Hector.”
“Can I get back to work now?”
“Yeah, go back to work.”
Ryan and I headed toward the staircase. I turned
my head to see what Hector was up to. He was back at the janitor’s closet,
pulling the mop and the bucket and the other stuff out into the hall.
Ryan and I started down the stairs. “You buy what
he’s saying?”
“About not having an alibi?” he said. “Yeah, that
sounded good to me.”
“And about the Vice Lords?”
“Not so sure about that.”
“He could be on the hook to them,” I said. “All
kinds of little favors they could’ve been asking him to do over the years.”
“True, but the question is, would one of those
little favors be to kill his girlfriend?”
“That would be a pretty big favor,” I said.
“I bet The One can be quite persuasive.”
“Maybe it’s time to talk to Martinez in
Anti-Gang.”
Chapter 11
We were heading back to headquarters to try to track down
Martinez from Anti-Gang when the radio message told me the manager of Game
World phoned in about a kid named Mark Gerson who was acting real strange, how
it might be related to the Salizar case.
“Thanks a lot,” I said into the radio. “We’re heading
there now. Over.”
Game World was in the middle of one of the
shabbier blocks on Second Street. Three blocks from the heart of the business
district, this portion of Second was hit real hard when the mall went in twenty
years ago, and it never recovered. Besides the geek palace it had a store that sold
cigars and newspapers, a place that specialized in work shoes, and two bars.
The busted sidewalk was covered in swirling garbage, cigarette butts, dried
puke, and two or three street guys who turn coins into bottles of Thunderbird.
We walked past the three fourteen-year-olds,
dressed all in black, smoking and giving us a fuck-you-very-much look, pulled
open the big glass doors at Game World, and walked in.
A thirty-year-old guy, mostly bald with a full
beard, denim and flannel, walked over to us. Ryan was probably the first guy
wearing a suit, and I was maybe the only female ever, to set foot in his place.
“My name is Richard Williams,” he said. “I’m the
manager. I called the police.” He didn’t offer his hand. I was glad.
“My name is Seagate. This is Miner. Which one’s
this kid, Mark Gerson?” I looked around, spotted five different slouching
losers who could have been eighteen. The store was maybe thirty by forty feet.
I don’t have much of a memory for these things, but I think it might’ve been a
shoe store, then a gift shop. The green industrial carpet was covered with dark
stains. The walls were lined with cheap industrial display racks, full of boxed
games and all kinds of game hardware, new and old. A glass display case over
near the counter with the cash register contained dozens of comic books in
plastic sleeves. Many ways to spend all your money on worthless shit.
“We have a room in back for some of the regulars.”
Williams pointed with his thumb.
“That’s what Mark Gerson is?”
Williams nodded. “He’s here a lot. Sometimes I let
him crash here.”
“How long’s he been here this time?”
“Two or three days.”
“Is there a door goes out the back?”
“No, there’s a door to the alley behind the
register over there,” he said, “but nothing out of the back room.” There was
some kind of music playing, really annoying. Sounded like a car factory.
“You let Mark crash because he’s a really good
customer?”
“No, he never has any money,” Williams said. “But
he just kind of wanders around the place, helps customers find the stuff
they’re looking for. He knows all the old games, the old systems, you know,
Coleco, Atari, Commodore, Sega. We get a lot of customers looking for the old
shit. Plus, he writes a lot of the articles we put on our site. Reviews, that
kind of thing.”
I took a deep breath. It was the unmistakable
smell of my college dorm. “You supply the weed for
“Can I get back to work now?”
“Yeah, go back to work.”
Ryan and I headed toward the staircase. I turned
my head to see what Hector was up to. He was back at the janitor’s closet,
pulling the mop and the bucket and the other stuff out into the hall.
Ryan and I started down the stairs. “You buy what
he’s saying?”
“About not having an alibi?” he said. “Yeah, that
sounded good to me.”
“And about the Vice Lords?”
“Not so sure about that.”
“He could be on the hook to them,” I said. “All
kinds of little favors they could’ve been asking him to do over the years.”
“True, but the question is, would one of those
little favors be to kill his girlfriend?”
“That would be a pretty big favor,” I said.
“I bet The One can be quite persuasive.”
“Maybe it’s time to talk to Martinez in
Anti-Gang.”
Chapter 11
We were heading back to headquarters to try to track down
Martinez from Anti-Gang when the radio message told me the manager of Game
World phoned in about a kid named Mark Gerson who was acting real strange, how
it might be related to the Salizar case.
“Thanks a lot,” I said into the radio. “We’re heading
there now. Over.”
Game World was in the middle of one of the
shabbier blocks on Second Street. Three blocks from the heart of the business
district, this portion of Second was hit real hard when the mall went in twenty
years ago, and it never recovered. Besides the geek palace it had a store that sold
cigars and newspapers, a place that specialized in work shoes, and two bars.
The busted sidewalk was covered in swirling garbage, cigarette butts, dried
puke, and two or three street guys who turn coins into bottles of Thunderbird.
We walked past the three fourteen-year-olds,
dressed all in black, smoking and giving us a fuck-you-very-much look, pulled
open the big glass doors at Game World, and walked in.
A thirty-year-old guy, mostly bald with a full
beard, denim and flannel, walked over to us. Ryan was probably the first guy
wearing a suit, and I was maybe the only female ever, to set foot in his place.
“My name is Richard Williams,” he said. “I’m the
manager. I called the police.” He didn’t offer his hand. I was glad.
“My name is Seagate. This is Miner. Which one’s
this kid, Mark Gerson?” I looked around, spotted five different slouching
losers who could have been eighteen. The store was maybe thirty by forty feet.
I don’t have much of a memory for these things, but I think it might’ve been a
shoe store, then a gift shop. The green industrial carpet was covered with dark
stains. The walls were lined with cheap industrial display racks, full of boxed
games and all kinds of game hardware, new and old. A glass display case over
near the counter with the cash register contained dozens of comic books in
plastic sleeves. Many ways to spend all your money on worthless shit.
“We have a room in back for some of the regulars.”
Williams pointed with his thumb.
“That’s what Mark Gerson is?”
Williams nodded. “He’s here a lot. Sometimes I let
him crash here.”
“How long’s he been here this time?”
“Two or three days.”
“Is there a door goes out the back?”
“No, there’s a door to the alley behind the
register over there,” he said, “but nothing out of the back room.” There was
some kind of music playing, really annoying. Sounded like a car factory.
“You let Mark crash because he’s a really good
customer?”
“No, he never has any money,” Williams said. “But
he just kind of wanders around the place, helps customers find the stuff
they’re looking for. He knows all the old games, the old systems, you know,
Coleco, Atari, Commodore, Sega. We get a lot of customers looking for the old
shit. Plus, he writes a lot of the articles we put on our site. Reviews, that
kind of thing.”
I took a deep breath. It was the unmistakable
smell of my college dorm. “You supply the weed for
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