Earth Angels (33 page)

4. Excessive use of force

5. Use of unauthorized weapons

6. Making false and misleading statements to a supervisor

7. Acquiescing in the failure to report a felony crime and violation of department regulations per the above

8. Conspiracy to commit all the above

All of you are here by relieved of duty without pay pending a Los Angeles Police Department Board of Rights hearing concerning these allegations.

"They can't prove any of this," Stepanovich said weakly. He knew, however, that the rules of evidence at a trial board were rigged so that charges were adjudicated by the "preponderance of evidence" rule rather strict courtroom rules, enabling the board to convict anyone for anything and to issue findings that would be laughed out of a legitimate court of law.

Sullivan poured some scotch into a cocktail glass and slid it to Stepanovich. "When they throw in this many charges, it means they are trying to fire you," Sullivan said.

"He's right," Black said, lighting a cigarette. "The conspiracy to murder charge is just for show, but they'll end up proving CUBO, acquiescing, and excessive use of force."

"If the Chief was behind us, they wouldn't have listed so many allegations," Arredondo said.

"They have to make it look good for the police commission," Stepanovich said.

"Maybe it'll look really good if they fire the three of us," Black said.

"Which is exactly what they can do with a shit list like this one."

"Did you talk to Harger?" Black asked.

"He said the trial board is just pro forma and the Chief is behind us."

"And the check is in the mail," Arredondo said.

"Harger was sticking his neck out even talking to me."

"He was sticking his neck out?" Black said. "What about us?"

Sullivan grabbed a bottle of Early Times from the well rack and filled a shot glass. Forming his mouth into an alcoholic grimace, he tossed back the drink. Shaking his head, he turned and moved down the bar cleaning ashtrays.

"Harger will come through for us," Stepanovich said.

Black jammed out his cigarette and picked another from an open pack on the bar. "I'm beginning to have my doubts."

"We knew some heat was going to come down," Stepanovich said.

"But this is starting to look like the real thing," Arredondo said. "They actually want to fire us."

"It's too soon to say that."

"With these kind of allegations we'll be lucky to end up with a penalty of six months without pay," Black said. "I have a house payment, a boat payment, and child support."

"Just hang in," Stepanovich said. "I'm sure we'll get some word from Harger very soon on how this is going to be fixed."

Black lit another cigarette and blew out the match. He smiled broadly. Arredondo turned to him. "What the hell are you smiling about?"

Black positioned his hands to hold an imaginary shotgun. "I was just thinking about wasting all those homeboys. Boom! Boom! Boom!" He laughed.

"You're nuts," Arredondo said. "One hundred percent certifiably insane Okie."

Black laughed even louder and, perhaps out of nervous tension, Stepanovich found himself laughing too.

Soon the three of them were in a frenzy of laughter and Stepanovich found himself wiping away tears.

Brenda, dressed only in bra and panties because the air conditioner was on the blink, finished washing the dishes in the kitchen and set them in the drainer on the cracked Formica sink counter. She wished she had enough money to have the sink fixed. As a matter of fact, the kitchen linoleum, most of the major appliances, and the tile in the bathroom of the two-bedroom tract home needed repair. Hell, for all intents and purposes, the entire house, like the rest of the cheapie tract homes in the neighborhood, was failing apart. Wiping her chapped hands on a dishtowel, she resolved that the first thing she would do when she got her next paycheck from the Arroyo Grande Cardboard Box and Container Company, where she worked as a box inspector, was to have whining ex husband's junked car towed off the front lawn. She told herself she would have taken care of this earlier, but it was more fun to hang out at the Rumor Control Bar rather than to try fixing up a house that was, God knows, completely shot.

There was a knock on the door. She hurried into the bedroom and threw on a robe.

At the front door, she opened the peephole.

"Yes?"

"Lieutenant Houlihan, Los Angeles Police Department," said a man fitting the description given her by Stepanovich. He held up a police identification card. "I'd like to ask you some questions."

"I'm not properly dressed."

"I can wait for you to change."

"What's this about?"

"Would you mind opening the door?"

She complied.

"May I come in?"

"I'd rather talk right here."

Houlihan bit his lip. "OK, then. I'm here about the apartment you rented on Ortega Street."

"I heard the TV news about the shooting. Awful."

"How is it that the officers came to use your apartment?"

"They asked me and I said yes. I believe in supporting my local police. You know, you shouldn't bite your lip like that."

Houlihan took out a note pad and pen. "Which officer spoke with you?"

"He had a Russian sounding name."

"Stepanovich?"

"That's it."

"Had you ever met him before?"

"I'd seen him at the Rumor Control Bar."

"What do you mean you've seen him?"

"We're both customers of the place. I've seen him sitting at the bar. Haven't you ever just seen somebody somewhere?"

Houlihan bit his lip. "Did he ask you to rent that apartment?"

"No."

"Why did you want to live on Ortega Street?"

"I just decided to sell my house and move into an apartment. I was driving by and saw a "FOR RENT" sign."

"Is this house for sale?"

"No. I was going to list the house with a realtor, but after I saw the TV about what happened the shooting and all I decided to stay right here."

"Are you aware you could be prosecuted for lying to a police officer when he is in the performance of his official duties?"

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"I didn't say that."

"I'm kinda busy today. Is there anything else?"

"May I step inside for a moment? I need to get down what you told me in writing and have you sign it."

"I think you better stay where you are," Brenda said.

"I'm sure you have no objection to signing a statement, right?"

"Can you arrest me if I don't sign the statement?"

"No."

"Then I'm not signing it."

"You can be subpoenaed into court."

"You got a subpoena?"

He shook his head.

"Then, if you don't mind, I'm busy," she said, closing the door in his face. Having set the chain lock, she hurried to the front window. With her heart pounding, she watched Houlihan walk past Gary's junk, climb in his police car, and drive off.

In the bedroom she struggled into a pair of tennis shorts and her abalone shell halter and fixed her hair into a ponytail on top of her head that C.R. Black called "his love handle."

In the bedroom, she used an atomizer to spray some Obsession perfume on her neck and wrists, then headed out the door.

Stepanovich was sitting on a bar stool working on his third drink when Brenda walked in the front door. She looked ill at ease.

"That guy Houlihan came over to my house," she said, crawling onto the stool between him and Black. She placed her cheap leather purse on the bar and took out a plastic cigarette case. "He wanted to know why I rented the apartment on Ortega Street." She picked a cigarette from the case and Black lit it for her. She puffed, waved a hand through smoke. "I told him I rented the place on my own and you guys asked me to use it. But I don't think he believed a word I said."

"You did good, woman," Black said, putting his arm around her. She smiled demurely.

"Brenda always does good," Arredondo said.

Black glared at him and Brenda looked pleased.

"He'll be back to talk to you again," Stepanovich said "He'll have more questions."

"What should I say?"

"Stick by your story. If he presses, just cut him off. Tell him you don't want to get involved."

There was an uneasy silence as Sullivan brought Brenda her usual and retreated to the other end of the bar.

"He won't accept that," Brenda said.

Stepanovich sipped his drink. It tasted bitter. "Just tell him you don't want to get involved and if he wants more information he'll have to get a subpoena."

"I can I get in trouble for lying to him, can't I?"

"If you're subpoenaed to the trial board, you repeat your story and that's that."

"But I can get in trouble, can't I?"

"Only if you change your story."

As the evening wore on, the conversation dwindled, as if somehow everything, for once and for all, had been said. Stepanovich, matching the others drink for drink, grew numb from the alcohol and long before closing time he had the feeling that he was trapped inside the bar; the doors were locked and he would be staying here in the darkness and the smell of booze-soaked floors and red leather and stale cigarette ashes.

The next morning, Stepanovich awoke on the floor of his living room. There were beer cans strewn about and Arredondo was asleep on the sofa with his mouth hanging open.

He staggered to his feet and walked into the bedroom. Brenda and Black were lying on the mattress naked with arms around each other.

In the bathroom, he stared at himself in the mirror, trying to remember what had happened the night before. He recalled purchasing six packs of Coors from Sullivan and then climbing into Black's car outside in the parking lot. The rest was a blank. He opened the bathroom door and stared at Brenda and Black as they slept. What was Gloria doing? he wondered. He picked up the phone and dialed her number. She answered on the first ring.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"A little."

"May I come over?"

"Joe, I've got to get away for a while. I'm flying down to Albuquerque to stay with my older sister for a week or so."

"We need to talk."

"My head is spinning."

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too."

"Can we get together before you leave?"

"I'd rather wait until I get back ... until I've thought things out. I'll see you when I get back."

"Sure."

****

TWENTY-FIVE

Two weeks later, the board of rights hearing for Stepanovich, Black, and Arredondo was scheduled to convene in the eighth floor hearing room at Parker Center. Because of the extraordinary interest shown by the Los Angeles press corps, a number of folding chairs had been set up in the corner of the room as a makeshift press pen. In addition, the police public affairs representative had set up an elaborate display board with framed photographs of the department's current chain of command officer. The color eight by-tens of the neat, trim commanders, all in uniform and wearing gold braided police hats, were arranged around a larger photograph of Chief of Police Levester C. Burrel. A distinguished, soft spoken black, he was popular not only with the officers and detectives who'd worked for him as he climbed the ladder from the Wilshire vice squad to the eighth floor at police headquarters, but also with the real estate developers, powerful lawyers, and their city council pawns who secretly controlled the city.

A nervous Stepanovich, dressed in a suit and sporting a fresh haircut, sat at the defense table with Black and Arredondo, who were similarly dressed. Howard Goldberg had obtained special permission from the district attorney to act as volunteer defense counsel for the three accused while on unpaid leave from his regular duties. He was leaning over the table, thumbing quickly through a thick stack of notes.

Seated in the twelve rows of padded seats in the room were detectives assigned to internal affairs division, deputy city attorneys concerned with potential civil litigation arising from the Ortega Street shooting, note takers from the chiefs and mayor's offices, the police commission, the American Civil Liberties Union, Hispanics rights groups, and potential witnesses, including Sparky, Brenda, Sullivan, Officer Forest, Harger, and a coroner's investigator.

The stage where the board would sit was usually used for prisoner line-ups. The steel reinforced door at the rear of the stage opened and a hush came over the room. The members of the Board of Rights, Captain Homer L. Ratliff, Captain Dexter C. Kefauver, and Captain Chauncey K. Lively, all wearing full uniform and sporting fresh haircuts moved to their table and sat down.