nine-one-one and says he was just up there delivering pizza and some black dude jumped the fence and is running around waving a gun on the property. The caller says the intruder is six-one, two hundred pounds, and is wearing a maroon two-eleven suit. The Malibu sheriff rolls a car and when they get out there, sure enough, here's this black dude running around in maroon Fila acting all crazy. The cops don't see a gun, so they tackle the suspect, put him down hard. He motherfucks them up one side and down the other, takes a swing, and it gets nasty. Batons come out and these two cops start doin' a marimba on the homeboy's skull. 'Bout then the man identifies himself as David Slade, an LAPD sergeant."
"I don't get it."
"It'll make sense in a second. Next, he hires Nathan Red and sues the Sheriff's Department for a hate crime in civil court. He wants a million bucks. Stacy Maluga, who he's screwin', backs him in a statement and pays the attorney fees. She says she saw the whole thing."
"Got it."
"He set them up. It looks like a good beef that's gonna stick. The D . A . is circling and the press is all kneeled down in the blocks waiting for a starter's gun, and the city is talking about a big settlement to keep it out of court. Then somebody in our Internal Affairs who is familiar with this dirtbag's package calls the sheriff's investigator and suggests that they make a voice print on David Slade and check it against the nine-one-one call. Just like that, the fool is busted. Slade is the phony pizza delivery guy who phoned it in."
"What happened?"
"Sixty days off without pay. I'm telling you, if the rest of us had this kind of cover, we'd all start holding up banks for a living."
"I might, but you wouldn't," I said.
"Probably right," he said. "Got this dumb white hat all stuck down on my nappy head." Rosey grinned at me and then while we were looking at each other; the grin disappeared and the frown came back.
"What is it, man?" I asked. "Something's bothering you."
"I can't, Shane. We're friends. You got enough to deal with. I don't want to go and make it worse."
"Alexa's missing. She may be dead. I've got the rat squad and maybe the D . A . chasing me with warrants. I don't have any time. How can it get worse?"
He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "Back when we were all in the Academy, there was a rumor about David and Alexa."
My heart was beginning to beat harder in my chest. "What kind of rumor?"
"You know what kind of rumor. That kind of rumor."
"You mean they were seeing each other?"
"Lotta testosterone and estrogen flowing back then. Slade was definitely a lady's man. A mac daddy from Compton. We were all real young. Hard to keep your arithmetic in one column."
"I don't think Alexa would get involved with some Crip gang - banger," I said hotly.
"Maybe not. Like I said, it was just a rumor."
The waitress came to take our order, but I had no appetite. I thanked Rosey, shook his hand, and walked out into the parking lot. I stood outside by my car for a minute, looking at the interior through the windshield. My face was reflected in the curved glass window, distorted and ugly. I didn't look like me. I didn't feel like me. And Rosey was right.
He'd made it worse.
Chapter 16.
IT WAS A lot to process. Pieces didn't fit.
How could somebody like Alexa find herself attracted to a tattooed Crip criminal with a juvenile felony package? I looked hard inside myself, trying to see if there was a racial component guiding my skepticism. I had started so low on the ladder, as a kid I didn't usually think in terms of race. For me, there were just assholes and mega-assholes. They came in all colors. But still, is anybody completely immune? I'd had Chooch with a Hispanic woman, but did that indemnify me? Sex without commitment is just a party. As I turned this over in my mind, I knew that I didn't have a problem with the idea that Alexa might have had a black lover as long as he was a quality person, but from
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