Chapter 43
Chapter
Normal cities revolve around a central hub. L.A. made a stab at normalcy for decades but then the freeways were built and everything drifted westward, leaving the hub to decay. Despite decades of nattering about revival, downtown L.A. remains more a concept than a reality.
A shaky concept; nowadays, the area’s a bizarre mix of gloss and crud.
Government buildings, convention hotels, and office towers housing bankers, money managers, and the kind of lawyers who schmooze with politicians coexist with itinerant street vendors, mono-brand fast-food joints, once glorious movie theaters converted to discount emporia crammed with schlock, pawnshops promising to pay you handsomely for your gold, a stunningly violent Skid Row, overflow hamlets of homeless psychotics camped out and wandering the streets, the drug dealers who prey on them, the shelters that try to save them.
I found a privately run patch of ravaged asphalt three blocks from the alley in question and paid far too much to park.
Midday downtown light was hot, hazy, heavy.
The air reeked of deep-frying, fossil fuel, human sweat, the occasional burst of too-sweet cologne.
Men and women in tailored suits stepped around heaps of garbage and worked hard at ignoring the mentally tormented men and women who’d created them.
The sidewalk was splotched dark where tall buildings combated the struggling sun, lighter where empty lots admitted glare, creating a strange pinto effect.
Din alternated with inexplicable bursts of quiet.
Then louder waves of noise began killing the quiet, as if a cosmic roadie was amplifying the city.
For the most part people went about their business, shunning eye contact. Paying no notice to what was obvious to me a block and a half in.
I spotted Moe Reed first, wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket and standing just left of the alley mouth, cleaning his nails.
To the right of the dim strip stood Milo in a black suit, white shirt, and blue tie, pretending to read a newspaper.
The suit was a valiant attempt to blend in but a close look at the fabric would tell you this was no banker or politically connected paper pusher.
Moe was able to take in his surroundings by shifting his eyes without moving. Using the paper as cover meant Milo had to lower it in microbursts and during one of those instances, he saw me.
So did Moe, who didn’t react.
Milo did, glaring.
When I reached him, he said, “This is keeping your distance?”
I said, “Distance is relative. Where are the others?”
“The others,” he said, “i.e. the people who belong here, are stationed at the other end. Except for Alicia who’s still following the Highlander. Which seems to be going around in circles. Long as you’re here, any wisdom on that?”
I said, “Could be she wants to go to the scene and is building up her courage.”
“Or she’s just nuts.”
“If you want to get technical.”
He began to smile. Killed it. “Seriously, Alex, you really don’t need to be here.”
“If she’s mentally disturbed, I could help.”
“Not from up close and personal. No way, not gonna happen.”
“I have no desire for up close and personal.”
He sighed. “Why’d you come? Really.”
I said, “First time I’ve been downtown in a while. I took being so close as an omen.”
Before he could respond, his phone played Mozart digitalized to squirts and bleeps. Turned to low volume and muffled by a suit pocket but still borderline criminal.
He answered, stiffened. “Got it.”
I said, “She’s here.”
“Just turned in.” Pointing up the alley.
“The dumpster’s right in the middle with half a block on each side.
Hector and Sean have eyes on her. We’ll wait to see what she does.
If she gets out of the car, we approach from both sides.
If she does a drive-by, we’ll hustle and follow and do a traffic stop on those expired tags. ”
He sauntered across the alley entry, said something to Moe, who nodded.
The two of them shifted closer to the mouth of the alley and looked in.
I stood behind them, keeping my distance. Milo looked back to check, frowned and continued.
His phone rang again. “Okay, ready.” To Moe: “She just turned in, is cruising slowly toward the dumpster.”
Moments later, the Highlander appeared facing us, horizontal grille slats forming a strange, almost goofy smile. It stopped directly next to the dumpster. Inches away on the driver’s side, just like in the body-dump footage.
Milo said, “For all we know she’s gonna toss someone else in there—okay, she’s out.”
He and Moe began running.
I waited a few seconds before following. Able to outpace and overtake both of them easily but hanging back.
As I got closer, details clarified.
Trim, tall blond woman in all-black, carrying an oversized beige handbag. Black running shoes with red soles. She could’ve been shopping in Brentwood.
Milo and Moe were fifty feet away when Villalobos and Sean appeared, both vested. Black rectangles with glass eyes attached to the vests. Bodycams.
The woman was surprised and Sean used that to run past her so he faced her from the opposite side.
He and Villalobos, boxing her in.
She didn’t move or otherwise react, complied when they told her to put her hands up. As she was turning toward Sean to be cuffed, her right hand swooped into her bag, brought something out, and made a quick, darting, almost delicate swipe at Villalobos’s arm.
Villalobos managed to hold on to his weapon as he grabbed at his wrist. The moment it took to holster his Glock allowed red to drip on the alley floor.
Milo and Moe were thirty paces away, leaving Sean to face her alone. I thought of his near-fatal encounter years ago. Wondered if he’d overreact.
But he didn’t. Merely backed away a couple of feet while keeping his gun on the woman.
She stood motionless again, then wheeled on Sean waving whatever she’d used to cut Villalobos.
Villalobos continued to squeeze his own wrist. The blood flow weakened but didn’t stop.
The woman advanced on Sean swinging her blade slowly, horizontally. Sean kept his gun trained on her. Shouted hoarsely.
Gentle guy by nature. I’d never heard him raise his voice.
Now Milo and Moe were at the scene and Alicia, also vested and cammed, was running in from the opposite end of the alley.
Lots of guns aimed, lots of shouted commands.
I got close enough to hear Villalobos say, “I’m okay, stopped the bleeding,” without much confidence.
Milo pulled out his phone and 911’d. Slipped out of his suit jacket, wrapped it around Villalobos’s arm, and stayed with him, holding it tight.
Alicia moved closer to the woman. “Put the knife down now, or you’ll be shot! Down! Now! Now!”
Tiana Crown, once beautiful, now hardened and coarsened with mad, water-colored eyes, shrugged and said, “Okay.”
Smiling crookedly. Twice, she’d pretended to give up. I braced myself for a suicide-by-cop move.
Instead she dropped the metallic thing to the ground where it clinked, rolled, and settled.
Hobby knife with a tiny triangular blade.
A combine of arms moved in, pinning her arms behind her. Alicia cuffed her, arrested her, began Mirandizing.
Tiana Crown said, “I watch TV, not necessary, bitch.” Husky voice.
She’d remained close enough to the dumpster to kick it. Dull thud.
Laughing, she said, “So much for nostalgia.”
Alicia began Mirandizing her again. Knowing the cameras would pick up everything and wanting a complete recitation.
Tiana Crown talked over her. “Yadda yadda yadda yadda, bitch.”
Just as Alicia made a third attempt, noise filled the space behind us.
Wailing sirens.
The red bulk of an LAFD ambulance.
EMTs rushed over to Villalobos, who said, “It’s no big deal.”
Ignoring him, they got to work. As Tiana Crown watched them, Alicia completed the warning.
Tiana Crown’s eyes swung back to Alicia. “What’s the magic word, bitch? Oh, yeah. Lawyer.”
Gloving up, Alicia inspected the bag. Smiled and pulled something out.
Small saw, identical to the one Robin had found.
Tiana Crown’s eyes fluttered. “Big deal, I craft.”
Alicia said, “Can’t talk to you,” and walked away.