Earth Angels (19 page)

Black leaned close to the porthole. "It could be some White Fence bangers toking up before hitting Eighteenth. Getting their balls up for a drive by shooting."

Fordyce chuckled nervously. "That'd be all we need. We're sitting here waiting for Eighteenth to hit White Fence, and White Fence cruises over and hits Eighteenth."

Stepanovich checked his wristwatch. Only two minutes had elapsed since the Chevy had arrived. He swung the binoculars to the opposite side of the park. The group of boys who'd been playing baseball were hurrying out of the north end of the park toward the housing project across the street, looking back toward the Chevrolet. They climbed onto bicycles and pedaled away.

"Something's wrong," Stepanovich said.

There was the sound of Black clicking open the chamber of his service revolver to check the load. He snapped the cylinder shut.

Suddenly the Chevy began to move slowly in their direction. "The Chevy's moving ... this way," Stepanovich said. The others crowded next to him to get a look out the window. He could hear the others breathing. "Something's up."

Staying close to the curb, the Chevy cruised slowly along the curb line parallel to the park. As it came closer, Stepanovich's binoculars caused his vision to blur. He pulled them away to get a better view.

At that moment the Chevy accelerated and swerved directly toward the motor home. The barrel of an automatic weapon extended from the left rear passenger window.

"Gun!" Stepanovich shouted, but the sound of his voice was swallowed by a heavy burst of automatic fire ripping through the thin aluminum and wood walls.

Fordyce shrieked. Stepanovich was struggling to pull his gun and get low at the same time. Shouts of "White Fence! White Fence!" came from outside.

Stepanovich slapped the door handle downward and propelled himself out the rear door, holding his gun in both hands. The Chevy was nearing the corner. He dropped to his knees and, aiming low to account for windage, fired all six rounds as the car made a right turn at high speed. From beside him came popping gunfire as Black and Arredondo also emptied their revolvers.

The car disappeared down Third Street.

Stepanovich, his ears ringing from the gunfire, hurried back to the motor home. Inside, Fordyce was lying on his back with his hands covering his stomach. His complexion was gray and his expression one Stepanovich had seen too many times before: the glassy-eyed, pleading grimace that meant impending death. Stepanovich knelt close to him.

Like a child, the speechless Fordyce lifted his hands from his torso for a moment to reveal a silver dollar sized blood spot spreading under his rib cage. "Don't let me die," he said. There were tears in his eyes.

Out of breath, Arredondo used the walkie-talkie to transmit a request for an ambulance. The dispatcher immediately acknowledged the request.

Fordyce coughed harshly and arched in a spasm of pain. Stepanovich took his hand. "You're gonna be OK," he said, though it was clear to him the opposite was more likely.

"The paramedics are on the way," Arredondo said.

Black pulled a blanket from the bunk, folded it into a pillow, and placed it under Fordyce's feet. As Fordyce coughed a few more times, Stepanovich lifted his neck to keep his airway clear, as he'd been taught in the emergency first aid course at the police academy. Fordyce continued coughing and Stepanovich, overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness, looked up at Arredondo and Black.

Fordyce's breathing became labored. His mouth opened and he began to gasp uncontrollably. Eyes wide, his tongue protruded and he retched violently and disgorged a mouthful of dark, foamy blood. Quickly his skin took on a bluish gray tinge, a color Stepanovich associated with many of the soldiers he'd helped load onto Medevac choppers in Vietnam, with heart attack victims and gunshot victims he'd helped since becoming a cop. It was the cast of death.

The sound of a screaming siren drew closer and two paramedics, a young black man and a husky woman, rushed into the motor home and began to work on Fordyce. Stepanovich stepped out onto the street, which was in the process of being barricaded from both ends by arriving patrol cars.

After conferring with a uniformed officer, Black turned to Stepanovich. "A priest is on the way."

Stepanovich nodded. Suddenly feeling lightheaded, he turned toward a crowd of Mexicans gathered on both sides of the street. He wanted to fight, to cry, to chase them away.

****

FOURTEEN

At L.A. County General Hospital, Harger was waiting for him at the emergency room door. Stepanovich briefed him on what had occurred, and Harger hurried to a phone. Suddenly a police squad car driven by a young uniformed officer sped up the ramp leading to the emergency entrance and came to an abrupt stop. Stepanovich opened the passenger door and Father Mendoza, an overweight Roman Catholic priest with thinning hair swirled to cover his balding pate, stepped out. Stepanovich introduced himself and led Mendoza through hospital doors, down a hallway, and into a crowded emergency room, where medics were ministering to Fordyce. Without saying a word, Mendoza kissed his tippet, draped it around his neck, and edged in between two green-gowned nurses to lisp the sacrament of the last rites.

Before he'd finished, Fordyce's terrified parents, a well groomed, gray haired couple who looked like brother and sister, were ushered into the emergency room by Arredondo. As they stood there holding hands, clutching one another, Stepanovich noticed, God knows why, that they were wearing the same walking shoes as in the photo inside Fordyce's motor home. Trapped in the tiled room with the sounds of scissors and ripping cloth, an Oriental doctor's commands in broken English, the clank of metal instruments, the crackle of needles being freed from sterile wrappings, of Mendoza's Latin chants, of the Fordyces crying, Stepanovich felt like he was suffocating. He found himself escaping out the doors and into the hallway. Black and Arredondo were standing in front of a vending machine.

"We should have realized White Fence might figure out what we were up to," Black said, handing him a can of Coke.

"We had no way of knowing."

"Somebody must have noticed the motor home parked at Greenie's place and figured we were using it." Arredondo said.

Black took out a package of filter cigarettes and ripped off the cellophane. "Doesn't matter how they knew we were there," he said. "The point is, we killed their homeboys and they came gunning for us. I give them credit for having balls. They have to know what this means."

Stepanovich knew that his face and neck must be bright red. He could feel the heat of his anger.

Harger stepped out of the emergency room. Advancing to the men, he spoke in a subdued, official tone. "Because this is an officer involved shooting, major crimes division is in charge of the investigation."

"Fuck major crimes," Black said.

"They don't know shit about solving a gang case," Arredondo said.

Harger cleared his throat. "In my position, I can't really make any official comment. But you men know how I feel. Fordyce is one of us. This should be our case. "

"We can put this case together on our own without interference from a bunch of third floor prima donnas," Stepanovich said.

Harger put an arm around Stepanovich and led him away from the others.

"I've spoken with the Chief, " he said as they walked. "He wants CRASH to stay on this as long as it takes but unofficially. If you guys come up with the shooters before major crimes does, then so be it."

"That means the Chief is giving us the go ahead?"

"His exact words to me were: 'Bob, in the old days, when an officer was shot we had an unwritten code about what to do when we found the shooter.' Need I say more?"

"You're saying he wants us to catch 'em and kill 'em?"

"That's a ten four. He feels that if the gangs get away with this one, no policeman is safe in this city. He's not talking a few arrests and a long trial to clear the books. He wants notches on the gun."

"There's always a risk in this kind of thing."

"I'm well aware of that. And I'll certainly understand if you don't think you can handle it."

"That's not what I'm saying," Stepanovich said, restraining his emotions.

Harger put his arm around him. "Of course. I apologize for coming on so strong."

"I'm ready and the others are ready, but I just want to know whether we're going to be on our own or with help from the top."

"I'm standing here as a man telling you the chief of police will back anything you think you have to do to get the fuckers that shot Fordyce. If heat comes down, the Chief and I will be there to take it with you. This city is in a war and he intends to win."

"This can't be done without some heavy moves."

"Do whatever you have to."

Their eyes met for a moment. Then Harger slapped Stepanovich on the shoulder and headed down the hallway toward a cluster of uniformed officers, detectives, and hospital employees.

Someone touched Stepanovich and he whirled about. It was Gloria. There were tears in her eyes and she looked visibly shaken. As they embraced, she said, "I saw all the policemen and thought you were the one who'd been shot."

He wanted her arms around him forever. "I love you," he whispered.

"I've missed you so much."

"I'll have some time off, soon."

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head.

"There's nothing to worry about."

"Sometimes I wish I'd never met you," she said.

"You're just upset. We're all upset. But this isn't for you. It's just . . ." His words sounded hollow to himself, and he could tell they sounded the same to her.

She turned away, using a Kleenex to wipe her eyes. The tiny sear near her eye seemed a deeper red. There was a look of defeat in her eyes ... or was it fear? He reached out to touch her, then thought better of it.

"I have to get back to my ward," she said. "When will we be able to have some time together?"

"Soon. This will all be over soon."

She nodded gloomily and walked away to answer a call from the nurses' station. She returned to be with him as she continued her duties during the day and later obtained permission for him, Black, and Arredondo to wait in the staff lounge rather than the hallway.

Around five, Stepanovich left the room and found a water fountain in the hall outside the emergency room. When he leaned down to take a drink, the water was cold and hurt his teeth.

Suddenly the emergency room door swished open, and out drifted a rush of hospital air, carrying the awful odor of alcohol, Lysol, and nervous perspiration. The young Oriental doctor, dressed in a green surgical gown, stepped outside and looked about for a moment. Then he spotted Mr. and Mrs. Fordyce.

Silence descended on the hallway as he walked toward them. "I'm very sorry, but your son has expired," he said. Mrs. Fordyce’s knees buckled, and she and Mr. Fordyce broke into loud, uncontrollable sobs. Harger and the doctor helped them to a bench.

Stepanovich felt his eyes glaze with tears. He, Black, and Arredondo threw arms around one another. Harger joined them in the mutual embrace, and Stepanovich could feel the strength of Harger's hand grasping the back of his neck and smell the tobacco odor on Black's coat.

Later, in the hospital parking lot, Stepanovich, Arredondo, and Black huddled next to a police car. As Stepanovich used a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh pink light of dusk, he asked, "What do we have at the scene?"

"The shell casings in the street are nine millimeter parabellum," Arredondo said. "They probably shot at us with an Uzi."

"There's no record of any White Fence member having access to a submachine gun," Black said.

"And no one in the gang drives a black Chevy," Stepanovich ruminated.

Black lit a cigarette and exhaled some smoke. "No one. I checked the file."

"That means they have a caper car stashed somewhere," Stepanovich said. "Without it we have nothing."

"A black Chevy with bullet holes," Black said. "I'm sure we hit it at least once."

"The word from the Chief is if we find the shooters before major crimes, we own 'em," Stepanovich said. "This is with full backing from the top."

Arredondo slammed fist into palm. "All right.

"Let's go for it," Black said.

Stepanovich turned away from the dying sun and ran his hands through his hair. "We have to find the Chevy."

Black took a long drag on his cigarette. "My guess is the wheels are still right here in East L.A."

"It's where we start looking, "Stepanovich said, reaching into the driver’s window of the police sedan for a city mapbook lying on the front seat. He dropped it on the hood of the car and flipped pages to a map of East L.A. He reached into his pocket for a pen and marked the map into three areas. "These are the places White Fence has been known to stash caper cars."

"It'll take us all night to cover "

"We're going to split up to save time," Stepanovich interrupted, pointing to the map. "Black, you take City Terrace and this area all the way to Eastern Avenue. Raul, handle from Diamond Street all the way to Sunset. I'll cover the Gardens and the stash areas along the freeways."