Four: Crime SuspenStory

OUR STORY SO FAR: Detective Claudia DeLa Cruz is on a deadline to build a case against Leo McCarthy, the unofficial king of Vice in the City. Meanwhile Jimmy Vaughn has been flown into San Francisco by McCarthy to find and punish whoever stole from him in his own crew and restore order. The list of suspects is narrowing down and the smell of blood is in the air.

Based on true events.
The only light on in the office was the desk lamp, Dan and everyone else had left and Claudia was alone, sifting through the files in front of her, eyes exhausted, unfocused, but refusing to close. She was determined not to leave until she could see the path forward clearly, without having to depend on luck or Judy.
She opened the folder with the profiles they had collected, peering down at the picture and the report typed next to it. Bobby Flores sat on the top of the stack. The picture was old, dating back to 2002, but she had seen Flores since then, when she and Dan had spent the first two weeks scoping out the paint store and snapping pictures. He still had the mustache back then, a relatively good looking guy she thought.
She scanned over the report: five years for transporting methamphetamine was the big one, but that had been ten years ago. All they had pulled up since then was a couple parking tickets and the extortion of a hydroponics store in the Haight where his name had come up. Nothing beyond that. Like so many others the case had fallen apart and Bobby Flores seemed to get smart. She turned the page.
Ray Richardson, AKA Cabbagepatch. The big dark head smiled out from the mug shot clipped on to the report. Convicted for attempted murder when he was nineteen, that was out in Florida. Held in suspicion of assault with a deadly weapon there in the City in 2005 but it didn’t stick. Ron Harvey had made sure of that. Good old Ron Harvey. The esteemed lawyer had represented four of the men on the McCarthy Paints payroll in about eleven separate cases over the years.
Bill Rodasavitch, AKA the Croat, or Croat. A few minor drug offenses. A year for auto theft. Assault when he was twenty. Shortly after that was when it was believed he was recruited into the group. Most likely recruited by Pat McCarthy, who was his high-school pal. McCarthy had done eight months for a decent amount of cocaine as a first offense. DUI in 2002. Six months for an unlicensed firearm. Drunk in public a few times which probably should have got him another DUI. Suspended sentence for fighting at the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade. The picture was from that day, a black eye and a wobbly grin.
Claudia flipped the page and came to Oscar Rayne. Multiple robbery charges as a minor. Assault as a minor that put him in the Boy’s Camp twice for a combined sentence of almost two years. As an adult he had been fingered for assault by a businessman from Chicago but the charges were later dropped. Claudia looked down and studied the face.
Judy had never really mentioned anything about this one. He had the right look about him, in the picture he showed a steely mug with a faint scar that came down from half way through the forehead and down through the brow, stopping at the right eye. It was a mean face, almost ugly, except for the eyes, the eyes had softness about them. Claudia found herself studying them longer than she meant to.
She flipped the page, coming to a face that was anything but soft. Richard Fagin, better known as Dick Fagin, born in Belfast Ireland in nineteen seventy two. Did three years for aggravated assault in the eighties right after he got off the boat. Did six more for attempted murder in nineteen ninety four. Charges dropped in the beating of a Chinese Immigrant at Golden Duck in Chinatown when-
Claudia stopped short and reread it. Golden Duck. Judy might have misspoken. Claudia had meant to follow up on it but hadn’t had a chance. She woke up her laptop and typed the name Golden Duck San Francisco into Google. The name came up, showing the location. There was no web-site or photo or much of anything except a few yelp posts that described the place as a true dive but “not quite cool enough to be a real dive”. There was no mention of a casino. Claudia felt foolish. When in doubt just Google it, she needed to remember that for future police work.

They had been watching video footage for almost three hours. Pat had to look away again, his eyes strained and watery. He had tried to look away all night, letting his eyes rest, his mind wander, but then Vaughn would ask who that was or if they had seen that person go out the exit already. Pat would have to lean forward, Charlie would rewind the video. Then Pat would identify the person or answer the question and Vaughn would scribble in his note book. This had gone on for nearly; check that, three hours exactly as Pat looked at the time on his phone.
There was a knock on the door and a voice said: “Charlie. C’mon, it’s me.”
Charlie looked from the screen over to the door, then got up, making his way bleary eyed.
“What are you doing?” Vaughn said.
Charlie unlocked the door, revealing a heavy set man with a mustache. The man blinked, looking around the room. His mind was so numb it took Pat a moment to focus and recognize O’Neil in his cheap suit and tie.
“What the hell you guys doing? Watching a porno?” O’Neil cracked.
Vaughn looked up at the mustache and the double chin. His eyes steeled up, irritated.
“I’m gonna ask you once,” he said. “Get out.”
“Whoa now,” O’Neil grinned at him “You must be new around here.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Relax. I got my VIP pass right here.”
O’Neil went in his pocket, his hand coming out with the detective shield. He held it a foot from Vaughn’s face. The other man barely glanced at it, keeping his steel eyes directed on the mustache.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Vaughn asked the fat man.
Pat watched the confrontation, mildly curious about where it would lead. He disliked both men immensely. He hoped the moment would stretch out and end with the two of them destroying each other right there. Then the reality of the situation took hold, Pat realizing he had to take some responsibility if they were ever going to get out of there.
“Listen Bobby, we’re caught up in something right now. What do you need?” he asked O’Neil.
The cop had returned his badge to his pocket, still locked into the battle of wills and steel eyes with Vaughn. He adjusted his tie, looking over at Pat.
“Shoot Pat. I was just coming around to shoot the shit. See if Mai Ling was in tonight.”
“No. She off,” Charlie said.
O’Neil nodded, the good humor returning.
“Okay, well maybe I can spend some time with one of the others up there?”
“Go up. Have Maggie give a room,” Charlie told him.
“With Mai Ling gone I think ought’a get a little discount-“
“No discount. We don’t run charity,” Charlie replied.
Pat sighed, wishing the fat man would disappear. Vaughn still stared with murder in his eyes. O’Neil seemed unaware of it, impending sex distracting him.
“Its fine,” Pat said “Go upstairs Bobby. It’s on the house.”
“Good man. You all be good now. You especially,” O’Neil said, nodding his wide head at Vaughn.
The fat man went out the door and Vaughn turned his gaze towards Charlie.
“What the fuck are you doing you stupid chink? I don’t care who’s knocking on the door. You don’t answer it unless I say you do.”
Charlie simply nodded, unfazed. He clicked play on the screen and all three of them watched as Fran Flores made his way down the hall and out the motel entrance on the monitor. Vaughn wrote on the note pad. Pat could see that the only names remaining on the page without lines drawn through them were Oscar and Bill.
Vaughn told Charlie to fast forward. They watched the video stretch and ripple until a figure flashed across. Charlie rewound it a bit with the mouse. They watched as Oscar come out of Golden Duck’s front entrance on the monitor.
“You see anything in his hand?” Vaughn asked.
“I don’t see shit,” Pat said coldly.
“No,” Charlie agreed.
Vaughn put a line through Oscar’s name and Pat felt anger boil in his chest.
“What did you expect?” he said. “You thought one of our boys would just pop out with a fucking bag?”
Vaughn ignored him, telling Charlie to fast forward. All the video panels stood still, the minutes zipping by as seconds on the time code. The frames of video brightened as the sun came up on camera. The three men watched as Tek walked up in panel three and unlocked the Golden Duck’s front entrance on November twenty first.
Vaughn leaned back in his chair and said: “I never saw the Croat come out.”
“We probably just missed it,” Pat replied.
“No. I didn’t.”
“Garage exit,” Charlie said.
“He probably parked in the garage. You’re not supposed to but he might have. That’s why we didn’t see him,” Pat said.
“Why would he do that?”
Vaughn lit a cigarette.
“I don’t know. He just might have.”
“And he’s the only one?”
“So what? It doesn’t prove shit.”
“It proves everything.”
Vaughn turned around in his chair and looked at Pat.
“You’re guy’s disappeared. Usually the most obvious answer is the answer. No matter if you want to believe it or not,” he said.
There was another knock on the door. Charlie looked over at Vaughn warily.
“I’m trying to get out of here,” a voice said through the door.
“It’s the drop,” Pat muttered to Vaughn.
Vaughn nodded at Charlie and the other man got up and unlocked the door. Javier came in and handed an envelope over, rubbing his eyes. The right side of his head was a slightly different color than the left. He looked around the room, taking in Pat and the video monitors. When he got to Vaughn his eyes widened and he took a step back towards the door.
“How game?” Charlie asked him.
“It was just two douche bag tourists and a couple of immigrants. Brown gave them the number from the St. Francis. They had some money. The immigrants won a little and then we put Ping in the game to clean them out.”
Pat noticed Javier staring at Vaughn.
“Javey, this is the guy from out of town,” he said.
“We’ve met,” Vaughn said. “How you doing Javey?”
Javier didn’t say anything.
“You hear from Bill yet?”
“I’m going home,” Javier replied.
He exited the room as quickly as possible.

Oscar pulled the whisky from the glove box, sipping it, looking out at the lights of South City. The twinkling and illusion of calm took the edge off the stale tension in his stomach. He had been waiting there in front of Javier’s house for two hours and every minute that ticked by increased the distinct feeling that he was going to miss something, or was missing something at that moment. It made him jumpy, on edge. He took another pull from the whisky.
His phone rang on the seat, the number blocked. He answered and heard Vaughn say: “What do you have?”
“Nothing,” Oscar replied “His mother said she hadn’t seen him in weeks.”
There was silence on the other end. He thought the call may have been dropped before he heard one of Vaughn’s sighs.
“You believe her?” the man asked.
“She seemed worried.”
“Worried because you were there, or because he was missing?”
“Because she hadn’t seen him.”
Vaughn went silent again for a moment, then just hung up. Oscar put the phone back down in the passenger seat, watching as the headlights of a car came up along the street and pulled into Javier’s driveway. He waited to make sure. When he saw Javier gets out of the car he got out as well.
He had hoped that Javier would notice him before he got to the car but the idiot’s head was bowed as he made his way towards the house, off in his own world. Oscar called out to him from the street. Javier almost jumped out of his skin and looked ready to sprint for shelter. He twisted his head around, jerking like a bird to pinpoint the sound. When he saw Oscar he stopped short.
He stood very still before blinking the surprise out of his face, replacing it with anger. Oscar could see him square his shoulders before coming forward.
“You mother fucker,” Javier growled “You mother fucker!”
Oscar could see the man’s hands had turned to fists. He stopped back into the street and let Javier approach him until they were fifteen feet apart, then pulled the gun from his coat and pointed it at Javier.
“Take it easy,” he warned.
Javier stopped and began to pace back and forth, the gun stopping all forward progress but the anger not allowing him to stop moving.
“I ought to fucking kill you!” he cried. “You come in my house and fucking-“
“Shut up. You want the neighbors to hear?”
Oscar kept the gun on him but lowered it slightly. Javier watched, still pacing. He spat on the ground between them.
“What the fuck did I do to you?” Javier demanded.
“Nothing.”
“You brought that piece of shit in my house!”
“He told me to.”
“Fuck you.”
Javier stopped moving, he looked around at his neighboring houses, finally realizing how he and Oscar might appear. Oscar took the moment to lower the gun completely, holding it at his side.
“Did Bill call you?” he asked.
“No,” Javier said
“I know Bill didn’t have anything to do with what happened.”
Javier watched as Oscar spoke. He spat on the asphalt again and said: “Bill would never steal from Leo. He’s like a father to him.”
“I know that.”
“Leo stepped in when that cop tried to fuck Bill over last year. You remember that? Bill would never do nothing to Leo.”
Oscar nodded
“He would never do a fucking thing to anybody with Leo.”
“Did you talk to him?” Oscar asked again.
“If I did would you go run off and tell your cousin? The sick fucking bastard.”
“He’s not my cousin.”
“I thought you were my friend until you and that piece of shit stuck that gun in my face.”
Oscar shoved the gun behind his belt along the small of his back.
“You could have done something,” Javier muttered.
“Did you talk to Bill?”
Javier looked down at his feet, then back at Oscar with contempt. He sniffed at the night air. A car came up behind him and they both had to move out of the street. They stood on the sidewalk watching the car drive off before Javier said: “I talked to him.”
“And what’d you say?” Oscar asked.
“I said get the fuck out of the Bay. I said there’s some crazy bastard that’s going to come around looking to shoot your balls off.”
“And what’d he say?”
“He said he couldn’t but that he was going to stay low.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No,” Javier muttered.
“Does he have a girl? A black girl?”
Javier turned his head, his round brown eyes squinting into the light of the street lamp.
“I’m pretty sure he was messing with that chick Shimiya, I don’t know for sure. He mentioned it once. A while ago.”
“Who is she?”
“She works at the Nip.”
“There’s a few black ones there,” Oscar said.
“She’s the one that isn’t fat.”
Oscar tried to place her. He did pick ups at Cat Nip rarely and hadn’t worked there in years.
“You speak to him again you have him call me.”
Javier nodded but Oscar could tell he wasn’t listening. He was off in his own world again.
“I’m done with this shit. Who needs it? Me and Anna are gonna head down to Mexico and live our life.”
Oscar left Javier on the sidewalk and walked back to the Cadillac.