One More Body Read online

  I curled up behind Sunshine, moving her legs so that I could spoon her. We didn’t speak. We were past that. An hour later I was woken by an erection. I pressed against her, she murmured softly. Reaching back, she stroked me slick with a lube filled hand and guided me toward her vulva. Softly I pushed into her, her muscles tightened around me. Gripping her hips, I pushed harder and faster. She reached down and worked her fingers across her clit. She came screaming bloody murder. She clawed at my wrist, drew blood. I came, my screams matching hers.

  IN THE MORNING, we woke sticky and wrapped in each other’s arms. Her face was softer than I had ever seen it. I kissed her full lips. Kissed her again. Kissed her like we had nothing else that needed doing. On my elbows, I looked down at her.

  “Moses?”

  “Sunshine.”

  “If this was a raging blood’s up after battle fuck—”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Shut up. If that is what it was, or a novelty fuck, or pity fuck—”

  “It wasn’t, Sunshine.”

  “I’m warning you, so pay close attention. If it was, I will kill you like a wild dog. Kill you and never look back.”

  “That is the best thing anyone ever said to me.”

  “How is that?”

  “Just is, I guess.” All my life people, even my mother, that drunken Jesus-loving bitch, wanted me gone. My big brother split for Texas and left me alone. Women only wanted me around as long as they needed protecting. I guess Gregor wanted me around. Mikayla had, in her way. But none of them, not one, had ever wanted me bad enough to kill me if I left.

  Taking her face in my hands I kissed her deeply. I used my knees to spread her legs. I took a hand off her face and used it to tilt her pelvis up. My lips never left hers. My eyes never left hers. I was claiming her. I was owning her. I was making it clear with every thrust that she was mine.

  AN HOUR LATER we were bathed and eating breakfast. Corned beef hash and greens that Kenny whipped up. He gave me the stink eye and scowled every time Sunshine and I laughed.

  “While you two were . . .”

  “Fucking. We were fucking,” Sunshine said.

  “Yeah, I heard. While you was fucking, I been monitoring all feeds. The shootout at the pimp’s crib hit Van Nuys PD. Cars rolled and then it went dead silent. News is reporting a gas main blew up. No fatalities. Footage of frightened residents in front of the pimp’s place weeping about lost family photos.”

  “Who is cleaning for them?”

  “Internal LAPD, looks like. Our backup is the only feed left that proves it ever happened. They even wiped the 911 database. There’s a ten-minute gap in their timelines.”

  I looked from one to the other, getting no clearer on what all this meant.

  “Moses? You ever hear how they killed Malcolm X, the Kennedy brothers?” Sunshine asked.

  “No.”

  “No, of course he didn’t,” Kenny jumped in. “That was old tech. Rowboat, oxcart bullshit. Now they can rewrite the narrative in minutes. Hell, they can rewrite it while you are watching and make you believe it. Fuck Chris Angel, David Copperfield. Disappear a 747? How about a city block and an African National Congress.”

  “Ok, got it. These are smart, tricky bastards who make shit disappear. How the fuck does this wind up at my doorstep?”

  “That, white man, is the sixteen million dollar question.”

  “CIA? Homeland? Who else has this?” I swept my hand over Kenny’s workstation.

  “Anyone with money. LAPD don’t have the cash for new cars, I doubt they did it.”

  “Kenny, what do I tell you?” Sunshine sounded like a stern schoolteacher. A really smoking-hot schoolteacher.

  “Making assumptions before the facts are in screws the investigation.”

  “That’s the one. Los Angeles city budget was $6.9 billion last year.”

  “That’s a lot of cheese. Rats?” They were locked in on each other. Clearly this process was honed by time and practice. I was starting to feel like a fifth wheel, when from nowhere a perky little electronic song started playing. They both looked at me. I looked at them. The song went on.

  “You gonna get that, baby?”

  “What?”

  “Your phone.”

  She was right, the sound was coming from my pocket. By the time I figured out how to get it to work it had gone dead. Lowrie’s number was flashing.

  “Where the fuck are you, McGuire?”

  “Good morning, Detective.”

  “No, it is not. Get your ass to the normal meeting place. Now.” He hung up.

  The meeting place was a Denny’s in Hollywood. Why so cryptic wasn’t clear, but at this moment acting paranoid seemed like a bright plan. I told Sunshine I had to roll. She took my phone and switched some cards out. She punched a number into her phone and mine started playing Parliament’s “I Call My Baby Pussycat.”

  “You hear that, get your fine self back here. No shit, baby. You get back.” I kissed her, told her I would. Promised to call when I knew what was what.

  Kenny dropped a Kevlar vest, a riot gun, ammo for it and the Ruger on the table. “I put a tracker in both the car and the Ruger. We’ll keep eyes on you best we can.”

  “Sweet, kid, almost sounds like you care.”

  “I don’t. But you make her happy, so don’t die.”

  “Do my best.” We both knew my best wouldn’t be enough, not by a long shot. He gave me that subtle tough guy nod that is supposed to mean we get each other. I gave him the thousand-yard stare that said he had no fucking clue where I had been or where I was going.

  CHAPTER 24

  The Tempest felt good. Hell, all things considered I felt good. Had crazy-fine fucking. Slept without the dead haunting me. Ate well. Was drug free and sober. I had the iPod Nika gave me blasting U2. What wasn’t to like? Yes, some psycho paramilitary freaks were trying to take me off the boards, LAPD was after my ass, and I was one strike away from doing the bitch. But the clouds had blown away, rain leaving the air crisp. The Hollywood Hills looked as inviting and friendly as a postcard. The same couldn’t be said for Lowrie’s face. He was ashen, eyes bloodshot to brick red, bags near black. All this I’d seen before. It was the stink of tobacco and defeat that was new.

  “Where were you last night?” I was still walking when he asked.

  “Where do you think I was? That’s the real question. Where?”

  “No bullshit, McGuire, zero. Talk here or at the house. Cuffs are optional.”

  I held up a mug, motioning the waitress for coffee. Lowrie shook his head and she backed off. “I spent the night balls deep in fun, and no I won’t give you her name.”

  “How about yesterday morning, seven a.m.?”

  “That depends on who you ask, doesn’t it?”

  “Don’t fucking riddle me, McGuire. Way past taking crap from anyone.” His eyes were glassy. It was almost as if he had been crying, but he didn’t cry.

  “Truth is really fucking flexible right now. I was in a pimp named Titan’s crib. We were hit by a tactical team. Brutal bloody, took heads. I made it out. Killed two, maybe a third. But twenty minutes later it’s reported as a gas explosion. So you tell me where the fuck I was, because I’d just be guessing if I told you.”

  He nodded his head as if I’d confirmed something, stood, dropped a bill and walked out. Leaning on the back of his unmarked Impala, he shook out a pack of Camel Straights. I must have given him a look.

  “You gonna judge me, McGuire?”

  “Nope, wondering why is all.”

  “That shit in my gut? Big old C. Maybe a year. Until today, I cared.”

  “Today?”

  “They found your friend, one you called Rollens?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Dumped up on Angeles Crest.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Maybe you want a cigarette?” He handed it over, not really asking, and flamed it. Burned like hell. I didn’t care. I knew no good news was coming.

  “How?”<
br />
  “Chopped her up with machetes. They’re sending someone a message. Any idea who?”

  “No. Who’s the they? Who did this shit?”

  “Clueless, no witnesses. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Got nothing, Lowrie. I’m still not even sure who she was.”

  “They knew her. This was personal, or we have monsters on the street.” He spoke slowly, flat, giving no fact any more weight than another. “They ripped her open. Shattered her pubis, tore up until they hit her sternum. M.E. figured she was alive when they choked her on her own intestines. They nailed her shield, her husband’s I guess, to her forehead with a ten-penny nail. Wanted us to know they thought she was a cop and they didn’t give a fuck. Never seen anything like it. No one has.” He fired a fresh smoke. I joined him without giving it a thought. We stood in that cheerful afternoon, two men smoking. Each trapped deep in our heads.

  “Her apartment?”

  “Sanitized. Not even a toothbrush.”

  “So what now, she disappears? That the fucking deal? Lowrie, toss me a line here. What the fuck?”

  “They will discover her car tomorrow, maybe the next day. A bereaved widow. Alcoholic. Drank too much and the mountain took her out.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Then stop them.” He passed me a thick case file. Without a look back he was in the Impala, driving away.

  IN THE TEMPEST, I spilled out the crime scene photos of Rollens. I wanted to puke. Instead I punched the driver’s side window. The Lexan didn’t crack but it hurt like hell.

  PETER LOOKED WORSE than before, a rattling ball of nervous energy. His cheeks had deep scabs. He barely recognized me. On the deck of his expensive cantilevered home was a cold hot tub. Peter screamed when he hit the water. I held him under, let him up. He screamed, I pushed him down. This dance took about twenty dunks until he stopped fighting. I forced a cup of Bacardi 151 down his throat. I needed to bring him down, if only a notch or two.

  Leaning against the tub, I sparked a butt, blew out a stream of smoke. This was a stupid plan.

  “Mo? What the fuck, Mo?” Peter was chattering and wild-eyed, but he was focused on me. That was a start. I found a pill bottle with some bud in it. I had no idea how long he had been tweaking. The pot would get his appetite up. Booze. Pot. Food. A perfect plan.

  By the time he’d done a healthy bowl and a mug of half 151 and half hot water with lemon he was hungry enough to eat most of the al pastor burrito I brought him. The house was now completely empty. Only his garage full of steel filing cabinets and a card table with an old laptop was left. A bare neon tube and two folding chairs completed the look. I found a roll of tape and put up the 8x10s of Rollens’s body. I slapped each shot up hard enough to dent the cabinets.

  “I knew her.” Her severed hand went up. “She saved Angel’s life.” A close-up of her peeled-back scalp, almost detached from the occipital area. “While on the job she ran over a pimp to protect one of her girls.” Her body split open, intestines stuffed down her throat. “The men who did this have her niece.” I put my picture of Freedom on the board. “LAPD, or higher, is going to make this disappear. She will become just another drunk driver who shouldn’t have been driving up in the mountains.”

  Peter was silent for a long time. He opened the police file on his desk and started reading. “Where did you get this?”

  “A solid cop.”

  “Will he go on record?”

  “Doubt it.”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck fuck. Fuck. No, really, fuck. Backdoor bullshit. Fuck. No budget? Fuck. This, this right here is what happens. This.” If I didn’t know him, I would be sure he was having a seizure or an episode of Tourette’s as he attacked the keyboard mumbling a string of fucks.

  “Peter, over here. Look here, my eyes. Good. I need to know, can you can get this on the wire?”

  “Wire? Fuck yes, goddamn front page LA Times. Tweet stream. Wired stream. Mainline mainstream.”

  “That a yes?”

  “Fuck yes.”

  He promised as soon as he hit send he would be in the wind. I gave him my number and told him to stay the fuck out of sight.

  I WAS DOWN the hill and almost on the freeway when I spun the Tempest and headed back. Peter was just where I left him, typing away. I told him to get what he needed. That took less than a minute. I grabbed the file and Rollens’s photos and we were gone.

  When I pulled off the sweatshirt I’d covered Peter’s eyes with, he was standing in Kenny’s control center. “Well, fuck me. When did you get a Batcave?”

  “You really think we need one more brain-fucked white man up here?”

  “Kenny, this Peter. Peter Brixon of the—”

  “LA Times, LA Weekly. Broke the Walmart/City Council payola story. I’m a big fan.” Kenny changed instantly. He led Peter to a desk. The pride infusion was almost enough to mitigate Peter’s chemical withdrawal crash.

  “Soon as he gets the story written, pump him full of tranqs and put him down for at least twelve hours. He’s a junkie, don’t let him leave.” I knew Kenny would keep his hero safe. I left them geeking out over information streams.

  I found Sunshine in a canvas rig that lowered her into a whirlpool. She looked tired, slumped in the steam. When she saw me she pulled herself up, smiling. “Baby, thought you was out meeting with your cop friend.”

  “Done. You OK?”

  “Oh, baby, I have never been better. Maybe before that bullet clipped my spine . . . no, not even then. I’m just a bit beat. You a rough rider, big man.” Her smirk convinced me to drop it.

  Squatting next to her, I told her all that had gone down. Told her how Rollens died. “I’m going to find who did this.”

  “Big man, you don’t even know who or why.”

  “I’m going to find out. Can Kenny get me clean papers and reg? I need to go to Mexico.”

  “He started making you a clean identity this morning. You going to tell me why Mexico?”

  “I have to see a man. I think he hired Rollens to get to me. The missing niece, child in trouble . . . they knew I was in before I did.”

  “Come here and give me a kiss.” I did, long, full. If I let it go a moment longer I would be in the water with her.

  “Rest up, woman, I’m coming for you.” Some promises you make hoping they will be true. Some you make dead sure you won’t pull them off. We both knew which kind this was. We both needed the lie.

  CHAPTER 25

  When they took the blindfold off, Freedom was standing in a large room with comfortable chairs and a horseshoe shaped sectional. There were no windows. Pinpoints of light spun around the room from a mirror ball, splashing the purple walls. No bar, stage, booths or tables.

  “Welcome home,” Zero said. “Treat your new Daddy well and this shit will be epic. I’m telling you. You and me, we are gonna do some big shit up in here.”

  “Ok, Popi.” Freedom tried to purr and make it sound sexy, but it sounded robotic and cold. Zero didn’t notice. He was a fool.

  “That’s right Lil’ Diamond, hell yes. That shit with Zacarías and Frankie was wicked.”

  “Frankie never saw it coming.” Freedom was impressed with the El Salvadorian killer’s skill. He was like a reverse surgeon; he ended life with an artist’s flair.

  Zero took Freedom down a hall lined with six doors. Behind each was a different girl, each named after a gemstone. Zero called it branding, called his string of ladies the Crown Jewels Collection. Freedom knew if she didn’t hold her name close she would be lost. Lil’ Diamond fucked men for money. Lil’ Diamond flirted with Zero and his crew. Lil’ Diamond let Zero fuck her in the little windowless room behind her door. In a closet, a small dresser and a short dowel with a few wire hangers held all her clothes and makeup.

  Work began that night. Freedom had no clue where they were. Johns would enter and choose a girl from the collection sitting around the room.

  “Ain’t you cute as a button.” He had greasy gray hair and bead
s of sweat on his upper lip. He paid Amethyst and took Lil’ Diamond to her room. He wasn’t mean or cruel. Didn’t matter, she hated him for what he was doing to her. After two minutes he was done. He lay staring at the ceiling.

  “I never do things like this.”

  “It’s ok, baby.” Lil’ Diamond placated while Freedom stared at his pulsing jugular. One small slit and he would never be able to do this to any girl again.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  “How good I feel.”

  HIS NAME WAS Mike and he was a contractor. He said he had a loveless marriage. Three nights in a row he came to the whorehouse, asking for Lil’ Diamond. Each time he pounded away for a few minutes, then talked about his sad life and sad wife and sad kids. When he said he had a daughter Lil’ Diamond’s age, Freedom wanted to slip a knife down his chest and puncture his heart. Or stick his lung and watch him drown in his own blood. Slow. Painful. Frightening. That was what this motherfucker deserved. If Jesus was watching, she prayed he was good with a knife.

  WHEN AMETHYST SAW how Zero treated Lil’ Diamond, she got pissed. No little bitch was taking her spot as bottom girl. Try as hard as she might, Zero paid her no mind. He told her she was too old for him, but she would be great for guys looking for a MILF. He made her cashier, let her run the girls. More like a business partner than a lover, only he kept all the money.

  LEJOHN CONTINUED TO moon over Freedom. He was harmless. He snuck her in an MP3 player, a white iPod knockoff. It was loaded with gangsta rap.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “No, I love it. I just wish you didn’t have to go. Wish . . . you know, we could be together outside of here.”