semiretired guy from a second-rate rent-a-cop company, doesn’t get out. Probably asleep in there or something, and of course the smoke detectors have been disabled, so the guy dies from smoke inhalation.
So you got an arson and a murder, maybe second-degree but still a murder, and so Jack wants the arsonist
bad
.
Jack and Bentley are in the burned-out building doing their inspection when an old Mexican gentleman walks up to them and says that he heard that a man had died, and he wants to do the right thing.
Jack’s bowled over.
Like, here they are standing in the black hole of this used-to-be-a-building and this man walks up like a ghost. White suit, white shirt and carefully knotted tie—Jack figures the man must have dressed up to come talk to the police because he thinks it’s an important thing to do. The man just walks up and introduces himself.
“I’m Porfirio Guzman,” he says. “I saw what happened.”
Mr. Guzman lives in the apartment building across the street, hears a noise about three in the morning, looks out his window and sees a man come out of the warehouse, throw gasoline cans into his trunk and drive off.
“Can you describe the man?” Jack asks him.
Guzman got a good look at him. And the car. And the license plate.
“I see him toss the cans into his trunk,” he says. “A few moments later I see the flames.”
Jack learns that Mr. Guzman is sixty-six years old. Takes tickets at a local movie theater, pays his rent. Quiet voice, distinguished-looking, a real gentleman.
“Are you willing to testify to this?” Jack asks.
Guzman looks at him like he’s crazy.
“Sí,”
he says. “Of course.”
He’ll make a hell of a witness.
Except the guy he fingers is Teddy Kuhl.
Jack and Bentley bring Mr. Guzman in to look at pictures and he picks out Teddy Kuhl. Teddy’s the leader of a crew of white biker trash that does odd jobs for the so-called businessmen who own shit like the Atlas Warehouse. Teddy and his crew do the odd collections, extortions, vandalism, protection, arson and murder.
The second Jack sees Mr. Guzman point at Teddy’s picture and nod his head, Jack
knows
that Kazzy Azmekian had his own place burned down. He also knows he has a problem, because if Guzman makes a statement or takes the stand he’s going to get killed.
A dead-solid lock.
“We can’t let him testify,” Jack says to Bentley.
“He don’t, we have no case.”
They have an arson but no arsonist.
“He does testify,” Jack says, “he’s dead.”
Bentley shrugs.
Jack’s brooding on this all the time they’re going out to pick up Teddy. This is not a difficult thing to do. If Teddy’s not out actually committing some hideous form of nastiness, he’s on the third stool from the door at Cook’s Corner in Modjeska Canyon, either planning some hideous form of nastiness he’s about to commit or celebrating some hideous form of nastiness he just did. Anyway, Jack’s working on the situation as they go over there, jerk Teddy off his stool, cuff him and take him back to the station. By the time they have Teddy in the interview room Jack knows what he needs to do.
Get a confession.
Jack grabs a cup of coffee and then goes into the room to work him.
Teddy’s a real asshole. He even
looks
like a real asshole. Long blond hair thinning in front. A purple sleeveless T-shirt to show off his armmuscles. Couple of tattoos, one of which appears to be an anatomically correct teddy bear in a state of arousal. He’s even got jailhouse tattoos on his fingers, which when interlocked together spell out L-E-T-S-L-O-V-E.
Jack turns on the tape recorder and asks, “Is it Kuhl like in ‘cool’ or like in ‘mule’?”
“Teddy Cool.”
Jack says, “A warehouse burned down last night, Teddy Cool.”
Teddy shrugs. Says, “That’s a real
bish
, man.”
Jack asks, “What did you say?”
“That’s a real
bish
.”
“Bish?” Bentley asks. “You mean
bitch
? You got a speech impediment there,
So you got an arson and a murder, maybe second-degree but still a murder, and so Jack wants the arsonist
bad
.
Jack and Bentley are in the burned-out building doing their inspection when an old Mexican gentleman walks up to them and says that he heard that a man had died, and he wants to do the right thing.
Jack’s bowled over.
Like, here they are standing in the black hole of this used-to-be-a-building and this man walks up like a ghost. White suit, white shirt and carefully knotted tie—Jack figures the man must have dressed up to come talk to the police because he thinks it’s an important thing to do. The man just walks up and introduces himself.
“I’m Porfirio Guzman,” he says. “I saw what happened.”
Mr. Guzman lives in the apartment building across the street, hears a noise about three in the morning, looks out his window and sees a man come out of the warehouse, throw gasoline cans into his trunk and drive off.
“Can you describe the man?” Jack asks him.
Guzman got a good look at him. And the car. And the license plate.
“I see him toss the cans into his trunk,” he says. “A few moments later I see the flames.”
Jack learns that Mr. Guzman is sixty-six years old. Takes tickets at a local movie theater, pays his rent. Quiet voice, distinguished-looking, a real gentleman.
“Are you willing to testify to this?” Jack asks.
Guzman looks at him like he’s crazy.
“Sí,”
he says. “Of course.”
He’ll make a hell of a witness.
Except the guy he fingers is Teddy Kuhl.
Jack and Bentley bring Mr. Guzman in to look at pictures and he picks out Teddy Kuhl. Teddy’s the leader of a crew of white biker trash that does odd jobs for the so-called businessmen who own shit like the Atlas Warehouse. Teddy and his crew do the odd collections, extortions, vandalism, protection, arson and murder.
The second Jack sees Mr. Guzman point at Teddy’s picture and nod his head, Jack
knows
that Kazzy Azmekian had his own place burned down. He also knows he has a problem, because if Guzman makes a statement or takes the stand he’s going to get killed.
A dead-solid lock.
“We can’t let him testify,” Jack says to Bentley.
“He don’t, we have no case.”
They have an arson but no arsonist.
“He does testify,” Jack says, “he’s dead.”
Bentley shrugs.
Jack’s brooding on this all the time they’re going out to pick up Teddy. This is not a difficult thing to do. If Teddy’s not out actually committing some hideous form of nastiness, he’s on the third stool from the door at Cook’s Corner in Modjeska Canyon, either planning some hideous form of nastiness he’s about to commit or celebrating some hideous form of nastiness he just did. Anyway, Jack’s working on the situation as they go over there, jerk Teddy off his stool, cuff him and take him back to the station. By the time they have Teddy in the interview room Jack knows what he needs to do.
Get a confession.
Jack grabs a cup of coffee and then goes into the room to work him.
Teddy’s a real asshole. He even
looks
like a real asshole. Long blond hair thinning in front. A purple sleeveless T-shirt to show off his armmuscles. Couple of tattoos, one of which appears to be an anatomically correct teddy bear in a state of arousal. He’s even got jailhouse tattoos on his fingers, which when interlocked together spell out L-E-T-S-L-O-V-E.
Jack turns on the tape recorder and asks, “Is it Kuhl like in ‘cool’ or like in ‘mule’?”
“Teddy Cool.”
Jack says, “A warehouse burned down last night, Teddy Cool.”
Teddy shrugs. Says, “That’s a real
bish
, man.”
Jack asks, “What did you say?”
“That’s a real
bish
.”
“Bish?” Bentley asks. “You mean
bitch
? You got a speech impediment there,
Similar Books
