The Sentry (12 page)

“Remember?”

Pike hit him again, moving so fast Hector did not see it coming. His head snapped back, but Pike had not hit him hard. Pike wanted him awake.

“Where are they?”

“Whachu talking about?”

“The people who own the sandwich shop.”

“I don’t know, bro. Whachu talking about?”

Pike studied the dark eyes. They were angry and fearful, but also confused. Father Art told him the
Malevos
had over sixty known members spread throughout Venice. Not all of them would be part of every crime committed, nor even know what the other members were doing. Pike decided Hector was telling the truth.

“Where’s Mendoza?”

“How the fuck I’m supposed to know? Off doing his thing.”

“You see him this morning?”

“Man, we ain’t married. I got my own life.”

Pike hit him again, harder than before, then shook him to help clear his head.

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Yesterday. After his release.”

“Where?”

Pike wanted to see if Hector was playing it straight.

“Here, bro. Homes made bail, he hung out for a while, then split. You know how it is.”

“Where’d he go when he left here?”

“Home to his old lady, I guess. I dunno. We was gonna get together, but I never heard back.”

“Was Gomer with him?”

“I dunno.”

Pike searched Hector for weapons, but found only keys, a cell phone, and a wallet. He held up the keys.

“The Monte Carlo?”

Hector nodded, and Pike jerked him to the door.

“Let’s go. Outside.”

“You takin’ my car?”

“I’m taking you.”

P
ike shoved Hector into the passenger seat, then slid in behind the wheel and powered away. Hector shriveled from Pike like a deflating balloon, his eyes snapping like shutters.

“Where you takin’ me? Where we goin’, homes?”

Pike didn’t answer. He drove five blocks into the residential neighborhood to put distance between himself and the body shop before he pulled to the curb. Hector shrank even farther away, inching up the door.

Pike went through Hector’s wallet. He found thirty-two dollars, pictures of people who were probably Hector’s family, some discount coupons, and two California driver’s licenses. Both showed Hector’s picture, but with different names, addresses, and DOBs. One identified Hector as Hector Francis Perra with a Ghost Town address, the other as Juan Rico with a Van Nuys address. Pike returned everything to the wallet, then looked at Hector.

“Mendoza.”

“I don’t know where he is. I tol’ you. How the fuck I’m supposed to know?”

Pike drew the Python and pressed it into Hector’s thigh.

“Show me where he lives.”

Hector directed him to a small flat-roofed bungalow at the edge of Ghost Town near Inglewood. The stucco siding flowered with water damage, but the yard was surprisingly neat. Two stringy palms cast Marks-A-Lot shadows across a Honda Maxima in the drive. Pike cruised past, then parked on the next block with an eyes-forward view of the house.

Pike said, “That his car?”

“His girlfriend. This is her place. He lives with her.”

“What’s her name?”

“Carla Fuentes.”

“Kids?”

“No, but that bitch is tryin’. I tell him he better watch out.”

The house showed no life, but the same was true for most of the surrounding houses. An older woman pruned dusty roses in a yard farther down the street, and a mongrel dog that had probably dug its way to freedom sniffed at a street sign, then burst away at a sprint. Pike would have preferred to watch the house until Mendoza emerged or returned, but felt he didn’t have time. Pike’s nature was to drive the play, and driving the play meant moving forward.

Pike holstered his gun, took the keys from the ignition, then reached under the dash at the base of the steering column. He disconnected the wires that controlled the turn signals and horn, then got out of the car. When he pulled Hector across the seat, Hector looked hopeful.

“You lettin’ me go?”

“No.”

Pike clipped the plasticuffs off Hector’s wrists, but immediately tied his right wrist to the top of the steering wheel and his left to the bottom. He pulled the plasticuffs tight.

“Damn, bro, that cuts.”

Pike closed the door.

“Start screaming, you won’t like how it ends.”

Pike walked directly to Mendoza’s house, then cut down the drive and picked up his pace. The drive led to a detached one-car garage, but Pike broke hard to the side of the house. He stayed low, rising only long enough to glance in each window as he circled the house. He slipped past a screenless back door, then across a small patio. The next two windows were blocked by drawn shades, but he could see into a bathroom and bedroom on the opposite side of the house. Both were empty, but the bathroom allowed a narrow view across a hall into the living room. He saw a TV playing, but not who was watching. There were at least three rooms that Pike could not see into. Mendoza and Gomer could be in any of them, but Pike would not know this until he entered the home.

Pike was still watching the living room when a young woman carried a large bundle past the bathroom. Mendoza’s girlfriend, Carla. She went into the living room, then disappeared as she turned toward the kitchen.

Pike ran to the backyard and reached the corner of the house as the screen door kicked open. Carla Fuentes came out, carrying her bundle to the garage. She wore a thin tank top that was too tight for her bulges, bright purple shorts, and was barefoot. She elbowed open a door on the side of the garage, and went in. Laundry.

Pike waited a five-count to see if anyone would follow her out, then crossed the yard fast. He slipped in behind her as she pushed sheets into a top-loading washer. She didn’t know he was there until he wrapped his arms around her, one hand over her mouth, the other pinning her arms. Her body went stiff with an electric jolt of fear. She was strong. She arched her back, trying to twist away, kicking and stomping his legs. Pike held her close, trapping her, and made his voice calm.

“You’re safe. I want Mendoza.”

She tried to bite him.

“Is Mendoza inside?”

She finally stopped fighting, but her body was rigid. He took his hand from her mouth, but stayed ready to clamp down if she screamed. She didn’t.

“You motherfucker. Who the fuck are you?”

“Is Mendoza inside?”

“Lemme go, you bastard. You the police? Who are you?”

“Yeah, I’m the police. Is Mendoza inside?”

“Ain’t nobody here. I don’t know where that bastard is.”

“Let’s see.”

Pike walked her to the house, keeping her in front of him as he drew his weapon. He let her open the door, but listened hard before they entered. The kitchen smelled of bacon and marijuana. Pike heard the television, but no living voices or movement. He whispered in her ear.

“Slow.”

As they stepped inside, the girl suddenly called out.

“Loo-cee, I hoannn!”

Pike gripped her tighter, but she barked out a laugh.

“Homes, he ain’t here. You gotta relax.”

Pike walked her into the living room first. A large glass hash pipe sat on a coffee table opposite the television as if it were watching. He pushed her through the living room to the hall, then through the rest of the house. He checked the closets, the bathtub, and under the beds. He didn’t release her until they were back in the kitchen, where he pulled a chair from the table and told her to sit.

“Fuck you, you bitch. I ain’t gotta sit in my own fuckin’ house.”

“Sit, or I’ll make you.”

Pike saw a fading bruise high on her left cheek as Carla Fuentes looked him over. Her eyes held on his tattoos as if seeing something familiar, and then she sat.

“You ain’t five-oh. You’re the dude broke his arm.”

“Where is he?”

“You find him, you tell me. I hope you kicked his ass good.”

Pike circled the kitchen, looking for something that would give him leverage over the girlfriend or help him find Mendoza.

“If you know about me, it means you’ve seen him.”

“Bullshit it does. Means he called when they were processing him. Said he would be home last night, but that bitch never showed. I got stress in my life.”

Pike found a pink cell phone on the counter by a pack of cigarettes. He opened it, and scrolled through the directory.

“Was he here this morning?”

“You listenin’ to me? I got no call, no nothing, so fuck him and fuck you. I signed off this house to guarantee that bond. That bitch runs off, I’m losing my home.”

Pike glanced over. Azzara had told him he covered Mendoza’s bond, but now the girlfriend was telling a different story. Pike believed the girl. Her eyes were red and the corners of her mouth were dimpled with tension. The bond on Mendoza’s assault wouldn’t have been more than fifty thousand dollars, and would likely be less. The bondsman was ripping her off.

Pike returned to the phone and found a speed-dial listing for REUBEN. He memorized the number, then held out the phone.

“Call him. Let’s see where he is.”

“He ain’t gonna answer. I been callin’ all day.”

Pike checked the outgoing call list, and saw she was telling the truth. Mendoza’s number had been dialed fourteen consecutive times. Pike dialed the number again. Mendoza’s phone immediately went to voice mail, so Pike killed the call.

“He tell you what he was doing when I broke his arm?”

“Said you were fighting. Said he was gonna fuck you up real good, he catch you again.”

“Is he looking for me?”

“Said he was, but seein’ you now, that was just him spinnin’ shit.”

Pike wondered if this meant the harassment toward Wilson was directed at him. Hurting Wilson and Dru to get back at Pike. He put the phone with the cigarettes, then stood in front of her.

“Is that why he wasn’t going to be home until last night, he was looking for me?”

“That was just mouth. He said he had business.”

“Business like what?”

“He hadda go help some friends. Thass what he says when it’s
Trece
.”

“Gang business?”

“Thass what it means, helpin’ some friends. He was callin’ from jail, homes, the Sheriffs right there, you can’t just say what you’re sayin’. He said he hadda help some friends, and tol’ me he would be home, only he never showed up and he ain’t callin’ back, and now I got you in my house. I signed off my
home
for that fuckin’ bitch, and for all I know he jumped bail and left.”

Pike believed she didn’t know anything more, but he still didn’t have anything that would help him find Mendoza.

“Where else does he stay when he’s not here with you?”

“This is his
home
. I let him move
in
here. We’re gonna get
married
.”

“What kind of car does he drive?”

“An eighty-six El Camino. It’s brown. Like a turd.”

“Where does he keep his paperwork? Car registration, bills, things like that.”

Pike followed her back to the bedroom where she pulled a cardboard shoe box from the top drawer of a scarred and faded cabinet. It contained a few family photos, birth information, and miscellaneous warranties and receipts. Pike found the bill of sale and registration information for the El Camino along with the tag and VIN numbers. He didn’t waste time copying the numbers. He tucked the box under his arm.

“What you doin’, man, thass his things!”

Pike noticed a large blue purse on the dresser. He went through it and found Carla’s wallet.

“I ain’t got no money in there.”

Pike wasn’t looking for money. Seeing Mendoza’s family photos gave him an idea. Her wallet held a vinyl picture holder, and the first picture was Reuben Mendoza. Mendoza was smiling so wide he looked like a pumpkin. Pike took the picture, then placed the purse back on the dresser.

“You fuckin’ thief. I’m call in’ five-oh.”

Pike decided there was nothing more to be had, and walked out of the room. Carla Fuentes trailed after him, anxiously pulling his arm.

“Let me ask you somethin’. If he skips on the bond, they really gonna take my house?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s not my fault if he runs.”

“You signed the bond.”

“Waitaminute. Wait, now, what about this? If he gets himself killed, will I still lose the house? If he’s dead, they can’t blame me for that, can they? They won’t take the house?”

Pike stopped when he reached the door.

“No. You’ll lose the bond fee and application, but the court will release the bond back to the bondsman.”

“What does that mean?”

“You won’t lose the house.”

She thought it through, and some of the terror left her eyes.

“What you gonna do if you find him?”

“What would you like me to do?”

“Break his other damned arm. Break it real good, then beat him to death.”

Pike stepped into the sun and headed back to the Monte Carlo.

P
ike climbed into the Monte Carlo, but this time into the passenger seat, leaving Hector tied to the wheel. Hector once more scrunched as far from Pike as possible.

“Look at my hands, homes. Look at’m! They’re turnin’ blue!”

Pike fingered through the papers in the box, wanting to see what he had.

“You gonna let me go? You gotta let me go, bro, this shit here is kidnap-pin’. That’s a federal offense.”

“Shut up.”

Hector fell silent, but grumbled under his breath.

Pike found cash receipts and instructions for three disposable phones Mendoza purchased from Best Buy. Pike wondered if his friend Elvis Cole could use the information to locate Mendoza or identify who he was calling. Cole was a private investigator, and had relationships with most of the cell service providers. He might also be able to help find Alberto Gomer.