Maddy pulled her VW Golf Cabriolet in front of Desi’s freshly painted, bungalow-style house in Studio City and muted the car’s radio. It was twenty minutes past seven in the morning. Day before Thanksgiving. Mild temps and clear skies.
A good day to do absolutely nothing at all…
Only after they’d successfully dealt with the three skips on their shared agenda.
Desi appeared, his dark hair slicked back, goatee neatly trimmed, and a red leather business satchel in hand. He locked his front door and jogged down the patio steps.
“Prompt as always,” he said, and entered on the passenger side.
“Early bird rules,” she said. “We got a trio of wriggly worms to catch.”
“Indeed, we do,” he said, and buckled into his seat. “You good on breakfast?”
She nodded.
“We’ll revisit the matter around lunchtime, then.”
“There should be a breakfast bar, glove compartment.”
“Gracias,” he said, and popped the hatch.
“Any uptime on your ride?”
Desi had already consumed half of the chocolate-covered nutrition bar. He chewed, swallowed. “Authentic parts take time to acquire. Figure two more weeks and the Cougar is back in business.”
“Jeez, it’s just a trim ring,” Maddy said, and shook her head. “Hard to believe a busted light can be that complicated.”
“Age plus authenticity equals more time, money, hassle,” he said, and finished chewing the last of the, presumably, too-small bar.
She lifted a small plastic trash bin, and he deposited the wrapper in it. “Well, you’re fortunate that I’m around.”
“Impossible to forget,” he said, and dug around his satchel. “Okay. First up we have Bartolo Fabian Muñoz, age thirty-six, laborer, with a two grand bounty. Aggravated battery against his spouse, Dolores, who likely knows where he’s fled.”
“Right. So, we’re off to see Mama Muñoz.”
“Encino,” Desi said, and read out the address. “I’m sure it’s not too early for a social call.”
“Domestic disputes are always a minefield,” Maddy said. “Perhaps I should do most of the talking.”
“And what if she goes full-blown, rapid-fire Spanish on your pint-sized ass?”
“Then you can act as my translator,” she said.
“Or I could tell her to hablar despacio for my less literate compañera, por favor.”
“Shut up, already,” Maddy said, and pulled away from the curb. “As always, we are stronger together, with our own pros and cons.”
“Only a few years in and you are way cockier than I was at the same point in my career.”
“True, but I also had you teaching me, while you just had to figure it out as you went along, so … mucho gracias, compañero.”
“I’d say a sixty-forty split in my favor would be a better show of appreciation. Thoughts?”
“Not a chance, Desi. Besides, you are currently without transportation. Consider yourself fortunate I don’t factor that into the split.”
“Hah!” He tossed his hands up. “¡La verdad salga!”
“Verily, I cannot tell a lie…”
Maddy pulled onto the main boulevard and headed toward the interstate.
* * *
Dolores Muñoz, both of her eyes blackened, did not look overly enthused to see either of them. Her lower lip was busted, and the petite woman had a knuckle-sized abrasion on the right side of her jaw. She had the bearing of someone older than her mid-thirties, a world-weary heaviness that emanated from her core.
“No está aquí,” she said, her arms crossed.
“We know,” Maddy said. “We’re just hoping you might point us in the right direction.”
Desi spoke to her in Spanish and assured her that any information she provided would not blow back on her.
“I want Nelson, mi hijo, back,” she said. “Since all this began, Bartolo’s brother, Kiki, has been looking after Nelson. Kiki lives too far away. Guarantee me that you will let me see my boy.”
Desi and Maddy looked at one another. “That is not something we can guarantee,” Maddy said.
Dolores ignored her and pleaded with Desi, in Spanish.
From what Maddy gathered, his response was something to the effect of: no promises, but he’d do the best he could.
Dolores nodded and looked at Maddy. “I know where he’s most likely to be. But I need grocery money.”
Maddy produced a crisp twenty from her billfold. Dolores looked at Desi. He matched it. “I need more groceries than that. Mi despensa está vacía.”
Desi added a ten, and so did Maddy.
Dolores accepted their offering and said, “Most likely, he’s with Kiki, at the reservoir, near Calabasas.”
* * *
Nelson, who appeared to be around ten, looked so happy, fishing with his compact, lightweight-boxer lithe father and larger, extremely rotund Uncle Kiki.
“Isn’t it a school day?”
“Thanksgiving break,” Desi said. “Not a bad way to spend a Wednesday.”
The trio stood at the edge of the water, three fishing lines cast. Many others were competing for catches. It was not the sort of place a person went to do actual work.
“What, um, kind of fish swim around in there?”
“Bluegill, bass, trout,” Desi said. “Boatloads of variety.”
Maddy had been fishing twice in her life, both times too young to be competent at it and the fishing holes had been poor. Gazing upon the recreational activity at the reservoir made her realize just how deprived she’d been. “You like fishing?”
“I do,” Desi said. “Me and my old man used to come here every weekend, up until I turned fifteen and assumed I had all the answers. I caught a twenty-two pound mudcat on my thirteenth birthday.” He paused, smiled. “What a moment…”
“Huh,” Maddy said. “Kinda sucks to break up their fun.”
“Yep. But we’ve got a job to do.”
Maddy thought about mentioning fish-in-a-barrel but nixed verbalizing it.
They exited her car and approached. The three did not acknowledge their presence for a full minute. Desi cleared his throat, and the kid glanced over his shoulder, and then tugged on his father’s flannel sleeve.
The man relaxed his line and looked back. “¿Qué es?”
“Bartolo Fabian Muñoz,” Desi said, as if the name was immensely significant. “You are a fugitive from justice. We are here to remand your person to the authorities of Los Angeles County.”
“Remand,” Maddy said, “I’ll have to remember that one.”
Desi tapped her arm. She nodded and produced the bail piece. “This can go real easy, Mr. Muñoz. Your brother can look after the boy and you come with us, peaceably and without complaint.”
Bartolo frowned. “¿Qué?”
Desi gave him a less polite version in Spanish, something Maddy mentally translated to: Drop the fishing rod and make haste into their lawfully authorized custody, or else.
The trio huddled and began whispering. Maddy couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Desi clapped his hands. “¡Vamos!”
Bystanders fishing nearby had taken an interest. Someone hollered about disturbing the fish with the excessive racket.
“Back me up,” Desi said, and closed on Bartolo.
Bartolo broke from the impromptu huddle, lifted his pole, and tossed it at his stockier pursuer. Desi was unimpressed. The fugitive then cursed Desi, dove into the water, and immediately began flailing.
Maddy moved within a few feet of Desi, keeping an eye on Uncle Kiki and a seriously invested young Nelson.
Desi handed her his wallet and then lifted the pole and held it out for Bartolo.
“He don’t swim so good,” Uncle Kiki said, and shook his head. “Nearly drowned once, when we were kids.”
“Don’t drown, Papá!” Nelson said, his eyes stretched wide with concern.
Desi gestured with the pole. Bartolo stopped flapping his arms and grabbed the end of the rod. A sly smile broke across his sunbaked face.
“¡No lo hagas!” Desi said.
Bartolo yanked hard, pulling Desi into the water with him. He then pushed down on Desi’s shoulders and attempted to hold the bigger man beneath the surface.
A few nearby observers cheered the fugitive on while others complained that he was spoiling their angling chances.
Maddy produced her gun and drew down on Bartolo. “Out of the water, now, or the kid’s fatherless!”
Desi broke above the surface and placed Bartolo in a headlock. Nelson, who was nearly Maddy’s height, kicked her in the shin.
Uncle Kiki, who had dropped his pole, couldn’t stop laughing.
* * *
Maddy sat behind the wheel of her car, massaging her lower right leg. Desi jogged down the courthouse steps and got in on the passenger side, where a large beach towel covered the seat.
“You need to keep doing that,” he said, “or it will tighten up.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Where to next, Watson?”
He reviewed the papers. “We’re going to Crenshaw. Pay a visit to the Toulouse Brothers.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Zeke and Tomaso?”
He nodded. “The very same.”
“No…” she said, and lowered her head against the steering wheel. “Why those two?”
“Zeke and Tomaso, whatever their … eccentricities, are reliable informants. I trust them.”
“Right,” Maddy said. “And who are the knuckleheads informing on today?”
“Bobby Manale,” Desi said. “Their cousin.”
“Some commendable familial loyalty, that,” she said, and merged into traffic. The easiest route to Crenshaw from their current location was through Century City, and then east toward West Adams and south. “So, refresh my memory on what’s up with Señor Manale?”
“Roberto Juan-Carlos Manale, age twenty-three, meth possession-with-intent-to-distribute charge. One thousand dinero payout. Likely somewhere in the neighborhood. Toulouse brothers should point us in the right direction.”
“Man, I do not want to crawl around another attic. And don’t use my diminutive stature as an excuse to force me into uncomfortably tight spaces. You’re up next.”
“Efficiency, Sherlock,” Desi said. “Playing to our strengths, remember?”
“I hate when you use my own logic against me.”
“Hey, you can reach places that I cannot. I, by contrast, can subdue uncooperative fugitives, as we found out earlier today.”
“The man tried to drown you.”
“Emphasis on tried, okay.” He shook his head, emphatic. “I was never in any real danger.”
Maddy shifted her right leg to the gas pedal. Her shin really hurt. Bratty kids were the worst.
“Well, the Toulouse brothers better not expect to drain our wallets,” she said. “Dolores soaked us pretty good.”
“That she did,” Desi said. “One of us should have stayed in the car. We’d have likely saved half.”
“This is going to be weird,” Maddy said. “Obviously.”
“Just, please, be polite.” Desi exhaled. “And let me do the talking.”
“Sure,” Maddy said, “until it comes down to brass tacks, and then I make ’em bark, and loudly.”
* * *
With an abrasive, synchronized shout the Toulouse brothers invited Maddy and Desi into their cramped, one-story domicile. Desi pulled back the screen door, and Maddy took point. Zeke and Tomaso were upside down on matching inversion tables, wireless video game controllers in hand. A huge flat screen television showed aliens futilely attempting to dodge purple-rayed blasts from their energy weapons. Thick blankets covered the room’s twin windows, and the overhead light fixture lacked bulbs. The mounted display provided the sole illumination in the tenebrously claustrophobic space.
Desi flicked the hallway light switch.
“Turn it off!” Tomaso said, “or we got nothing to discuss.”
Maddy knew it was Tomaso because of the curly hair. Zeke’s brown locks were shorter and less wavy. Otherwise, the two were peas in a pod, uncannily similar in both mannerism (oddball) and appearance (worn T-shirts and cutoff shorts).
Desi respected the request, and the room returned to its previously darkened state.
“Thank you,” Zeke said, and paused the game. “And what can we do for you fine bail enforcement agents today?”
Desi told them who he and Maddy were looking for.
“Say,” Tomaso said, and craned his head to look up at Desi. “The PBR, in Apocalypse Now, recall it?”
Desi nodded.
“Excellent. Now, answer this question: would you prefer to be at the wheel, or manning a gun?”
Desi frowned. “What?”
“Answer the question, bounty man,” Zeke said, “and we will assist you in your hot-footed pursuit of our recidivist cousin, capisce?”
“This is stupid,” Maddy said, and crossed her arms.
“Simmer down, side piece,” Zeke said, “menfolk be speaking. Sabé?”
“Dipshits.”
Desi sighed. “What were the guns again?”
“M2 and M60 were the big boys,” Zeke said.
“If you’re at the wheel, you might have a Smith & Wesson Model 10, like Chief Phillips had. Nice sidearm, if boarded, for close quarters action,” Tomaso said.
“Um…”
Maddy exhaled. “Can we please get on with this?”
“If I’m at the wheel, I’d feel more confident,” Desi said, “leave the heavy action to the gunners.”
“Desi Reyes with the S&W!” Zeke said. “Told you, bro.”
“Say we got Chef on the M2…” Tomaso said, “and you know what that means…”
Desi shrugged.
“Clean on the sixty!” they said, in unison, and clasped hands.
Maddy had no words.
“Guys,” Desi said, “I know you want to get back to…” He gestured at the television. “Whatever that is, but we are on a tight schedule.”
“Chill, working man,” Zeke said. “Bobby’s sleeping off a serious bender, in the back room.”
“What?” Maddy said.
Tomaso looked at her. “Yep. Go see for yourself, killjoy pixie twist.”
Maddy tensed. Desi placed a hand on her shoulder. “Maddy, just, please, check it out…”
She backed away, slowly, went down the hall, and opened the farthest door.
“All good?”
She nodded.
“Well, thanks, guys,” he said, “we’ll collect our quarry and be on our merry way.”
Oblivious, the Toulouse brothers had returned to their pixelated murder spree.
* * *
After turning a groggily oblivious Bobby over to the authorities, Maddy and Desi ate lunch at a greasy spoon called Le Tigre Fierce. Maddy wondered if tiger meat had ever been on the menu.
Desi ordered an Asian chicken salad. Maddy stuck with the All-American burger, medium rare, with a side of heavily salted crinkle fries.
“I want to fish in Alaska,” Desi said, picking at bright purple lettuce. “Hip waders, brisk river waters … fresh coffee heated over a campfire.”
Maddy directed a fry at him. “Camper?”
“Camper,” he said. “A modest one. Just me … maybe a dog.”
She frowned. “Dog? I thought you said they were too much trouble, eternal toddlers, or something like that…”
“In the city, yes, where they can’t roam freely. In the great outdoors, however, I could cohabitate with a medium-sized mutt who comes from an abusive background. Eager for someone to step up and love it, unconditionally.”
“Rescue dog?”
“Definitely.”
“Good. Too many run out of time. Saving a dog and taking a remote fishing excursion sounds like just the medicine for your world weary soul.”
He nodded. “I’m due a months-long retreat. Maybe next year, late May.”
“I heartily endorse this notion.”
“What about you?”
“What about me what?”
“Got any particular place you’d like to visit?”
She considered. “Northern California, maybe. Beyond that, I am curious to see what life is like east of the Mississippi. Maybe venture all the way to Florida. See the Panhandle.”
“The Panhandle? No way, Sherlock,” he said. “You travel cross-country, you take the I-10 from pier to pier: Santa Monica all the way to Jacksonville. Nonstop. Not even to pee.”
Maddy cracked up.
Their waitress, refilling saltshakers, looked puzzled.
Desi smiled. “While I boldly venture to the last frontier, you head in the opposite direction. Some partner you are.”
“No offense,” she said, “but I’d go stir crazy fishing in the middle of the wilderness.”
“Do you even know anyone east of the Mississippi, or El Paso, for that matter?”
“No, but that’s the whole point.”
“What point?”
“It’s just, well, this is a big country, and I’ve barely seen any of it.”
“You’ve just turned twenty-five,” he said. “What’s the big rush?”
“Well,” she said. “I’m still young and curious enough to see all of it … unlike you, prematurely entering your grumpy old fisherman phase.”
He chuckled. “I’ll be sure to remind you of that comment when you reach your early thirties, Madelaine.”
“Fair enough, geezer,” she said. “Who’s next on our docket?”
Desi checked the paperwork. “Kenneth Shadwicke, Australian, now a naturalized citizen. Goes by Oz.” He rolled his eyes. “Real original. Oz worked as a tattoo artist downtown. Grand theft offense. Five thousand bounty.”
Maddy whistled. “Oz the tat artist and big ticket thief. Okay. Where should we start?”
“Already covered,” Desi said. “An aggrieved ex-girlfriend I’d reached out to earlier called me while I was changing into a dry set of clothes and told me Oz will be at his former place of work, this afternoon.”
“Let me guess, Oz’s grand theft involved his aggrieved ex, right?”
Desi nodded. “Indeed it did. He stole a fancy purse from her closet, sold it to raise cash and gambled it away in Reno. His defense was that he’d planned to make ten times what the purse was worth and buy an even nicer one for her out of the proceeds.”
“Wait,” Maddy said. “She had a purse worth more than a grand?”
“Yep,” Desi said. “She even had it insured.”
“Wow.”
“Not that you’d know this, but purses can go for way more than a few grand.”
“No way.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Artificially inflated by ego and name brands.”
“I wonder if Oz knew how lower tier his fancy purse theft was…”
“Regardless,” Desi said. “His big gamble came up snake eyes.”
Maddy shook her head. “Can’t help stupid.”
“An eternal truism.”
Maddy lifted her burger. “You ever think about getting a tattoo?”
Desi picked around his salad. “Nah, not really.”
“Well, if you were to get one, what would it be … and, more importantly, where?”
He shrugged “Um, Mom written across a big red heart … inked just below my left shoulder.”
“That is so lame. For my sake, promise me that you’ll never do that.”
“I promise,” he said.
* * *
Desi covered the back exit of DeezTatz! Maddy entered through the front door.
“I have an appointment with Oz,” she said, speaking to a heavily tatted, radioactively red-haired girl behind the counter.
“Who?”
“Oz,” Maddy said, and nodded confidently.
The girl ran an index finger along her puffy upper lip, joggling the silver ring looped through her nostrils.
The ticking sound of the cartoonishly ghoulish Grim Reaper pendulum wall clock above her head was impossibly loud.
The girl drummed black painted fingernails on the electric blue Lucite counter.
Maddy didn’t budge.
The space between seconds felt unnaturally elongated.
The girl blinked. “Okay … let me go check.”
Maddy remained mute.
The girl moved through a kaleidoscopically beaded curtain, to the back. Maddy counted to five and followed. She heard urgent whispers. Down a short hallway, she turned to her right. Jeans-clad legs dangled and then vanished through an opening in the ceiling.
“Hey!”
The girl blocked her path.
Maddy glanced through the opening and nodded. “You have a nice day.”
She exited through the back door, where Desi waited, ready to pounce.
“Roof,” she said, “this side,” and jogged around to a side alley. Above, Oz bounded from a short ledge to the adjoining roof.
“Idiota,” Desi said.
“Split up?”
“Shadow him,” he said.
“What about you?”
“I got this.”
Maddy jogged across the street, to the far sidewalk, and remained parallel with Oz. After clearing the gap between two buildings, he ducked behind air conditioner units, and she lost sight of him. Desi flashed into view, leaped between two buildings, and rapidly closed on Oz’s last known position. She screamed for Desi to watch himself.
Too late. Oz sprang up and whacked her partner on the shoulder with a lead pipe he’d fortuitously scrounged. Desi toppled back and Oz broke for it.
“Dammit,” she said and continued tracking him. Desi wasn’t down long, thankfully, and continued his pursuit, though clearly favoring his left arm.
Oz reached the cross-street and shimmied down a drainpipe. Maddy ordered him to stop. He dashed into traffic and made for a parking garage on the far side, triggering a cacophony of honking horns.
“This Herculean moron,” she said, and assisted Desi as he slid down the drainpipe.
“Is it serious?”
He grunted and shook his head, his face flushed, and brow covered with sweat.
“All right,” she said. “Come on, Watson.”
They politely negotiated with slightly less irritated motorists and followed Oz into the garage.
Desi pointed to the far side outlet, but Maddy accessed the stairwell. She caught a glimpse of his backside, validating her hunch. Oz’s curse echoed loudly as he pushed toward the top. Maddy bounded after him, with Desi struggling to keep up.
“Eyes on him?”
“Yes,” she said.
Five floors up, Oz disappeared through the outlet door. Maddy was ten steps behind, Desi a full level below.
“We got him,” she said. “He won’t make it to the far stairwell before…”
A gunshot sounded, followed by a scream.
“What the…”
“¡Cuidado!” Desi said.
Maddy paused at the ajar door and cautiously peered out. Oz had collapsed behind a red Cadillac and was grabbing his ankle. Desi caught up with Maddy and looked over her shoulder.
“Is he shot?”
Maddy shook her head. “No … I don’t think so…”
A purple Plymouth Barracuda roared away and down the exit ramp. A male, mid-twenties, dark-haired with a ponytail, wearing a pink, short-sleeve dress shirt, went to the elevator and anxiously jabbed the button.
“Hey!” Maddy said, and moved into the open.
“Easy,” Desi said, following and crouching low.
The elevator doors parted, and the man entered, offering a nervous half-smile as the doors closed.
“What the hell?” Maddy looked around. No other vehicles besides the Cadillac Oz used for cover.
Desi stood over Oz, who was in considerable pain. “Best not to move,” he said, and then went over the legalities of the skip’s capture.
Maddy examined Oz’s clearly fractured ankle. “Looks like you took a bad spill there, Oz.”
He muttered an expletive and then gestured. “Why didn’t you apprehend them?”
Desi examined a pockmarked spot on the concrete wall outside the stairwell and whistled. “You dodged a bullet, Oz,” he said, “but fell wrong. Tough break.”
Oz cursed again, and then lowered his head and groaned.
Maddy ran to the concrete barrier and watched the Barracuda thunder away. “Dammit…”
“Maddy…”
She turned. “I could get the ponytailed goober…”
Desi shook his head. “Not our fight. Call it in, provide a description, and we’ll give our statements. Period.”
“Yeah, okay,” Maddy said, and called the police.
* * *
Maddy took the interstate offramp and headed toward Desi’s house. It was close to six in the evening. The sun was fat and low on the horizon.
“Oz might have given us the slip,” Desi said. “He just had to blunder into a pot deal and blew his chances.”
“That copy repair guy really should have waited to make that transaction,” Maddy said.
“Maybe,” Desi said, “but he had no way of knowing a fugitive would choose his isolated parking level to make his escape.”
“Regardless, I would have caught him.”
“Probably.”
She exhaled. “How’s your arm?”
Desi’s arm was in a sling. “Fine. I’ll take a deep bone bruise over an ankle break like Oz received any day.”
Maddy nodded.
“Hey, three for three!” Desi said. “A good day.”
“That dealer’s aim is off by a yard, and I might be dead,” Maddy said. “That gives me serious pause.”
“Random sample,” Desi said. “We’re still standing, more or less. I call that a win by any measure.”
She pulled in front of Desi’s house, idled. “Got anything exciting going on for Thanksgiving?”
“I was going to cut the lawn,” he said. “Saturday, I mean. Now, I’ll probably just pay the kid across the street.”
“Turkey Day plans, I meant.”
“Oh … yeah. Mila, she called me.”
“What? No Way!”
“She convinced Ines, somehow, said she wanted to hear her daddy’s voice. I finally had an actual, substantive conversation with my daughter.” He chuckled. “Apparently, the guy Ines has been seeing is a total creep and Ines refuses to send him packing. So, Mila called me.”
“How old is she now?”
“Fifteen,” he said. “We’re supposed to meet up at a buffet place. Neutral turf. I am … honestly, Maddy, I’m terrified.”
“Hey, that’s wonderful. Out of the blue. And with that sling, you’ll have a cool war story to tell.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t know if it will lead to anything more meaningful, but it’s a start, right?”
“That it is, partner.”
He opened the passenger door and stepped out.
“You call me if you need anything,” Maddy said. “Meds, grub, a friendly ear.”
“Absolutamente,” he said, gingerly walked up the steps, and entered his house.
“Yep,” she said, and smiled. “On balance, a pretty good day.”