department and everyone knew it – he could easily make things hard for every single person in law enforcement if he went after budget cuts and stole their overtime. He was beloved by the community for his hard stance on crime and gangs and the revitalization of Downtown. No one told him no, not ever, including the Chief. Gary had been working with her for nearly three months, and hated it. The other detectives in the unit never let up on his bad luck at being stuck with her. They called her ‘TwoWongs’ behind her back – as in two Wongs don't make a White . The other nicknames they had for her were too despicable to even think about. They generally revolved around her race and the fact that she was a woman.
Gary pulled up in front of the Studs Theater in West Hollywood and parked out in front. A line of yellow police tape was pulled across the entrance blocking it off. He turned and looked across the street at The Pleasure Chest where a small cluster of gawkers had formed around a news van, rubber necking his crime scene. They were mostly young Russian kids who lived in the neighborhood along with some locals, but Gary suspected that a number of the early morning visitors to the adult theater were probably still watching to see what had happened. He scanned the crowd for faces, hoping to find one that stood out.
Never know when a killer might be looking on, savoring the chaos his unholy work had brought , Gary thought. It happens all the time, just like it did with Randy.
“ Hey mister. What's going on in there? Somebody choke to death?”
He turned toward the snickering, scrawny, pimple-faced kid who'd said it. The kid was standing next to a larger kid sporting a grim look on his face. The two looked no older than fifteen.
“What's your name, kid?”
“ Call me Jimmy.”
“ You been here long, Jimmy?”
“ Just passing through Officer, on our way back from the store, when we saw all the yellow tape. It's a murder, isn't it?”
There was an eager gleam in the kid’s eyes that made Gary feel a bit queasy, but he did his best to ignore it. The truth was, he didn't understand kids at all. He wanted to like them, but they usually just got on his nerves. In fact, it had gotten so bad that he'd stopped dating single women who had kids – especially if they had male teenagers. That last little tidbit of wisdom had come at a hard price. After an evening of drinks with a new love interest at the Brigg in Venice, he'd followed her back home only to be jumped by her teenage son and sucker punched. The only reason he hadn't taken the brat in was that he didn't think he could live with the embarrassment of having everyone else know about it.
“Yes, son; this is a murder investigation. I'm a homicide detective.”
“ Cool!”
“ What's your name?” he asked the second teen.
The stockier kid just silently glared at him.
“That's my buddy, Gary. He doesn't talk much.”
“ Gary, huh? That's a good name.” Gary said, thinking of his own moniker.
“ He's super fucking smart though,” Jimmy said, not concerned in the least that he was using profanity in front of an authority figure. “He can do math in his head, and shit like that. Ask him anything. Go on.”
“ What's the square root of 484?”
“ 22.”
“ Is he right?”
“ How the fuck should I know, man? It was your fucking question.”
Gary took another long look around while he listened to Jimmy spout the F word.
Most of the people watching the police action only looked vaguely interested. None had the burning look of a sociopath that Gary was hoping to find. He decided to move on.
“ Sorry kids, but I gotta get back to work.”
“ Yeah right,” Jimmy said. “What's the rush? It's not like the fucker is going anywhere.”
Jimmy laughed, but Gary just stared at him. He turned and walked across the street without replying. He thought about what would have happened to him growing up if he spoke to an adult like that, much less to a cop.
Gary pulled up in front of the Studs Theater in West Hollywood and parked out in front. A line of yellow police tape was pulled across the entrance blocking it off. He turned and looked across the street at The Pleasure Chest where a small cluster of gawkers had formed around a news van, rubber necking his crime scene. They were mostly young Russian kids who lived in the neighborhood along with some locals, but Gary suspected that a number of the early morning visitors to the adult theater were probably still watching to see what had happened. He scanned the crowd for faces, hoping to find one that stood out.
Never know when a killer might be looking on, savoring the chaos his unholy work had brought , Gary thought. It happens all the time, just like it did with Randy.
“ Hey mister. What's going on in there? Somebody choke to death?”
He turned toward the snickering, scrawny, pimple-faced kid who'd said it. The kid was standing next to a larger kid sporting a grim look on his face. The two looked no older than fifteen.
“What's your name, kid?”
“ Call me Jimmy.”
“ You been here long, Jimmy?”
“ Just passing through Officer, on our way back from the store, when we saw all the yellow tape. It's a murder, isn't it?”
There was an eager gleam in the kid’s eyes that made Gary feel a bit queasy, but he did his best to ignore it. The truth was, he didn't understand kids at all. He wanted to like them, but they usually just got on his nerves. In fact, it had gotten so bad that he'd stopped dating single women who had kids – especially if they had male teenagers. That last little tidbit of wisdom had come at a hard price. After an evening of drinks with a new love interest at the Brigg in Venice, he'd followed her back home only to be jumped by her teenage son and sucker punched. The only reason he hadn't taken the brat in was that he didn't think he could live with the embarrassment of having everyone else know about it.
“Yes, son; this is a murder investigation. I'm a homicide detective.”
“ Cool!”
“ What's your name?” he asked the second teen.
The stockier kid just silently glared at him.
“That's my buddy, Gary. He doesn't talk much.”
“ Gary, huh? That's a good name.” Gary said, thinking of his own moniker.
“ He's super fucking smart though,” Jimmy said, not concerned in the least that he was using profanity in front of an authority figure. “He can do math in his head, and shit like that. Ask him anything. Go on.”
“ What's the square root of 484?”
“ 22.”
“ Is he right?”
“ How the fuck should I know, man? It was your fucking question.”
Gary took another long look around while he listened to Jimmy spout the F word.
Most of the people watching the police action only looked vaguely interested. None had the burning look of a sociopath that Gary was hoping to find. He decided to move on.
“ Sorry kids, but I gotta get back to work.”
“ Yeah right,” Jimmy said. “What's the rush? It's not like the fucker is going anywhere.”
Jimmy laughed, but Gary just stared at him. He turned and walked across the street without replying. He thought about what would have happened to him growing up if he spoke to an adult like that, much less to a cop.
Similar Books
