help me God if you utter one more fucking syllable out of your mouth, you’re going to jail.” Case let go of the shirt and pushed her back, pointing to the car again. Laura looked from Bobby to Case and then hurried back across the street, getting into her car.
Case looked at her partner, in shock. “Bobby…”
“Where’s your cell phone?”
“What, it’s in the car, why?”
“Wallace just called; he needs us back at the station ASAP.”
“What’s going on?”
“Julio Rodriguez wants to talk to us.”
***
When Case and Bobby left the interrogation room for the second time in less than 24 hours, they could sense they were getting closer and the 19 member team huddled into the precinct conference room.
Bobby rapped his knuckles on he table. “Alright, team. As you know Agent Davio here apprehended Julio Rodriguez yesterday in the midst of a DV spat. Julio had a gun, which was traced back to this department. Julio’s girlfriend is the sister of our vic Vasquez, so for the first time in two months we have a connection between two of our vics. In questioning Julio, we also find a connection between Vasquez and our vic Tyrone Anderson. According to Julio, Anderson is the one who shot Vasquez.”
“Then who shot Anderson?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“So what’s the common denominator?” Rich asked.
“According to Julio, both Williams and Vasquez ran small time dope and weed for a big time player. Everyone in the NGH Unit already knows him, but for our new friends from the ATF, meet Caesar Green, aka, the King,” Bobby held up a large color photo before passing it off for everyone to look at. “This is one of the biggest dope runners LA has ever seen, and his network is tangled, thick and complicated. This man has been up for murder at least three times, and gotten off, not to mention possession with intent to sell. At least 75 percent of the dope dealers you’ll find in South Central work for this man right here, and we’ve tried everything to catch him; tailing, surveillance, bugs, UC’s, you name it. But the man is unfortunately smart; we’ve come close, but close isn’t close enough.”
“So what do we have now, anything?”
“One of our vics, Raymond Martin, aka lil Ray-Ray found out that Caesar had a second, unknown operation, running guns over the border into Mexico, and that the cash from these deals was being held in a self-storage facility. Ray-Ray, being the brilliant criminal mind that he was, decided to bring a few of the fellas in on his plan to rob Caesar of the cash, which was rumored to be at least two million dollars.”
“Caesar was keeping two million dollars cash in a self-storage?” Louis said.
“That was the word circulating through the crew. Ray-Ray tried to recruit a team to carry out the theft and of course, someone ratted him out to Caesar. That’s when the bodies started piling up. Anyone in the crew who hung with Ray-Ray met an untimely death via two to the back of the head. According to Julio, Caesar made sure the hits were spaced out, in different parts of the city, so that there wouldn’t be an immediate connection.”
“Does he know where the guns came from?” Louis asked.
“They came from LAPD, but Julio has never seen a cop at the Lab.”
“I’m sorry, what’s the Lab?” Case asked.
“The Lab is a large apartment complex in Inglewood. Just about everyone who lives there works for the King. Either that or they do what he wants based purely off of intimidation and fear. Getting in untraced is virtually impossible and exactly the reason why we tend to stay away.”
Lieutenant Wallace came into the conference room, moving to the front of the table. “We may have stayed away before, but not now. We have a warrant to go in and get the King.”
The room was quiet. “Lieutenant, obviously we want to take this guy down, but what about the cop?” Case asked.
“We have a suspect,” Wallace said. “Jeremy Stevens, twenty years in the department.”
“I thought we checked him already?” One of the ATF agents asked.
“We did, and we found nothing. One of his responsibilities is to make sure that all confiscated weapons are destroyed at the end of each quarter. His records were absolutely infallible. After looking at him we were convinced the guns were stolen before moving to the warehouse.”
“What’s changed?”
“His brother,” Wallace said. “Jeffrey Stevens is in charge of special ops. They run training operations in conjunction with Mexico’s border patrol. Both brothers have houses in Mexico. We also ran the GPS on his patrol car. Now, it never goes near the Lab, but it’s been all over la Bodega.”
“What’s la Bodega?”
“It’s a restaurant of sorts, in Inglewood.”
“Right, and la Bodega is owned by a woman named Martina Espinoza. Martina has a brother named Caesar Green.”
***
Ten unmarked police cars pulled onto a side street two blocks from the Lab and the group made the rest of the trip on foot. They approached the building from behind, surrounding it. Case and Bobby crouched at the back entrance and waited.
“It doesn’t even look inhabitable,” she whispered.
“You should see the inside. The owner abandoned this place a long time ago, but the King keeps the lights on, and collects the rent.”
“How thoughtful.”
“He keeps the prices low, so those who are struggling the most will move in and have to bend to his will. We won’t be able to tell who’s who once we get in there; everyone is a part of his crew.”
“Teams move in,” came a quiet voice through their earpieces.
They pushed the door open and quietly, slowly stepped into the darkened building with six other officers, and immediately branched out, two by two.
“Have you been in here before?” Case whispered.
Bobby nodded and she moved behind him, ready to follow his lead. The building was unusually quiet, and there was no one in sight. They stepped into the massive lobby, looking at the floors above; no signs of people anywhere. As they crept along the perimeter of the room, all hell broke loose. Bullets rained down like a hail storm, ricocheting off the ground around them. Case instinctively jumped back into the shadows and looked for her partner. He was still exposed, lying on the ground.
“Bobby!” she screamed in horror, grabbing her radio from her vest. “Officer down, officer down, officer down on the first floor, officer needs assistance, first floor!” She could hear voices yelling from all sides, and the gunfire increased three-fold; Bobby was at the center of it. Case watched in horror as a bullet hit his thigh. She knew that in a matter of seconds he would be dead, and if she moved from where she was, she would die too. She ran to her partner and grabbed his vest with one hand and kept going. They made it about ten feet before a bullet ripped through her shoulder and she fell face first, still gripping Bobby’s vest. Case pulled herself up and continued running.
She dragged him back through the building and out the back door, then squatted over him, her glock nine trained on the door from which they’d come. She grabbed her radio again. “Officer down, officer down, we’re at the rear of the Lab, I repeat, Officer down, we are at the back of the building, fucking hurry up!” She dropped the radio and looked at Bobby, his eyes were closed. She reached one hand down and felt his neck; he had a pulse. Sirens got louder and louder as dozens of officers converged on the Lab, and Rich and Louis burst through the back door, collapsing next to her. They took one look at Bobby and grabbed him, lifting him off the ground and ran to the street just as an ambulance turned the corner. They continued running, and the ambulance driver slammed on the breaks as they met halfway down the block. EMT’s jumped from their rig and Louis and Rich dragged Bobby into the ambulance and set him on the stretcher.
***
Case refused overnight admittance to the hospital. She’d been lucky; the bullet that hit her shoulder went in the back and exited the front. They’d wrapped and bandaged her shoulder and put her arm in a sling. Besides feeling like someone had tried to rip her arm off, her only focus was her partner, Bobby. She sat in the waiting room flanked by ATF agents and LAPD officers, Lieutenant Wallace and other members of the top brass. Rich sat next to her, his arm protectively around her, while officers continued to pour in from all corners of the city, concerned about one of their own. She let the tears fall freely whenever they came, and didn’t care what anyone thought…all she could think about was Bobby, shot three times, now in the hands of surgeons who worked to save his life.
Three hours later, the doctors came into the waiting room, and approached Wallace and the Chief. Case struggled to her feet and hurried over with Rich and other members of the squad.
“…a wound through his vest. We retrieved all of the bullets, and thankfully there was little internal damage. He suffered a lot of blood loss, but I think we can safely say he is going to pull through. Does he have family here to see him?”
“Me,” Case said.
Wallace nodded and the doctor smiled, “he’s resting now, I’ll take you down to see him.”
***
Case was relieved to see Bobby was breathing on his own. He had wires hooked to his chest, and the rhythmic beeping from the nearby machines signaled his steady heartbeat. She moved to the side of the bed and stared at him for a long time, watching his chest rise and fall. He looked peaceful. She took his limp hand in hers and rubbed it softly.
His head turned slowly towards her, his eyes still closed. “Ella bella,” he mumbled, “don’t cry Ella bella, daddy is alright, okay?”
Ella, his daughter.
She sat in the chair next to him, still holding his hand. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I…I love you too.”
***
Bobby left the hospital after two weeks. Case had taken time off from her post with the ATF and made it her business to take care of her former partner.
The press had spent days camped first outside the hospital, and then his house, waiting to see the LA detective who risked his life to apprehend a notorious drug lord and two dirty cops, but in recent days the news trucks had gone, and things were quiet again.
Wednesday morning she walked up the steps to his house as she’d done every morning, around the side and to the back door, unlocking it with the key he kept under a large plant. She was startled at the sight of him in the kitchen, and nearly dropped the bag of groceries she’d brought along.
“Jesus Christ!” She said, “what are you doing up so early?”
“Waiting for you. I’ve been waiting for you all night, actually.”
“Why didn’t you just call me? What happened?” she asked, alarmed.
He shook his head, “It’s alright, it’s nothing bad. Rich was here last night.”
“Oh?” She set the bag of groceries on the counter as he moved towards her.
“He told me what happened.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled. His eyes were drilling into her, his imposing frame just inches from hers; she looked at him in anticipation. He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, and her heart beat faster.
“That night, at the Lab.” He took her hand in his and squeezed tightly, “you saved my life, right? You got me out of there.” She cleared the lump in her throat, and nodded as her eyes brimmed with fresh tears. “I remember hearing you call for help, “he said, “and then…nothing. When I felt that bullet hit me, the first one, the only thing I could think about was my daughter…and my wife…I kept thinking, ‘so this is how it is…this is what it’s like to get shot, and die’.
“That was the worst day of my life,” he said, staring blankly out the window. “I was calling the house, hoping against hope that for some reason they were still there, running late…maybe Ella couldn’t find her gloves, or was taking her time getting ready…she used to do that sometimes. The first thing I saw was her shoes, and her striped socks, spattered with blood, her body limp in the ambulance. My wife, Deborah was in front of the school, shot three times in the chest by a semi-automatic…her family buried her in Montana, even though I wanted her here…worst day of my life. Sometimes I think I see her…Ella. But that night, after the Lab, I could feel her, I could smell her, and I thought, well, if I die, at least I can be with her.” Tears slipped down his cheeks.
“You said her name,” Case whispered, and he turned to her, surprised. “In the hospital. You said, ‘Ella bella’…and you told her that you were going to be alright.”
“Ella bella,” he repeated, looking out the window again, “daddy loves you.”
“I’m so sorry Bobby.”
He closed his eyes. “It was the closest I’ve felt to her since…since that day.”
Case was overcome with intense emotion and her body shook with sobs. “I…I’m so sorry, I…I moved behind you, if I hadn’t done that…”
“If you hadn’t moved behind me, you’d be dead. You know it, and I know it.” He kissed her forehead, “You did the right thing…you did the right thing,” tears filled his eyes, “and you saved my life.” His warm, muscular arms wrapped around her with ease, and she couldn’t stop herself from resting her head against his chest. “You know what?” he finally said, his voice husky. Case looked up at him looking down at her. “I can smell your damn shampoo.”
“What does it smell like?” Her voice was soft, and she anticipated his answer with tempered, blissful, dread.
He smiled, “Berries,” then lowered his head, pausing for just a moment, and kissed her gently on the lips. “I’ve been wanting to kiss those lips since I met you in the parking lot.”
“I thought you hated me, because I’m a girl.” “Naaah, I don’t hate you…I might be falling for you though, that’s for sure,” he kissed her again, his arms tight around her.
It was as if her entire body shattered into a million pieces, and then melted like warm chocolate dripped between her thighs. The passion was instant, exploding from deep within. He could feel her plump, round breasts pressing against his broad chest and he needed to be closer.
He pushed the groceries aside and lifted her onto the counter, ignoring the twinge of pain in his gut, moved between her knees, his hands sliding up the inside of each thigh, around to her firm ass, cupping it and pulling her to him. She tasted utterly exquisite and the lust he felt was excruciating; their warm, wet tongues played together until they were both out of breath.
“God you’re beautiful,” he gasped and kissed her again, unzipping her sweatshirt.
“I thought you said this wasn’t a good idea…partners crossing the line.”
“We’re not partners anymore, remember? Our investigation is over.”
He smothered her face with moist, soft kisses and carefully pulled her sweatshirt down her arms, taking care with her left shoulder, still bandaged, tender and bruised. He kissed her there, and then moved to her neck, his tongue exploring her flesh hungrily. He slid her tank top off, and then unclasped her pink lace bra, freeing her plentiful breast his hands enveloping them, rubbing, enticing each nipple to harden for him, so his tongue could play with each as she gasped and moaned.
She lay back on the counter while he pulled off her sweats and panties, wasting no time exploring the thick curls between her thighs. She sat up, pushing his shorts down his hips, his cock erect, longing for her touch, longing to feel her stroke. She didn’t disappoint, wrapping one petite hand around his shaft wile their lips locked together once more, his hand still between her legs, his fingers prodding deeper.
“Your doctor…told you…mmm…not to exert your…self.”
“Shh, baby,” his mouth on hers. Smooth, sexy legs around his waist, desire in her eyes, he craved it…his fingers came out, she edged closer, her soft hand around his manhood, pulling, pushing, pulling, pushing. His cock was hot, and so hard that it ached…her pussy, swollen with want, glistened with the milky flow of anticipation, imagination, reaction…the otherwise constant pain in his shoulder, abdomen and thigh had gone, and he closed his eyes and held his breath at the sensation of her cunt around his cock as he entered her.
Her lips, oh those lips were like nothing else, his hands explored, feeling each muscle work beneath her skin, in awe of her fragility…her hair like satin slipping between his fingers until he held on, gripping tighter as she gasped at each thrust his shaft made, her hips rocking powerfully against him, he pulled at her thighs, lifting her, impaling her with his hot, heavy cock while she cried out in pleasure, her arms tight around his neck.
Her sex was absolutely celestial, the way it gripped him like a wet, warm peach, her nectar burst, dripping…he was at a boiling point and dropped to the cool tiled floor until she was on top of him, and he watched her as she moved, as her hands, unable to be still, roamed over her belly, between her legs, up and over each flawless breast, her head fell back, eyes squeezed closed, grunting, panting, gasping, begging. He held her hips, lifting his own off of the floor and watched her cum again, her pelvis squeezing all of him, hips shuddering, and he could no longer hold back, pulling her down to him, holding her tight as his cock erupted once, twice, three times.
His body felt limp, his arms weakened their hold on her and he exhaled one long, shaky breath. She moved slowly, her lips against his chest, moistened with sweat. She moved to his mouth, her tongue wickedly tracing his lips before slinking between them and tormenting his.
Case pulled herself away, lying on the floor next to him, shivering against the cold tiles. “I thought federal agents repulsed you,” she said, smiling.
“I lied,” he laughed, then rolled to his side, his fingers skimming her face.
“Are you alright, are you hurting at all?”
“Are you kidding? This is the best physical therapy a person could ask for,” he bent closer and kissed her, “I want to know what you taste like,” he whispered, his tongue sliding down her neck, over and around her breasts, teasing her nipples…down her belly, his hands pulling her thighs apart…she resisted, but only for a moment. He hoisted her thighs onto his shoulders and lost no time delving into her flesh with his lips, his tongue. Her palms slapped the floor as she pursed her lips, simply overcome by his onslaught of pleasure…pure, sexual bliss…she could not keep quiet, did not want to keep quiet, rather she let herself gasp his name, let herself shriek in pleasure, let herself giggle uncontrollably as she came in his mouth.
He stood suddenly, pulling her to her feet, and before she could object he lifted her in his arms, carrying her from the kitchen.
‘What are you doing?”
“Taking you to my bed.”
“Put me down, your leg…”
“My leg is fine,” he said, pushing the bedroom door open with his shoulder, and placing her on the bed before lying on top of her, “is your shoulder alright?”
“It’s alright,” she said as their lips collided once more.
“Roll over,” he whispered, and she granted his request quickly. He ran his hand over her ass, then moved over her, bracing himself on his elbows, “spread your legs,” he whispered, and when she had, he thrust himself inside of her, thrilled at the experience. Bobby wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her to her knees where he started with long, slow, sensual thrusts, before he moved quicker, his passes shorter each time. Without thought he grabbed her hair and pulled hard, leaving his hand tangled in her curls while he thrust harder, harder, and harder still.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped, “don’t stop, oh, yes, yes, harder Bobby, harder!” He buried into her, sweat dripping from his forehead and onto her back and he felt his cock swell until he could hold back no more, and came hard as she screamed into the mattress and he collapsed on top of her.
He put his lips against her ear. “You’re under arrest,” he said as she laughed out loud.
“For what?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet, but when I do, I’ll let you know.”