Danny had found his gun, one of those sleek plastic numbers with about a hundred bullets in the clip. Legally, civilians could only buy a 16-round magazine in California, but Danny's pieces were always off-market, untraceable, and street lethal. He was holding it tenderly, like it was his girl's tit. "You know where this place is?"
"Yeah." I didn't tell him that I knew where a lot of the garbage dumps were around Los Angeles, or why I knew. My father had been a garbage man for the city. The father who never was around much, never came to my games or got on the phone to tell me he liked what I'd done.
When I was a teenager I'd go to the city depot where the garbage trucks were, trying to catch a glimpse of him. But the trucks were always out real early in the morning, and by the time I'd get there after school and practice, he'd be gone. A few times I cut class and rode the buses for hours to the various dumps, hoping to see him when they came to drop off their loads. It took me a while to realize each truck didn't always go to the dumps, that some of them unloaded into larger trash-hauling trucks that drove out to the sites.
The one thing I got from my dad was a talent for womanizing. But it ain't like he taught me that at his knee. I only heard about him and his other women from my fucked-up Uncle Nate when he was sipping on some Canadian Club, eating up my mother's grub.
The two of us went downstairs. We had to do something with the body of the chump Danny had killed. After all, he was dressed and ready for burial.
"Man, we gotta jet," Danny screamed, "we gotta save Nap."
"Be cool, Danny, we don't want to raise no ruckus right now. We just lucky y'all's play period didn't get the cops swoopin' down here. They ain't gonna kill Nap right off. They want him alive, they want to teach him a lesson."
"Why you say that?"
"Chekka needs the club."
"He can get some refugee Polack motherfuckah to run the joint."
"No, that would be too obvious. Come on, we got to move the body." I wasn't sure I was telling the truth, but I wanted to make sure Danny was on point and not trippin'. Last thing I needed now was to be hauling around this dead white boy in my car with home-boy looking to bust a cap on the next mother from Herzegovina he thought might have snatched his big brah.
There was no choice but to stick the corpse in the back of my Explorer. Good thing the rear side and hatch windows were tinted. I backed down the driveway as Danny unlocked the gate. Inside the guesthouse we sandwiched the dude in some blue plastic tarp I found in the toolshed. Then I wrapped a couple of oily rags and some duct tape from the shed around his head. Good thing it was a weekday so most people were off to work. We carried the dude into my ride, me hoping to hell this sucker didn't leak on my carpet.
I pulled out. Danny locked up the house and gate. Everything looked normal enough on the outside. I got to the 101 freeway, taking it north over the hill. Danny was on pins in the seat next to me, his gun under the front seat. I made him put it there; otherwise he was gonna keep it in his waistband. I swear, these young punks don't know anything but the shit they see on cable and CD covers. He was going to blow his nuts off before we got to North Hollywood.
I took Hollywood Way and kept going north. Every once in a while, I'd look back to see if our passenger was bleeding. Wouldn't you know it, just as I was heading past the Burbank Airport a cop car pulled in behind me.
"Damn," Danny said, reaching down to mess with the piece.
"Keep your goddamn hands in your goddamn lap. Don't do anything to make them pull us over. Especially no eye rollin'."
"Ain't got to do anything 'cept DWB."
"We got a dead man in here, remember?"
I kept below the speed limit and the cops pulled alongside us at a stoplight. The one riding shotgun pointed for me to roll down my window. Danny was mumbling but I didn't want to listen to his jive.
"Zelmont Raines, right?" He was older than the one at the wheel.
"Yeah," I said grinning like I was one of the goofy Wayans brothers. "How's it going?"
"You were playing overseas, weren't you?"
"That's right," praying for the light to change. "Had to come back and try my luck with the Barons, you know how it is." Danny said something under his breath again, and I wanted to kick him in the nuts to be quiet. The cop was nodding as if that covered anything else he might want to ask. The light finally turned green and I waited for the blues to take off. But of course this dude had to have something to tell his pals back at the station.
Finally he said, "Would you mind signing an autograph? My boy is playing ball in high school."
He asked it the way cops always do, with that tone that said, "Look, asswipe, I can make it hard for you if you don't volunteer and do this." Just like a coach.
"Sure." What the fuck could I do?
Danny looked like he was going to have a fit, but I chilled him with a stone stare. I pulled to the curb, the cruiser slipping in behind me. Cars and trucks went by us like everything was normal. I got out, smiling for the cameras.
"I really appreciate this." He had his notepad opened to a blank page. For a second, I freaked, thinking maybe this was a trap 'cause I hadn't paid my child support. As if having a dead body less than ten feet from a member of the LAPD wasn't enough to get shitless about. "Make it to Jeremy, okay?"
"Hey, I'm just glad somebody remembers me." Like I knew he would, he couldn't help but give my ride the once-over while I struggled to spell his kid's name. "Two `E's, right?"
"Yes."
It seemed like he looked at the tinted windows a little too long. What if like in one of those horror films the dude we thought was dead suddenly came to life? We were standing near the front windows, and he naturally settled on Danny, a young brother whose profile he's probably seen in one bulletin or another.
"There you go." I was going to offer an explanation on where we were going but decided that would sound wrong.
He tapped the pad against his open palm, like he was trying to decide something. I might be able to hit him, take his piece, then what? Have the law chase my sorry ass down the highway like Rodney King? Only they'd shoot me rather than waste time beating me.
He looked narrow-eyed at the rear of the truck, then back at his partner, who held his fingers up from the steering wheel as if to say, well?
"Thanks for the autograph." He stuck out his hand.
I shook it and grinned like a thief making off with the farmer's prize rooster. When I climbed back into the ride I could feel Danny's hostility That boy was wound too goddamn tight, and it was gonna be a problem sooner rather than later. As I remembered, there was a side street before you got onto the rise to Verdugo Mountain Park. I took it, and there was no mistaking where we were.
"Aw, motherfuck," Danny swore. "This is some rank shit, man.
"It's a county dump, what'd you expect?" A few big haulers were going up a hill off to the right. A couple of Stadanko's blue and silver Shindar trucks were among them.
"He must have some kind of plant or something around here," I said out loud.
"Yeah?" Danny said, bringing his T-shirt up over his nose.
"Yeah, Stadanko, hauls solid waste, toxic shit, and lard from restaurants here. He would have to have a place where they pump that crap out and it's converted'rendered,' I think they call it."
"You a garbage-studyin' motherfuckah, ain't you?" He pointed. "On the other side of the hill is where they dump the garbage?"
"Yeah, biggest pit of nothing you'll ever see." I saw a side road to my left and took it. The path led down to an area where there were a couple of regular garbage trucks and some cars parked near several low buildings. Nearby, I could hear traffic racing by on the Golden State Freeway.