Guilt by Association (22 page)

I woke to the rumble
of the engine and the sensation that I was hurtling through space. Unable to see, I panicked, thinking I was blind, then
remembered they’d thrown a blanket over my head. I blinked a few times to reassure myself that my eyes were working. I had
no idea how long I’d been unconscious, or in what direction we were headed.

There were at least three people in the car with me, the two in the backseat who’d snatched me and the driver, but no one
spoke a word. From what little I’d had the chance to see, the assholes who’d grabbed me seemed dark-complected. My mind flashed
immediately to Hispanic, then to gangbanger, then to the Sylmar Sevens. I wanted to be wrong about this, because if I was
right, then I was dead.

I needed a plan.
Did I still have my gun?
Slowly, trying to keep them from seeing any movement, I wiggled my hands. They weren’t bound. So far, so good. I carefully
flexed my left foot. My feet were free too. Even better. But my purse was gone, which meant my gun was gone. That was bad,
really bad. I had my vest on, but that wasn’t much comfort. A vest wouldn’t do squat for a head shot. I fought off the sinking
feeling that rode a new wave of panic.
Focus,
I told myself. They’d have to get me out of the car to shoot me. No one
wants the mess of someone bleeding out in his car if he can avoid it. That meant at least a few exposed moments that would
give me a chance to fight. I tried to remember the street-fighting moves I’d learned from a former date who’d taught Krav
Maga. I’d just replayed the kneecap crusher when I noticed that traffic sounds were receding and the streets were getting
quieter. As the city noises fell away, I smelled the damp greenness of trees and grass.

Bad had suddenly turned to much, much worse. I thought about all the popular local body dumps where my carcass likely wouldn’t
be found for months. Griffith Park was the closest, which would explain the fresh smell of growing plants and nature. I tried
not to give in to the fear, tried to stay focused on a decent plan of action. But just then the car pulled onto gravel and
slowed to a stop. No more time for plans. I willed my breathing to slow down and focused on what my first move would be when
they pulled me off the floor of the car.

The jerk who was sitting near my head wrapped his arms around my torso in a bear hug that pinned my arms to my sides, then
pulled me up to a sitting position in the middle of the seat. With the blanket still draped over my head and body, he stuck
what felt like a .44 semiautomatic into my neck while the other jerk gripped my elbow at an angle I knew would cause a nasty
break if I made any sudden moves. I braced myself for the shot that would tear through my throat as my mind, numbed with terror
but hyperalert, took in every smell and sensation. Then a voice from the driver’s seat said quietly, “Okay, now.”

I inhaled sharply, thinking this breath might be my last, and steeled myself against the searing heat of a bullet. Instead,
someone pulled off the blanket.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realized we were in MacArthur Park—just minutes from downtown—and I was staring into
the face of suspect number one: Luis Revelo.

“I apologize for the uncivilized intro,”
Luis Revelo said in a soft voice. “You probably won’t believe it, but it’s not my style.” He pronounced “probably”
prally
and gave “style” two really long syllables.

Having just a second earlier believed I was about to shuffle off this mortal coil, I was in a somewhat insane, reckless frame
of mind. “Unlike rape,” I barked, my voice raspy, “which apparently
is
your style.”

“No, ma’am. It ain’t—isn’t,” he corrected himself, trying hard to impress. “See, I knew you was—were thinkin’ like that, so
I had to find a way to tell you. Susan was my friend and my ticket out. She was helpin’ me go for my GED so I could get into
community college, then a four-year for my MBA. No way was I goin’ to fu—uh, screw that up.”

“So you kidnapped a DA,” I said, “in order to explain that?”

His brow wrinkled in consternation. “What was I gonna do? Walk into the cop shop, tell ’em I didn’t rape that girl? What you
think they gonna say? ‘Oh, sorry, man, have a nice day’? You and I both know it don’t work like that.”

I looked at him, my eyes narrowed. He twisted around to face me full on and continued.

“They throw me in the slammer first, ax questions later. Then I sit there and rot while they drag their feet checkin’ out
my story. Meantime, someone else moves in on my turf. Or I get shanked by some Peckerwood or Crip in the joint.” He paused,
giving me time to absorb the intricacies of his dilemma.

I said nothing, but I privately figured he was “prally” right.

“ ’Sides, I had to try and get to you and ’splain somehow, ’cuz, see, I got nuthin’ to lose,” he said, loosening himself from
the binds of grammar in his desire to explain. “Long as you guys keep thinkin’ I did it, I’m on the run. Can’t do nuthin’
’cept hide. Tha’s no life. I figure I take this one shot with you. It don’t work, I fly south. Least in Baja, life’s cheaper.”

I could understand the logic. What I didn’t understand was why I should believe he didn’t rape Susan Densmore.

“And I’m supposed to just take your word that you didn’t do it, because—?”

“No.” He frowned, thinking. “What you want me to do?”

The gun that was still firmly planted in my neck did not exactly inspire a spirit of cooperation. “For starters, you could
tell your buddies here to stand down.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Manny, back off the piece.”

Manny, for whom no deodorant was any match, obediently removed the gun. It felt good enough to put me in a bargaining mood.
Trying to ignore the smell of overactive sweat glands from my seatmates, I considered my options. They’d banged me up some
and scared the shit out of me, but I couldn’t argue with Luis’s take on things. And if he really hadn’t raped Susan, then
I wanted to move on and find out who did. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I had a lot to gain from this bizarre
collaboration. Strange times call for strange measures. I was ready to drive this deal home.

“You’ll take a DNA test and a poly,” I said. “Those come up clean,
we’ll forget about… this.” I looked at the creeps flanking me. “If not, your ass is mine.”

“It’ll be a clean test, no funny stuff, right?”

“You see me laughing?”

He looked at me closely, then slowly nodded. “Okay.” After a pause, he added, “But when I pass and whatever, I walk out of
there, right?”

“I’ll walk you out myself,” I promised.

“Deal,” he said as he reached out between the front seats to shake my hand.

“Not yet.” I shook my head. “You messed up my car, cost me for four new tires, and shot at me. I want the assholes who did
all that or it’s no deal.”

Luis looked at me quizzically, then stared at my escorts. They shrugged at him and looked at each other, then back at Luis.
“Nobody fired no—’scuse me—
any
shots at you,” he said. Then, focusing on what was obviously the most important event to him, he asked, “No shit, they effed
up your ride?”

“One of your
pendejos
tagged and dragged my car so bad it looks like a raggedy soup can. Then some of them followed me and my detective to Marsden
High and took shots at us,” I said, my tone getting crankier by the second.

This time, I had to admit, the looks of shock on all their faces were fairly convincing.

“Marsden High? What’d we be doin’ there?” Luis asked, looking honestly puzzled. He shook his head emphatically, then leaned
toward me. “Come on, Ms. Knight, you know how it works. No one makes a big move like messin’ with a DA or a cop ’less I call
the shot. And I din’t—I
didn’t—
give a green light on that shit,” Luis said heatedly, ending on a note of disgust. He shook his head. “That kinda craziness
screws it up for all of us. Some dumbass messes with a cop or a DA, next thing you know, they’re up our asses twenty-four/seven
and we can’t do no bizness.”

“And banging’s all about business?” I said, skeptical but mildly amused.

Luis nodded seriously. “Some
cabrones
out there’re just plain loco, crimin’ alla time, just gettin’ in trouble for no reason. Don’ accomplish nuthin’. That stupid
shit gets you nowhere. Tha’s not me. It’s ’bout makin’ the money,” he said matter-of-factly. “And
familia
.”

I paused, thinking. I wasn’t quite as confident as Luis that none of his minions had gone rogue, but if I asked him to check
in with his homies, I knew that would only make him lose face. And besides, if he came up clean for the rape, there’d have
been no reason for the Sevens to stick their necks out to get to me or Bailey.

“One more thing,” I said. I had a single last piece of business to do with him right now. It was a big one. And now, when
I had his full attention and real leverage, was the time to spring it.

“Yeah?” he said warily.

“We’ve got one of your baby gangsters in custody right now—”

Luis looked at his homies again; they looked back at him blankly. I got the feeling they looked that way a lot.

“You haven’t heard?”

Luis shook his head, his expression dark. “Who you talkin’ about?”

“Hector Amaya.”

Luis turned to the other two.
“Sabes algo?”
(You know anything?)

The other two shook their heads, their expressions shocked. “Nada.”

“What’s he busted for?” Luis asked.

“Burglary,” I replied.

He nodded. His reaction, or lack thereof, told me that this was an approved activity. So as far as he was concerned, it was
no harm, no foul. Time to see what he did with the rest of the information.

I continued, “About three blocks from Susan’s house.”

Luis frowned, and his demeanor suddenly went white-hot. “What
the—?” His nostrils flared as he turned an accusatory look on the two bangers next to me.

This time, one of them found the power of speech. “I din’ hear nuthin’ ’bout this, I swear.”

“Me neither,” said Manny.

“This doesn’t help your case any,” I pointed out.

Luis nodded, his fury palpable. “Looks like shit,” he agreed. “I din’t have nuthin’ to do with it.” He took in my skeptical
expression. “You don’ believe me, I get it. But how’m I s’posed to prove it?”

I leaned back and looked at Luis for a moment. “I’ll tell you how. Hector dummied up and asked for a lawyer. You get him to
talk to me. We’ll see where it goes from there.”

Luis turned sideways and stared out the passenger window as he cracked his knuckles. For the first time, I noticed he was
probably over six feet and fairly buffed. The loud cracks coming from his hands told me he’d used them for more than just
picking locks. Still staring out the window, his expression grim, he said, “You’re going to have to get me in to see him.
He’s not gonna talk ’less he hears from me in person, an’ he can’t talk on the phone.”

I nodded. Jail calls were routinely taped and monitored… and used in trial, as more than one defendant had learned the hard
way.

Luis nodded solemnly. “He’ll talk to you. Count on it.”

I felt an unexpected wave of sympathy for the baby gangster. And now I understood why he’d asked for a lawyer. If Luis was
telling the truth and he’d pulled this job on his own in an unapproved territory, he was in big trouble. The best thing he
could do was suck it up, do the time, and hope the powers that be—i.e., Luis Revelo—would cool off in the interim. But if
he talked to the cops, he’d be branded a snitch, adding insult to injury. He’d lose gang backing for all time. That would
mean he’d not only have to worry about getting shanked by rival gangs in prison, but he’d be at risk from his own people as
well. Talk about a death warrant.

“You won’t be alone with him, so don’t think you’re going to take care of some of your own business on my watch,” I warned.
Though Luis didn’t seem the type who was dumb enough to shank Hector during a visit, I didn’t want to take any chances.

Luis looked at me and sighed. “Lady, please. I got enough troubles without that shit. You don’t think I know it?” He shook
his head. “But how you gonna do it without getting my ass busted? I’m on probation. I’m not allowed to visit nobody in jail.”

I thought for a moment. “You got a decent suit?”

He looked insulted—as though I’d asked him if he knew how to fence a diamond bracelet. Luis tilted his head, looked down his
nose, and said, “What you think we wear to funerals, lady?”

Manny’s sweat glands had gone
nuclear after Luis found out about the baby gangster’s burglary, and the smell was gagging me, so I called shotgun for the
ride back to the Biltmore. Luis was amused by a DA who called shotgun, so it was a win-win move. Just ten minutes later, he
stopped across the street from the hotel and turned to Manny. “Give the lady back her piece.”

Manny passed me my purse, then handed over the gun in a smooth, practiced move that kept it below window level. “Nice gun,”
he said as he eyed it covetously.

I slid Manny a warning look, snatched the gun out of his hand, and protectively slipped it back into my purse. Luis and I
settled on our next time and place. I got out and patted the roof of the car, and Luis zoomed off.

I headed for the hotel, feeling like the ground was tilting under my feet. Angel, the doorman, smiled, then looked at me closely.
“You okay, Rachel?”

“I’m good. Just a little tired,” I said, on autopilot. My body moved toward the bar before my brain could register where it
was going. Muscle memory.

The moment I realized where I was headed, I began to imagine Drew’s warm, welcoming smile and the cool bite of a Ketel One
martini flowing over my tongue and down my throat. Feeling as though I were walking through space, I crossed the last few
feet to the bar and savored the solidity of the polished wooden door under my hand as I pushed through. The sounds of the
lobby behind me shut off as though I’d stepped through an air lock. I enjoyed the hush for a moment, then turned and looked
for Drew.