Los’s Long Day in LA – By R.L. Merrill #4
He couldn’t hear what Angela said, but both performers turned on her and started screaming.
One of them snatched a bag out of the other’s hand, and they began a tug-of-war that got ugly.
Angela radioed, and Los heard it from the car.
It sounded like more officers were coming, and sure enough, sirens sounded from far away.
A loud pop scared the shit out of him, and the three of them were enveloped in a golden cloud of… not smoke?
“Glitter. Oh God .”
He grabbed a water bottle from her center console and went running over as she turned around.
Angela’s entire face was caked with gold glitter.
The two men were still yelling at each other, and Los realized they just so happened to be speaking his first language.
“Stop, het is genoeg geweest!”
The men froze and looked toward Angela.
“Don’t open your eyes,” Los said, touching her shoulder.
“What did you just say? You… that wasn’t English.”
He ripped off the bottom of his shirt and used it to brush the glitter from her eyes, nose, and mouth. “You’ll want to rinse your face real good. Glitter in the eye sucks, dude.”
“How do you know so much about the dangers of glitter? You have kids?”
“My kids are thirty-something men who still prank the shit out of each other.”
Another patrol car arrived, and two officers climbed out, seemingly unsure how to approach the situation. The two performers were clinging to each other and wailing their apologies. Glitter floated in the air like stardust.
“Salvador, you okay? Holy shit, you got glitter-bombed.”
“Can you deal with those two?” she asked the new cop.
The new cops detained the performers, and Los guided Angela into the bar, still with her eyes closed, and to the back where the gender-neutral bathrooms were. He opened the door and moved her in front of the sink so she could splash water in her face.
“Want me to go get you a towel?”
“From this place? Are you kidding? Fuck me, I think it’s in my eye.”
“Here, you want me to pour this in your eyes?”
She hesitated, and then leaned over the sink. Los poured the water carefully into her eyes, telling her to blink. When the water bottle was empty, he started to fill it back up, but she touched his hand.
“I think you got it, thank you. Now, tell me what the hell language they were speaking and how did you understand?”
Los grinned. “Dutch was my first language.”
“ And Spanish?”
“Spanish second. English third.”
She pointed to herself and held up a hand for a high-five. “Japanese and Spanish. Look at us polyglots…”
“Hanging out in a gay bar bathroom.” Los clapped her hand and held on. They both laughed—until they realized how close they were in the tight space.
Los immediately backed up, giving her a clear path to the door. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to crowd you,” he said.
She tilted her head. “And a gentleman. I dig it.”
Los groaned. “Don’t say dig. Please.”
She laughed and pushed him out the door. “Let’s go, miscreant.”
They made their way back out front, where the other cops were laughing with the performers.
The performers waved to Los. “Bedankt!” They called to him and blew him kisses.
“Graag gedaan.”
“What was all that about?”
“Artistic differences. Fighting over who got to perform to the classic ‘Radar Love’ by famous Dutch band Golden Earring. At least they’re not dancing to some nederhop, uh, Dutch pop.”
She shook her head as she held the car door open for him. “What a trip. How does a rock star speak all these languages and know proper glitter first-aid?”
Los narrowed his eyes. “You do know who I am.”
“Let’s just say that when I called dispatch, my pal Nelly texted me the picture of your license, and maybe I recognized you. She definitely did, and she wants me to get your autograph.”
“You can have whatever you want. Especially since you haven’t arrested me yet.” He gave her his most winning smile filled with ample Los Morales magic and charm.
The twinkle in her eye had Los’s heart pounding, but in a good way this time. Mostly.
“Day’s still young. Haven’t gotten you back to the station yet.”
He started to protest as she closed the door with a grin.
She got another call as she was climbing into the car.
“Eleven-Lincoln-Ninety-Five, what’s your twenty?”
She exhaled before answering. “Eleven-Lincoln-Ninety-Five, Fountain at Sunset, show me code four, transport to station for first-aid.”
“Copy. Eleven-Adam-Twenty-Six four-fifteen at Santa Monica and Sunset. Caller identified three cars racing southeast on Sunset, and multiple subjects in the area attached to four-fifteen.”
Angela whistled. Los leaned forward.
“Is that bad?”
“It could be. These car clubs don’t even wait ’til the wee hours anymore. They disrupt traffic and throw big parties in the intersection that can turn into a shitshow with a quickness.”
“Man, are you always alone on patrol? That’s gotta be nerve-wracking.”
“Usually I’m paired up, but I just got off desk duty after an injury. My partner’s been assigned a rookie. There was no one to pair up with today, so I was supposed to take the chill calls.”
“Right, like dumbasses falling into holes in the park. I see.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Not a dumbass. A caring cousin. Gullible, maybe, but then I guess Sagittarians are like that.”
“Hey, now. We’re passionate. Creative. Headstrong. And yeah, impulsive maybe. But no fair! What about you?”
“Scales of justice in the flesh.”
Los laughed. “A Libra ? Even-keeled? Diplomatic? That’s cool. I could see that. Probably helps in your job, huh? You like being a cop?”
“I like helping people. I like seeing justice play out, knowing good folks are safe. I’m somewhat ambivalent about the job, though, after my injury.”
“What happened?”
“I got stabbed,” she said with a humorless laugh.
“A shitbag decided he didn’t want to go to jail for tuning up his old lady, and he especially didn’t want no ‘brown-skinned little bitch’ taking him.
He got me good, but he’s solidly in jail now.
Aw, pobrecito. From what I hear, he’s had a tough go of it. ”
Her sarcastic tone covered up for the fact that she was likely shook by the incident.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Los said, his voice low. “Did his old lady make it?”
“Hell yeah, she did, and she brought me tamales in the hospital as soon as I was able to eat real food. She brings them to me at the station every couple of weeks. Says I saved her life. I’m just glad the kids weren’t there.”
“World doesn’t need any more fucked-up kids from seeing that shit.”
She caught his eye in the rearview, and he cleared his throat and looked away.
“Yeah, well, that’s the point, right? My vest saved the important stuff, but he nicked my spleen, so now that’s gone. Appendix out two years ago. Don’t have many spare parts left.”
Los hung on her every word as Fountain turned into Hyperion and then Glendale Boulevard. She was so laid-back but aware of her surroundings, her gaze always moving as she shared her harrowing tale.
Angela was kind of perfect. Take-charge but patient.
As she turned from San Fernando onto Treadwell Street and put on her blinker to turn into the station lot, Los had a sinking feeling in his chest. He’d enjoyed being detained by her.
But a cop wouldn’t want anything to do with a barely educated, PTSD-suffering bonehead musician. Right?
“This might sound forward and completely inappropriate, but what time are you off?”
She parked and turned off the car without turning around.
“It does sound forward. Why do you ask?”
He sank back into the seat. “Sorry. Forget it.”
Los hadn’t dated anyone since his debacle with the band’s last manager, Jessica.
They’d had a tumultuous few years of trying to make a go of things, but he’d needed to work on himself, and unfortunately they’d developed a codependent attachment to each other.
Once he’d figured that out, he decided it would be best for her to let her go.
She was happily married to a guy from a country band she managed now. He wished her well.
Today had been a wake-up that maybe he was ready to get back out there. Carefully. Angela might not be the right person, but it might be the right time.
Angela opened his door. “I’m off at four.”
Just like that, hope kicked his charm back on.
“Mm-hmm. I was thinking maybe you could give a pass to your friend in dispatch for my show tonight. You know, if you were going to see her.”
She clicked her tongue on her teeth. “It’s like that?”
He stepped out of the SUV. “Or, I could give you two passes, and you could come, too. That is, if you aren’t going to arrest me.”
She fingered her handcuffs and cocked her head to the side, appraising him.“Who’s playing?”
His eyes bugged out. “You mean besides my band? A whole lot of folks. Why?”
“Well, that might determine whether or not I hook you up.”
Los’s breath caught. He wanted to believe she was flirting with him, but he was kind of dense when it came to that stuff. Unless a woman came right out and propositioned him, he often had no clue.
His smile fell, and he cleared his throat. “Angela, I’d love for you to come to my show. I’d love to hang out with you after we play, watch the other bands, and then maybe go somewhere we can talk where I’m not staring at the back of your head.”
She frowned. “What’s wrong with the back of my head?”
“ Nothing ,” he said, holding his hands up. “It’s lovely. I’d just, you know, like to talk some more. I had fun today, believe it or not. It could have been one of my worst days, but you made it not suck.”
She barked out a laugh. “That’s a ringing endorsement. All right. I’ll take you up on the offer. Nelly would love it, and she is one of my best friends. I should go with her, for her sake.”
Los laughed and stepped a little closer. “I mean, it’s not tamales, but it’s a way for me to show my appreciation.”
“Appreciation?” She gazed up at him, her eyes wide, her smile playful.
He touched her elbow. “Yeah. I have a lot of appreciation for you.”