South by South Bronx by Jr., Abraham Rodriguez

their Spanglish. They were a torrent of words, nothing to hide, talked volumes. They knew nada about the money or where it came from.
    â€œAnd you believed them?”
    â€œThat’s right,” I told Myers. “People who don’t know can’t talk.”
    â€œSo you’re saying he likes to involve civilians, innocent types, people who don’t know. Is that right?”
    I didn’t really get where this was going until later, when he and I were blowing down a couple of slices in my car. We were a few blocks from the precinct, going down the list of Spook people. Myers had his own list, drawn I imagine from his bread truck tricks, his electronic toys. Even with all that, he didn’t have a knowledge of cuevitas , those little holes they go scurrying into when trouble comes, those loose lines of contact with the normal folk in the community who don’t get picked up by bread trucks. I gave him my information. Maybe he would take it and go away. He was pushing for big raids. He didn’t understand about the big splash and how it always causes a stink. You make a splash in one place and everybody else you don’t nab will head into cuevitas so deep … could spend months looking and nobody on the street is going to tell you, not after a splash. Nobody likes so much noise. Sources dry up, the streets stop talking. There were times when it could do the precinct some good to be “seen” making raids, the sign of an active police force doing its thing. In most cases these raids were stage managed with the care of a Broadway production. Myers didn’t know about that. His was a boyish enthusiasm that soon played itself out. I felt him pushing me. I sensed he was trying to get underneath me, lead me to make some admission. When I insisted this was a Spook solo number, he wanted to know how I knew, how I could be so sure. And yet we had spent the past day and a half looking up the people who guard Spook. Myers knew as well as I that none of them were with the man.
    â€œBut would that make sense to you? That he would swipe ten million bucks off some goons, then run off without his team to protect him?”
    â€œThe team wasn’t in on it.”
    â€œBut if he has no security?”
    â€œHow secure would you feel surrounded by a pack of hot-headed South Bronx gunboys? Would you tell them you have ten million dollars?”
    My words slowed him down a bit. He seemed to launch countless little offensives, but once blunted, would lapse into moody silence. There was a lack of air. We had long ago finished our slices. I rolled down a window and lit two cigarettes. There was the tender touch of rain droplets appearing on the windshield like blisters.
    â€œHe probably figured it was easier for him to ditch the gang.” I was blowing out smoke, relishing the warm harsh. “He can hole out someplace safe while the gang takes the blame, and maybe gets the bullets. Maybe we’re playing into his hands.”
    â€œBut you still think we can find him?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat about his brother?”
    My stomach was churning bad.
    â€œHe’s not always helpful.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œIt means sometimes he doesn’t know.”
    â€œBut what if he knows this time?”
    I pinched my eyes shut. I could feel the next Myers offensive coming, that relentless assault of words. I felt tired just looking at him.
    â€œI told you, he’s clean.”
    â€œClean. Exactly the type his brother utilizes to perfection. What better place to stash the money?”
    â€œWhat worse place. His brother’s? Didn’t you just come up with it? How much of a stretch could it be?”
    â€œHis brother could be a front for the entire operation.”
    â€œDavid Rosario has never been involved in criminal activity. He wouldn’t swipe a paper clip.”
    â€œHe bailed Spook out of jail.”
    â€œThat’s right, a couple of