Enemy Way (20 page)

Ella went back to her vehicle. As she pulled away, she saw Mrs. Bileen crying over a shattered piece of pottery. Her possessions were in disarray, some damaged beyond repair, yet she had more regard for the Fierce Ones than she did for
the police.

That thought saddened Ella. The people she’d sworn to protect did not want her, and those dearest to her had been hurt because her protection hadn’t been there when it was needed most. When she’d first started in law enforcement, she’d thought that enthusiasm and competence could overcome, or at least reduce, the world of crime. But that just wasn’t happening, and she didn’t know
what to do about it.

The course ahead seemed filled with uncertainty, not answers, and that made her feel desolate, as if she were driving down an empty path, utterly alone.

For now, however, she was a cop, and that work required her attention and her continued dedication. Ella drove back to the station, checking off a mental list of things that needed to be done. Reports, the bane of her existence,
had to be finished and filed. She also had to get an update from Justine. Seeing her Jeep in its usual spot, she returned the sedan to the motor pool, and went inside the station.

Justine was leaving a file on her desk when Ella walked in. “What have you got there?” Ella asked.

“The paperwork on my cousin. Despite all the physical evidence we have on him, I still couldn’t get a thing from him
before he was released. He and my aunt insist they won’t speak to cops without his lawyer. The tribe appointed one for him. At least it’s not Bekis or your lawyer, Kevin Tolino.” Justine managed a weak smile.

“So how are things with you and that side of your family now? Or should I ask?”

“My aunt is still being a real—”

“Excuse me, ladies. We’ve got trouble,” Sergeant Neskahi interrupted, appearing
at the door. “I was doing some research into the gangs, trying to tie them into the murder, when I heard a call over the radio. The Many Devils and the North Siders are about to square off in the high school parking lot. That’s Many Devils turf. Everyone available is being called there now, Code One.”

Ella mentally acknowledged the request for a silent approach, then said, “Let’s go,” and started,
grabbing her riot gear from the locker. “I just hope they didn’t bring any guns.” Seconds later, they set out, Ella driving.

“I hate this,” Justine grumbled. “I went to school with the brothers and sisters of these kids.”

“Do you suppose your cousin will be there? He’s supposed to be staying out of trouble.” Ella told her about what had happened with Vera Bileen and the Fierce Ones.

Justine
shook her head. “I hope not. That boy is out of control. I’m worried he’ll really hurt someone, or get killed trying.”

“They’re at the point where it may be too late, unless they can turn themselves around,” Ella said, trying to focus on the present as she switched lanes, passing a slow-moving pickup on the bridge. “But, you know, the ones who don’t break the law need our support to stand up
against the ones who do. We’re the equalizing force. Otherwise the kids with their heads on straight, those getting pushed around by the gangs, will be suffering too. They and their families,” she said, reminding herself as well as Justine.

Justine nodded. “I know all that, but when we’re up against the gangs, I see boys in baggy pants, not criminals.”

“That’s fine, until they start shooting
at each other … or at you,” Ella replied.

As Ella made a hard right turn, she could see the high school parking lot just ahead on her left. Ten or fifteen boys were clustered between three cars, engaged in a wild free-for-all of swinging fists and clubs.

Ella swung her Jeep into the parking lot, then slammed on the brakes and pulled to a stop behind a department patrol unit.

Gang members were
scrambling around the cars, screaming insults and swinging wildly at one another with fists, car chains, and a variety of clubs, including at least three baseball bats. Two boys already lay on the asphalt, and a third was crawling on his stomach, leaving a trail of blood as he tried to reach safety beneath the right-hand car, a beat-up Chevy sedan.

ELEVEN

One of the uniformed officers who’d arrived just ahead of them hit the siren, then yelled over his unit’s loudspeaker for everyone to set down their weapons and lie facedown on the pavement. His partner stepped out of the vehicle and racked a shell into the chamber of his riot gun.

About that time Ella and Justine exited the Jeep, batons in hand. Most of the angry young Navajos, some
with bloodied faces or hands, stopped and turned toward them, clubs and weapons in hand.

“They’re going to fight us,” Justine said, looking toward another police unit just pulling up on their left.

“No, they’re not,” Ella countered, as four youths suddenly dove toward a car. “They’re making a run for it!”

The officer who’d used the loudspeaker spoke a command into his radio as one of the gang
vehicles spun around and, with squealing tires, raced toward the exit. Another police unit, coming up the highway, blocked their escape from the parking area. The car full of gang members swerved, bounded up onto a median, and slammed into a stop sign. The teens jumped out, each running in a different direction. Two patrolmen, exiting their unit, gave chase on foot.

“Down on the ground!” Ella
shouted to the rest of the boys, who’d just stood there watching. As Ella and Justine advanced, however, the remaining youths dropped their weapons and scattered, knowing they weren’t going to be fired upon by the police. A few ran toward the high school buildings, pursued by the officer who’d been directing the operation, and his partner. Ella and Justine hurried toward the wounded boys, who were
down near the remaining gang vehicles.

When Ella crouched by the first boy, whose flannel shirt was slashed and soaked with blood, she felt the pulse point at his neck. He groaned. “Knife wounds, but he’s alive,” she said to Justine, gesturing for her to check the teen who lay about ten feet away.

Justine reached him, checked for a pulse then, looking at Ella, nodded. “Unconscious. Looks like
he was stabbed, too, and struck on the head.”

As soon as two other officers came running up, Ella asked them to stay with the wounded. She moved toward the beat-up Chevy, where she’d last seen someone on the ground. A streak of fresh blood showed where he’d crawled beneath the car and behind the front tire. “I know you’re under there,” she said. “Don’t make this worse for yourself. You’re going
to need a doctor or a mortician, depending on how long it takes for you to come out. What will it be?”

Ella heard a curse that came from beneath the Chevy. “Slide your weapon out toward me,” she said, knowing he’d had something in his hand earlier.

Nothing happened.

“I can wait here all afternoon. If you think you’ll stop bleeding on your own, we can sit back and drag this out as long as you
want. Or, one of our officers can drive this car away faster than you can crawl, and we can hope he doesn’t run over you in the process. It’s your call.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ella saw Justine trying to crouch down to see what the boy was doing. She felt her heart lodge in her throat. If he had a pistol and was looking her way, Justine could be his next target.

“Slide it out now!” Ella
ordered the boy. “Your friends abandoned you. If you want to be alive to brag about your scars, do what I say.”

Ella was relieved to see Justine take out her handgun and lay prone, the weapon aimed beneath the car. “What’s it going to be, kid?”

A moment later, a bloody, six-inch folding knife with a carved handle came sliding out from beneath the car. Then two hands reached out from beside a
tire. “I don’t have a gun, just the knife. I can’t move. Just don’t shoot!”

Ella moved toward the weapon as Justine reached the boy and crouched down by the car.

“He’s clean,” her assistant yelled out.

“Who did this to you?” Ella asked, going up to the wounded lad. He’d managed to crawl out from under the Chevy with Justine’s help, and now lay on his back beside the car.

The boy shook his
head. “My homies will do the payback. We don’t need cops taking care of our business.”

“Don’t add more stupidity to what you’ve already done,” Justine said, her voice almost drowned out by the sirens of approaching emergency vehicles. “You don’t owe anyone any loyalty. Face it. They bailed on you and ran like cowards.” Justine continued to apply pressure to the wound in his side. “Help us out,
okay?”

The boy glared at her, but a stony silence was her only answer.

Neskahi approached, radio in hand. “The ambulance will be here in another minute,” he said. “Our officers identified the two other injured, and are tending to their wounds. The one with all the blood is Wilbert Garnenez. The boys called him Taco. The other, the one they called Lobo, is Gilbert Paul. He’s still unconscious.”

Ella recognized the last names. She knew of those families, though she hadn’t met the boys. Sorrow filled her as she thought of the pain their families would have to go through, and get past, if either one died.

Then she looked down at the boy Justine was helping. At least this one had been able to talk. Maybe his chances were better. Even so, Ella could see the fear in the boy’s eyes. She wondered
how long it would last, and how quickly it would turn to defiance and hatred once he knew he was no longer in mortal danger.

“We’ve got three other kids in custody,” Neskahi said. “I came in from the south side of the campus and practically ran right into them. They insist they’re innocent bystanders, who just happened to be hanging out, of course. Three of our officers are still in pursuit of
the rest.”

Ella left Justine with the third wounded boy, and followed Neskahi to the captured teens he’d rounded up. An officer was trying fruitlessly to get names out of the youngest boy, who never took his eyes off the other two who had been arrested with him. He appeared to be several years younger, maybe still in middle school.

The older boys stayed back to back, sitting on the ground, handcuffed.
Another officer was watching them carefully. The two, dressed in the black colors of the North Siders, refused to make eye contact with anyone.

Ella nodded to the officer as she took the youngest boy aside. He was wearing red, baggy pants and a white T-shirt splattered with blood, and was trying not to shiver, despite the cool afternoon. “You don’t seem eager to get anywhere near those two guys.
I can keep you away from them, if you want. You don’t seem like friends.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he spat out, staring at her intensely.

She had been mad-dogged by much more intimidating criminals, so she just smiled. “The alternative, of course, is that you’ll end up sharing a holding jail cell with them. Aren’t they wearing North Sider colors?” Ella saw the fear that flashed across
the boy’s eyes. “Tell me what happened here.”

“The Siders think they can move into our hood now that you cops are on our backs. The high school is on our turf, and they think because their homies go to school, too, they own the place. That isn’t going to happen. They outnumber us, but we can stand up to them. They came to school wearing their colors right in our faces, not showing respect.”

Ella noted the false bravado, and the way he stood a little straighter when he spoke of respect. “Everyone seemed to be ready for trouble today. I saw a lot of weapons. Who threw hooks first? Was it the MDs?”

“No way. The Siders have a guy they call Lobo. They pulled up beside us and started dissing us. Lobo called Taco out, and Rambo went along to back him up. The Lobo guy lost his nerve when
he saw Taco holding a bat, so he pulled a knife out of his sleeve and slashed both of them real good. Taco took the blade and didn’t even flinch, then hit a home run off Lobo’s head. Rambo got Lobo with his knife, too, but then went down.”

“Are you saying the three boys the medics are working on assaulted each other?” Ella prodded.

The boy nodded, then smiled. “Then Rambo is still alive?”

“That’s right.” Ella motioned to the arresting officer, who put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Before he was led away, the boy turned and gave Ella a worried look. “You’ll keep your word? Don’t put me in the same cell with them. I don’t have my friends to back me up.”

“We’ll keep you separate,” Ella said, then glanced at the officer, confirming the promise.

Justine, who had come up during the
last part of the interview, added, “I think the boy he called Rambo is really John Begay. My mother knows his mother. He’s been in and out of trouble for years.”

“Let’s go talk to her then. Maybe she knows what the Many Devils might do next, or could at least give us some names.”

“The Begays live about three miles from me,” Justine said. “Maybe I should drive. The road is pretty bad, but at
least I know it.”

Justine’s statement about the road turned out to be the understatement of the year. Ella gave up trying to write her notes as they traveled around potholes that looked like moon craters and sections of washboard that made her teeth rattle.

When they arrived, Justine parked the Jeep, and she and Ella got out to wait.

“Are you going to tape our conversation?”

Ella hesitated.
“Yeah, I guess we should, but since it’s not admissible for evidence, just a way of covering ourselves, let’s make sure we keep it low profile.”

Soon a short, overweight woman in her mid-forties came to the door. She was wearing the traditional long skirt with a thick wool shawl over a dark-colored velvet blouse, and smelled of piñon smoke. “You’re the police, aren’t you. Come on in.”

As they
entered the small trailer home, Ella was struck by the condition of the dwelling. It had obviously been well-cared-for at one time. She could see where a torn couch had been mended, and the refrigerator door and cupboards repainted. Things had changed, however. Trash had now accumulated everywhere, and was stacked inside grocery sacks that lined the kitchen wall. There was an overturned tricycle
in the hall, and toys were scattered about. Thick layers of dust covered the few pieces of furniture.