eyes to bear upon Rucker, who looked to be as committed to his oath of silence as ever, and not because the deal he and Mullens had struck with Gunner had simply slipped his mind.
“Quit fuckin’ ’round, Cat,” Smalltime said ominously.
Rucker appeared to be unmoved, until he said, “I ain’t seen him . But I seen his car, once.”
“The Maverick?” Gunner asked.
Rucker nodded. The guilt he was operating under was almost palpable. “The King was drivin’ it. I seen ’im drive it into a junkyard and leave it, one of them junkyards down on San Pedro. You know, downtown.”
“When was this?”
“’Bout a week ago. Last Tuesday, I think.”
“You’re sure it was Rookie’s car?”
“Yeah, man. I’m sure.”
“You talk to the King yet?” Smalltime asked Gunner. “That’s Rookie’s old man, the King.”
The detective shook his head. “I tried his place once, early Saturday morning, but he wasn’t home. I’ll have to try him again eventually, I suppose, but I’d just as soon not. Toby tells me he’s an asshole I’m not likely to get a lot out of, and suggested I talk to Rookie’s brother Teddy instead.”
“So? You talk to Teddy, then?”
“I saw him Saturday. He wasn’t much help, either.”
“No shit,” Smalltime said, not surprised. “Teddy an’ the Rook, they ain’t been gettin’ ’long too good lately. Rookie say they had another fight, an’ Teddy told ’im not to come around no more.”
“When?”
“Couple weeks ago. Three or four, somethin’ like that.”
“You know what the fight was about?”
“Same thing all they fights is about: Teddy don’t like no little brother of his gangbangin’. He always talkin’ to Rookie ’bout quittin’, pressurin’ ’im to leave ’is set, an’ Rookie don’t wanna hear that shit. So they fight.”
“You don’t think Teddy would put Rookie up somewhere anyway, under the circumstances?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But usually, Teddy gets pissed, he stay pissed.”
“And the King?”
“The King? Man, I don’t know ’bout him. I guess he might put Rookie up, Rookie made it worth ’is while. Why don’t you go talk to the man? He the one Cat seen drivin’ the Rook’s car, right?”
Gunner nodded, conceding the point. He understood that aiming the investigator in the King’s direction was an effort on Smalltime’s part to terminate the interview, to dismiss Gunner gracefully, and he rather admired the approach.
“I was you, I’d go talk to ’im,” the big kid repeated, trying to be helpful. “’Less you got some more questions for us.”
“No,” Gunner said, deciding to fold his tent for the moment, letting Smalltime think his diversionary tactic had worked. “Not right now, anyway.”
“Cool.”
“But I do have a couple of favors to ask.”
“Favors? Yeah? Like what?”
Gunner paused before answering, hoping to make the request sound as harmless as possible. “I need to see the crib you were talking about earlier. The Blues’s old hiding place for weapons. I assume you aren’t still using it?”
“Uh-uh. No way,” Rucker said, infuriated. “Where we keepin’ our shit ain’t none of your fuckin’ business!”
Smalltime appeared to agree. “What you wanna see that place for?”
Gunner said, “If Toby’s gun was stolen like you and Toby say, we find the man who did the stealing and we’re halfway home to finding out who used it on Darrel Lovejoy. Rookie may have just told the gunman where to look; he didn’t have to be the one who actually pulled the theft off.”
Following his logic, if ponderously, Smalltime nodded his head.
Rucker was not so easily enlightened. “He’s full of shit, ’Time,” he said. “No way we can show ’im our crib!”
“I’ll think about it,” the big kid told Gunner, in a way that was meant to warn both the detective and Rucker that the matter was closed to further discussion. “If you gotta do it, you gotta do it. But talk to the King first.
“Quit fuckin’ ’round, Cat,” Smalltime said ominously.
Rucker appeared to be unmoved, until he said, “I ain’t seen him . But I seen his car, once.”
“The Maverick?” Gunner asked.
Rucker nodded. The guilt he was operating under was almost palpable. “The King was drivin’ it. I seen ’im drive it into a junkyard and leave it, one of them junkyards down on San Pedro. You know, downtown.”
“When was this?”
“’Bout a week ago. Last Tuesday, I think.”
“You’re sure it was Rookie’s car?”
“Yeah, man. I’m sure.”
“You talk to the King yet?” Smalltime asked Gunner. “That’s Rookie’s old man, the King.”
The detective shook his head. “I tried his place once, early Saturday morning, but he wasn’t home. I’ll have to try him again eventually, I suppose, but I’d just as soon not. Toby tells me he’s an asshole I’m not likely to get a lot out of, and suggested I talk to Rookie’s brother Teddy instead.”
“So? You talk to Teddy, then?”
“I saw him Saturday. He wasn’t much help, either.”
“No shit,” Smalltime said, not surprised. “Teddy an’ the Rook, they ain’t been gettin’ ’long too good lately. Rookie say they had another fight, an’ Teddy told ’im not to come around no more.”
“When?”
“Couple weeks ago. Three or four, somethin’ like that.”
“You know what the fight was about?”
“Same thing all they fights is about: Teddy don’t like no little brother of his gangbangin’. He always talkin’ to Rookie ’bout quittin’, pressurin’ ’im to leave ’is set, an’ Rookie don’t wanna hear that shit. So they fight.”
“You don’t think Teddy would put Rookie up somewhere anyway, under the circumstances?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But usually, Teddy gets pissed, he stay pissed.”
“And the King?”
“The King? Man, I don’t know ’bout him. I guess he might put Rookie up, Rookie made it worth ’is while. Why don’t you go talk to the man? He the one Cat seen drivin’ the Rook’s car, right?”
Gunner nodded, conceding the point. He understood that aiming the investigator in the King’s direction was an effort on Smalltime’s part to terminate the interview, to dismiss Gunner gracefully, and he rather admired the approach.
“I was you, I’d go talk to ’im,” the big kid repeated, trying to be helpful. “’Less you got some more questions for us.”
“No,” Gunner said, deciding to fold his tent for the moment, letting Smalltime think his diversionary tactic had worked. “Not right now, anyway.”
“Cool.”
“But I do have a couple of favors to ask.”
“Favors? Yeah? Like what?”
Gunner paused before answering, hoping to make the request sound as harmless as possible. “I need to see the crib you were talking about earlier. The Blues’s old hiding place for weapons. I assume you aren’t still using it?”
“Uh-uh. No way,” Rucker said, infuriated. “Where we keepin’ our shit ain’t none of your fuckin’ business!”
Smalltime appeared to agree. “What you wanna see that place for?”
Gunner said, “If Toby’s gun was stolen like you and Toby say, we find the man who did the stealing and we’re halfway home to finding out who used it on Darrel Lovejoy. Rookie may have just told the gunman where to look; he didn’t have to be the one who actually pulled the theft off.”
Following his logic, if ponderously, Smalltime nodded his head.
Rucker was not so easily enlightened. “He’s full of shit, ’Time,” he said. “No way we can show ’im our crib!”
“I’ll think about it,” the big kid told Gunner, in a way that was meant to warn both the detective and Rucker that the matter was closed to further discussion. “If you gotta do it, you gotta do it. But talk to the King first.
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