He picked up the phone, and dialed Tommy’s number.
43
Stanton stopped at the mechanic’s shop and parked near the front next to a minivan. The shop was dingy and stunk of grease and the exterior looked like an abandoned gas station. He asked the cashier at the front for Louis and then sat on a fake leather couch and flipped through an issue of Time.
“Johnny!”
Stanton smiled and stood up as Louis hugged him and slapped his back. He’d gained weight and was now at least fifty pounds heavier than when Stanton last saw him, and he was tipping the scales even then.
“How are ya, Louis?”
“Good man, what’s up wit you?”
“Nothing much. Same old same old.”
“Yeah? How’s Melissa and your boys.”
“Fine. But we’re divorcing.”
“No shit? Ah, I’m sorry brother. What happened? You two seemed like you was perfect.”
“It was an act, I guess. Not from my end of it though.”
“Ah fuck man. I’m sorry. Look, my Juanita’s got this cousin man, Angelica, yo she is hot. Big tits, beautiful smile, man.”
“Maybe some other time.”
“All right man, but you hit me up if you get lonely.”
“I will.”
“So what’s up? What you need?”
“I need to get rid of my car and get a new one.”
“Yeah? There’s a dealer that’s a homie a mine that’s got some-”
“No, not like that.”
Louis looked at him a second and then said, “Oh, no shit? Awight. Well, it ain’t gonna be pretty.”
“I know.”
“Hang out a sec, lemmie see what I got.”
He went out to the back of the building and then stuck his head out of a door and motioned for Stanton to follow him. Behind the building was a massive field filled with cars. Many of them were out of service and used for spare parts, but there were a few that could still function and even a couple of luxury cars that had been abandoned by people in a hurry to get rid of them.
“I got a Beamer over there, 96. It’s awight but gots some problems with the catalytic converter. I got a old Taurus too, it’s that red one right there.”
“I’ll take the Taurus.”
“You sure, man? The Beamer’s a nice ride.”
“No, the Taurus is fine.”
They did an even trade, no paperwork, no questions, and Stanton drove out of the parking lot with a 2001 Ford Taurus registered to someone halfway around the country that didn’t know their name was being used to register cars in Southern California. As he pulled away he saw Louis’ team begin work on his Honda. Even though they had Stanton’s permission and he would have gladly signed over the title, they would change the VIN number, repaint it, change the tires and any other parts with serial numbers, and then sell the car through Craigslist or the Autotrader. Louis was known for making cars disappear.
Stanton drove for nearly three hours out of the city and ended up just outside Santa Barbara. He found a motel near a liquor store and a small convenience store and pulled in. The lobby was two old chairs and a rug with cigarette burns and the cashier sat behind a desk with a large sign that said, “NO CHECKS.”
He rented one room on the third floor and made his way up the stairs. The room was small and the bed was hidden away in the wall in what appeared to be a large closet. The furniture consisted of one 1960’s couch, a small coffee table and a 19 inch color television. He pulled the bed down and could smell that the sheets had not been changed since the last occupant. He sat down on the couch and dialed Jessica on his phone.
“Hey, Jon.”
“Hey. Any word?”
“Nothing much. Imperial County Sheriff’s are taking point and they made a big fuss that we came down too. They think it’s going to get a lot of media attention and they want to be the ones in front of the cameras.”
“Doesn’t matter. They don’t want to be the ones doing the work.”
“Yeah, I have no doubt. But nothing’s really happened yet. Someone called and left a message for the chief about it but he hasn’t called back. How are you doing?”
“As good as can be I guess.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“You sound worried about me.”
“Well, yeah, it’s just … I’ve put up with a lot of bullshit in my life but this is something I can’t really deal with. I’m thinking of quitting.”
“You shouldn’t do that. There needs to be good cops to counter people like Mike.”
“I just can’t believe what he’s doing to you. And that he’s probably going to get away with it. I just have this kinda sick feeling with me whenever I see my badge.”
“People like him, somewhere down the line, something will happen. It always does. You can’t be that crooked and get away with it for too long.”
She exhaled loudly and Stanton heard some glasses clink.
“I guess,” she said.
“Look, don’t quit. That’s not the right move and that’s not what I want. Stick with it just a little longer.”
“Jon, do you think the chief killed Hernandez? Is he that crazy?”
“I don’t know. If he had done it I don’t think he would’ve been as brazen as leaving his body out and blaming another cop. I think it was gangland. But something else is going on. Something’s overlapping with whatever happened to Tami Jacobs but I don’t know what it is. I’m getting closer to it, but it’s just not there yet.”
“I … just be careful.”
“I will.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow if there’s anything.”
“Okay. Good night.”
“Night.”
Stanton hung up and put his feet up on the coffee table. Down the hall, he could hear a couple arguing and then a slap before a woman started crying.
44
Stanton jolted awake. He had slept on the couch and his lower back and neck screamed with pain. Rolling his neck, he sat up and grabbed his cell phone off the table. The alarm had gone off though he didn’t remember setting it.
For a moment, he thought about taking a shower and changing clothes and then the weight of his situation fell on him and he remembered where he was and what he was doing. There were no other clothes, and a shower, usually relaxing, would not bring him any comfort now.
He walked to the lone window in the room overlooking the street. An old truck coated in rust with a cracked windshield sat on the curb, parking tickets piling up underneath the wipers. Across the street a Hispanic man rode a bicycle down the sidewalk and said a few words to some friends sitting on their porch drinking beer.
He wasn’t used to this; the inability to act. Normally he would be hassling the Medical Examiner’s Office or the forensics unit or the state toxicology lab to move quicker and put his case on priority status, though it probably didn’t merit it. He had always had an ability to motivate people to do things for him and he wasn’t sure he even did it consciously.
But there were no techs or ME’s or lab assistants to hassle now. He was an outcast, no more respected than the person he was chasing.
Last night, in the lonely hours before morning, he had thought about turning himself in and hiring a good lawyer. Perhaps it was better to fight this in court than out on the streets? But he knew that wasn’t true. He had seen many people, innocent people, suffer through a court system that neither cared for or respected them. They were human refuse to be pushed through a grinder in large quantities and plop out the other side. The court system, no matter how good his lawyer, would not vindicate him.
As he contemplated what to do next, his phone buzzed; it was Jessica.
“Hey,” he said.
“You need to get down here, now.”
“Where?”
“The Admin Offices. Harlow called me this morning. The charges against you have been dropped and the warrant’s been recalled.”
“How?”
“George Young recanted and the DA dropped the case. He said that he had actually seen someone else and when he did a photo lineup realized it wasn’t you. They dropped the case, Jon!”