Authors: Jeff Shelby
The three of us piled back into my Jeep and Carter pointed me in the direction of Hillcrest, one of the older, more diverse neighborhoods in San Diego. Not exactly where I'd expect to find answers to my questions, but I'd learned not to question Carter until it became absolutely necessary.
We worked our way south from SDSU on the side streets.
Dana leaned forward from the backseat. “Does Carter work for you?” she asked me.
“Sort of,” I said. “But not really.”
“What does that mean?”
“Ask him.”
She turned to Carter.
He adjusted the blue mirrored Revos on his face. “It means he's not the boss of me.”
“Who is the boss of you?” she asked, a note of mischief in her voice.
“I am my own boss,” he said, turning around to talk to her. “And I'm an actor.”
“No way,” she said. “Get out.”
We moved through the old homes in Kensington. “Yeah, dude. Get out. I'll even slow down,” I said.
Both of them ignored me.
“What have you been in?” she asked, nearly swooning from the excitement of it all.
“Nothing yet,” he said, undeterred. “I'm just getting into the business. I'm gonna play a thug.”
“Hard to believe,” I said, turning us onto University Avenue.
“Can I come watch?” she asked, leaning forward just a little farther so she could place her hand on his arm. “Visit you on the set?”
His giant smile looked clownlike beneath the sunglasses. “I'll see what I can do.”
Dana returned the smile and leaned back.
I nearly gagged. “Where am I going, superstar?”
“Turn right on Fifth. Corvette Diner's on the west side.”
I moved the Jeep over into the turn lane. “That's where we're going? The Corvette Diner?”
“Yep.”
I shook my head as we passed under the arch that signaled the entrance to the Hillcrest community. A collection of bookstores, coffeehouses, and eccentric storefronts, Hillcrest was San Diego's answer to Greenwich Village. As home prices exploded in the suburbs during the nineties, young urban professionals had sought out Hillcrest's affordable one-story bungalows, infusing the neighborhood with new life and new money. Trendy bars and restaurants popped up and disappeared with regular irregularity.
The one mainstay was the Corvette Diner, a 1950s diner with an actual Corvette suspended from the ceiling. Waitresses wore poodle skirts, neon lights gleamed from the walls, and a working soda fountain ran the length of the restaurant. You could expect at least an hour wait any night of the week near dinnertime.
I parked the Jeep in front of the old hardware store just up the street and the three of us walked the block to the diner.
“I hope we're not going here just because you're hungry,” I said.
“And I hope you're not whining just because you're a little girl,” he said, opening the door to the restaurant for Dana and me.
Carter guided us over to the long bar at the soda fountain and the three of us slid onto the barstools. Sam Cooke's “You Send Me” was coming from the speakers. Midday, the restaurant was almost full.
The guy working the counter looked over at us. He was about five-nine and reed-thin, with caramel-colored skin and dark brown eyes. A small, compact Afro was tucked under a white paper diamond-shaped hat. He wore white pants and a white shirt with a black bow tie.
When he recognized Carter, his eyes narrowed.
Carter removed his sunglasses and smiled. “Willie J. What's going on?”
Willie's frown intensified. “What the fuck you want?”
“Three cherry Cokes,” Carter asked.
Willie stared at him for a moment, then grabbed three glasses and filled them with soda. He slid them in front of us.
He looked at Carter. “That all?”
Carter took a sip from the drink and shook his head. “No.”
Willie leaned back against the counter. “How did I guess?”
Dana looked at me. I just shrugged and watched the other two.
“I need a little info,” Carter said.
Willie didn't look impressed. “So?”
“So I need it from you.”
Willie folded his skinny arms across his skinny chest. “I don't owe you nothin' right now. We square as of last month.”
Carter tilted his head to the side. “Come on, Willie. You're gonna need my help again. Right?”
Willie squirmed a little, but tried to hold on to his stance.
“We both know I'm right,” Carter said. “Your friends are going to come calling again. You just gonna run?”
I had no idea what they were talking about. But I could tell by Willie's body language, as he uncrossed his arms and the angry frown dissolved to resignation, that Carter had him over a barrel.
“You promise to keep them off me again?” Willie said, lowering his voice.
Carter held up a hand. “You got my word.”
A crooked smile emerged on Willie's face. “'Cause they might be on my ass another time soon.”
“And I'll be there to keep them off,” Carter assured him.
Willie reached out his fist and Carter met it with his own, sealing their deal.
I didn't want to know.
Willie relaxed. “Alright. What you need?”
Carter looked at me.
“Know a guy named Deacon Moreno?” I asked.
Willie looked at me and then at Dana as if he were just realizing we were there. He looked back at Carter. “They cool?”
“They're with me, aren't they?”
Dana tried to cover up a smile with her hand while I attempted to look somewhat trustworthy.
Willie looked back at me. “I know Moreno.”
“What's he into?” I asked.
Willie shrugged his pointy shoulders. “Pretty much whatever he wants.”
“Guns?”
“For sure.”
“He's in a gang?”
He glanced at Carter, needing a little reassurance before answering me. Carter nodded at him.
“South Bay Niners,” Willie said to me. “They run everything south of the bridge.”
“The bridge?”
“Coronado, dude. South Bay 'cause that's where they run. Niners 'cause they all rockin' nine-millimeters.”
Deacon Moreno was a member of one of the nastier gangs in San Diego.
“How about Wizard Matellion?” I asked. “Know him?”
Willie stood up a little straighter and his jaw tightened. “I ain't talking about Wizard.”
“Why not?”
He glared at me. “'Cause dudes who talk about Wizard die. Straight up.”
“No one's gonna know,” Carter said.
Willie stared hard at Carter, then shook his head. “Wizard is a bad motherfucker.”
“He a South Bay Niner, too?” I asked.
Willie laughed at me like I was retarded. “Wizard fuckin' runs South Bay Niners, Sixth Street Triples, and Hoover Down Killas.”
Carter looked at him. “He runs the whole area?”
“Fuckin' A,” Willie said. “And I ain't sayin' no more about him.” He folded his arms back across his chest.
If Matellion was running the whole show, that meant he was responsible for dozens of murders. It was how they moved up. The more you killed, the more responsibility you got. Fucking fantasticâa case I'd originally thought would be easy had just gone from bad to much, much worse.
“You got an address for Moreno?” I asked.
Willie's face screwed up into a tight ball of anger. “How about if I just drive you right up to his door? Introduce you and shit, let him know I was the one who brought your ass there?”
Carter stood up and looked at Dana and me. “Why don't you guys give us a sec?”
Dana stood. “I'm gonna find the bathroom.” She walked toward the back of the restaurant.
“I'll be outside,” I said.
As I stepped outside into the overcast afternoon, my cell phone vibrated. I didn't recognize the number on the readout.
I flipped the phone open. “Hello?”
“Noah, it's Liz.”
I gripped the phone a little tighter. “Hey.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Working. Why?”
“I need you to come down to the station.”
I took a deep breath and watched the traffic go by on Fifth. “Why?”
She paused for a moment, then said, “I just need you to come down, Noah.”
“Is Mike gonna be there?” I said before I could think better of it.
Her irritation was nearly tangible through the phone. “Don't be an ass.”
“Who's being an ass?” I said, taking a little enjoyment at her annoyance. “Just wondering if your new boyfriend's gonna be there.”
“I'm trying to do you a favor, Noah.”
I laughed. “Oh, yeah? How's that?”
She paused again and I half expected her to hang up on me. Part of me wanted her to do just that and part of me wanted to start the conversation all over again.
“Your mother's here,” she said. “In lockup.”
My throat tightened and goose bumps formed on my forearms. I squeezed the phone so hard I thought it might shatter. I shut my eyes, wishing Liz had said anything other than what she had.
“I'll be right there.”
I sat in the Jeep, staring at the police station.
I'd told Carter about the phone call and he waved me out of the diner. He and Dana would find their own way home.
He understood.
I didn't want to go in angry, frustrated, and disappointed, but I knew I didn't have that much self-control. I just wanted to corral all three of those emotions before facing my mother for the first time in nearly four years.
I struggled out of the Jeep, cursing the fact that my body was still hurting. All the driving I'd done hadn't helped, either. The traffic on Pacific Coast Highway roared behind me. I walked up the steps to the SDPD building and wondered what excuse I was going to hear.
Liz's office was on the third floor and I found her sitting at her desk, studying a file spread out in front of her.
She looked up. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You got here quick.”
I slid into the chair against the wall. “Didn't want to change my mind.”
She nodded, then rested her chin in her hand. “One of our guys stopped her on Morena. Car was weaving all over the place. She blew a .21.”
I laughed, not meaning it. “That low, huh? She must've been taking it easy today.”
“I was down at booking when they brought her in,” she said. “I recognized her and had her moved to holding.”
“She charged yet?”
Liz shook her head. “No. I waived it. We'll let her sober up and she can go. With you, if you want.”
I leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. “Probably better if she was booked. Maybe, for once, she might get it.”
“We can, if that's what you want to do,” she said. “But I pulled her record. Three DUIs in last four years and a citation for public intoxication. They can't defer her to a program this time. She's out of freebies.” She paused. “We book her, she's gonna stay and I can almost guarantee she's gonna get time at Las Colinas.”
I looked back at Liz, a mix of emotions running through me. “Maybe it's time for that.”
Liz folded her hands on the desk. “She's still your mom.”
“Barely.”
“Still. But I'll do whatever you want to do.”
I pushed back in my chair and stared at the ceiling again. I wanted her to make sure I never had to see my mother again in a jail cell. I wanted her to erase the years I spent growing up while my mother spent them in bars. And I wanted her to pay back my mother for all the embarrassment heaped on me because of her actions through the years.
But I knew Liz couldn't do any of those things.
I rocked the chair forward again with a clunk. “I'll take her,” I said. Duty and obligation had won once again.
Liz stood. “Let's go downstairs, then.”
I followed her down the hall to the elevator bank.
“You look a little better,” she said. “Your bruises are fading.”
“I guess. You confirm on Pluto?” I asked, trying to think of anything but what was waiting for me in the basement of the building.
“Yeah,” she responded. “Like you said. We got a match on dentals.”
“Cause of death?”
“Blunt trauma to the head,” she said. “Probably a bat or something like it.”
I hadn't felt lucky at the time, but maybe my pal Lonnie had done me a favor by having Mo use just his fists on me.
“We're trying to track down an aunt in the area,” she said. “I'll let you know what we find out.”
We stepped into the elevator. She pushed the button marked
B
, the doors shut, and the elevator glided downward.
“Thanks for doing this,” I said.
“I figured you'd want to know she was here.”
I looked at Liz. She wore a white oxford open at the neck and dark navy slacks. Her hair was down, behind her shoulders. She was looking back at me and her face looked like she needed some sleep.
“Yeah,” I said. “And I'm sorry about on the phone and all. I didn't know why you were calling.”
She leaned against her side of the elevator. “Because if you'd known why I was calling, you wouldn't have been an ass?”
I shook my head. “No. I might've been less of an ass, though.”
The elevator came to a stop.
“I doubt that,” she said as the doors slid open.
“Me, too. Just thought I should say it.”
I followed her to a counter where she signed a clipboard and motioned for me to follow. We walked down a narrow hallway and she stopped at the corner where it turned to the right.
“There are four cells,” Liz said. “She's in the third one. The others are empty, so you'll have a little privacy.”
I nodded, looking down the short hall where my mother waited behind bars.
“You want me to go with you?” Liz asked.
I shook my head. “No. It's okay.”
“I'll send someone down in a few minutes to release her and do the paperwork.”
“Good idea. If she's in the cell I can't kill her.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I figured.”
I looked at Liz. “Thanks. Seriously. For calling me and doing this.”
Liz glanced down the hallway. “I remember when we were in high school. My junior year, your sophomore, I think. I came over to interview you for the school paper. Something about basketball. But you weren't home yet. I sat out on the patio with her for an hour or so. We just talked. Mostly about you.” Liz turned back to me. “I remember thinking she was so cool, that I liked her so much. I had no idea what was really going on.”
“No one did,” I said.
“You never shared it with anyone.”
“I did eventually. With you.”
“After like, what? Eight years? When we were in college?”
“I don't know. Probably.” I shoved my hands in the pockets of my shorts. “I was already missing a father. I didn't need the world to know it was a double whammy.”
She studied me for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. Then she said, “No one would've thought any differently of you.”
I shrugged because I didn't believe her and it wasn't something I was looking to dive back into. I knew that my life was different and that now, as an adult, the reflections of my mother's actions didn't shine as brightly on me. But as a teenager, trying to fit in and project a certain image, I knew that some people had looked at me differently.
And it had hurt.
Liz's stare softened and she gestured down toward the cells. “Go see her.”
“Okay.”
She hesitated for a moment, started to walk back toward the desk, then stopped. She turned around.
“And call me in the next day or two,” she said.
“Yeah. I'll let you know what's going on with her,” I said.
She ran a hand through her hair and blinked. “For whatever. Just call me.”
She turned and walked back toward the elevator.
I watched her go, wishing I were in a different spot so I could ask her what she meant by that.
But I knew why I was there.
I turned back to the short hall that housed the cells. I forced my feet, heavy with anger and resistance, to move, knowing that the longer I stalled, the harder it would be to see my mother.
It was time to say hello to Carolina Braddock again.