The Second Girl(82)

“All right, then.” He looks around the alley. “I can get an undercover car set up back here no problem. I need you to drive me through University Place to point out the house so I can get the address and a quick look at it.”

“Just like old times.”

“Hoorah, partner,” he says. “Stand by until I get the cars set up back here.”

He pulls out his handheld radio, keeps it low and near his lap, and calls the undercover vehicle over the air. After they respond, he advises them to come in and park on the north side of the alley beside my car, and he gives them a description of my car.

Not even a couple minutes later, an old beat-up Honda hatchback drives through from Euclid, pulls ahead of us, and then backs into a thin space on Luna’s side, between my car and a small truck.

Luna rolls down the window partway.

“The light green house straight ahead with the chain-link fence. You got it?”

“Yeah,” I hear the driver say in a low voice. “We got it.”

He rolls up the window and I start the car but don’t turn the lights on. I head toward Euclid.

When I make the turn to Euclid, I turn on the lights.

I loop around and point out the house.

It looks hot, maybe five or six guys on the porch drinking and smoking blunts. I drive the speed limit, looking straight ahead, and turn left on Clifton.

“You get what you need?” I ask.

“I got it. Lot of players on that patio. ERT’s going to have to come in on this one.”

“Where do you want me to drop you off?”

“In the parking lot, rear of twenty-five hundred Fourteenth.”

“I’m going back to my spot in the alley.”

“Fuck no. You go home.”

“No, f*ck you, I stay until I hear from you and you tell me whether you have the girl or not. You get that Little Monster and hopefully I get the missing girl. You got no say.”

“You just stay out of the way. And I only say that because I’m looking out for you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about a certain assistant chief that wants your head.”

“Don’t worry yourself, I won’t go near the scene.”

He picks up my flask from the center console.

“Is this fresh water?”

“Yeah, but it might have a little bite.”

He tilts it up and takes a good swig.





Seventy-four



I have enough tint on the side windows that I don’t worry about the prying eyes in the UC vehicle parked next to me. Even though, I still try to be discreet.

This was the part of the job I always liked, just sitting and watching. There’s no action to watch here, though, just the back of the house and the occasional drunk or crackhead pissing in the alley.

Before I know it, the daylight’s breaking through.

Just before the clock hits 0600, I notice four officers quietly exiting the undercover vehicle. They shut the doors without a sound. The driver taps on my passenger’s side window. I roll it halfway down.

I recognize him from the branch, but forget his name.

“What’s up, Marr?” he almost whispers.

“You guys sleep well?”

“I wish,” he says, and then: “Luna wanted me to remind you not to get out of your car and he’ll hit you on your cell when they clear the scene.”

“I got ya.”

“All right, then.”

They move to cover the rear of the house. I roll the windows down all the way so I can hear. When they get where they’re supposed to be, they draw their weapons and tuck them to their sides.

Two more unmarked detective cruisers drive past me and stop at the end of the alley, on University Place. Plainclothes officers step out and all but one of them move toward the front of the house.

The ERT wagon drives by quickly on University Place, followed by a line of marked and unmarked units, and then seconds later I hear what sounds like the front door getting bashed open by a ram—two quick hits. Obviously no knock-and-announce for this one.

Then I hear them hollering out commands.

“Get down!”

“…Hands!”

I hear what sounds like a window being smashed out.

A flashbang, followed by a bright white light, like lightning, through a second-story window at the rear of the house.

That same window squawks open; someone crawls out and hangs, and then drops down. Someone else jumps after him.

Three of the officers at the rear of the house holster their weapons while the other one covers them and they climb the fence to the backyard. By that time, two more subjects have dropped down.

It’s hard to tell from here, but I know they’re fighting. The sounds of huffing and whacking. They all seemed to fall to the ground.

The cover officer holsters his weapon and climbs the fence, and just as he’s getting over and dropping to the other side, I see a black male in nothing but his boxer shorts start to scale the fence to get out. The cover officer leaps for him and grabs a leg. The guy in the boxers kicks at him with his bare foot.

Two shots ring out from the backyard, and the officer lets go of the guy’s leg, draws his weapon, and turns. I’m thinking it’s about the time I should jump out and assist, but I see the flash from the cover officer’s muzzle as he fires two times, and then the boxer-shorts boy getting over the fence and running in my direction. No one is paying attention because of the shooting, and maybe they’re still fighting, ’cause I don’t see the cover officer anymore.