Cholo

Each time Alexandra and I were together, it seemed we reached a milestone or learned something about new each other. Being apart caused me to yearn to be together for no other reason than to experience something new with her.

Although I didn’t want to accelerate the process, and enjoyed every minute of not knowing what was next, I found myself wanting to spend more time with her after each day had passed.

Each time we met, I saw subtle changes in her ability to open up to me. I noticed progress in me, too. The sexual desires of my past had vanished, and although I wanted to one day have sex with Alexandra, it wasn’t my focus at all.

In fact, my focus was the journey itself. The steps I needed to take to earn her trust were steps I needed, and wanted, to take. In the process, I was sure that I would become more confident in myself and my ability to be exactly what Alexandra needed.

It was rare for a man to get an opportunity to turn back the clock and start his life over, but I believed I was given just that chance with Alexandra. I felt like it was my first sexual experience. As far as my heart was concerned, it was.

And, this time, I was going to do things right.

I pulled my hat on, slipped my kutte over my shoulders, and reached for the door. The sheetrock crew was scheduled to meet me at the La Jolla home, and I didn’t want to be late.

I opened the door, looked up, and froze. Standing at the edge of my porch stood an unpleasant surprise.

“Good morning. It’s Downey, right? Adam Downey?”

“I’m going to be late for work,” I said. “If you don’t mind--”

“I didn’t introduce myself,” he said. “Detective Watson, with the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department.”

“Okay, detective Watson, I’m going to be late for work.”

“You’ll be a lot later if I have to handcuff you and take you in for questioning,” he said. “Have you got a minute to answer a few questions?”

I looked at my watch. “I’ll give you ten minutes,” I said. “Then, I’m leaving. You’ll either have to arrest me or step aside and let me go.”

He motioned toward the door. “Shall we go inside?”

I stepped onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind me. “No, you can come in the garage.”

I checked to make sure the door was locked, and then walked toward the garage. My home was the same as most homes in neighborhood, in that it had a detached garage that was beside – and slightly behind – the house.

I unlocked the garage, pulled up the door, and stepped inside. After admiring my bike for a minute, he looked at me. “Nice bike.”

I grabbed a dust rag and wiped the dust off the tank and saddlebags. “You come here to tell me that?”

His grin disappeared and his face went stern. “No. I came here to talk to you about a murder investigation.”

“Same shit you were talking about in the shop the other day?”

He shrugged. “I’ll ask the questions, and you answer them. Not the other way around.”

I looked at my watch. “Get to asking. You’ve got eight minutes.”

“The day I was talking to Navarro, a woman left your clubhouse in a little bit of a hurry,” he said. “And, I’m one of those weird OCD types that makes note of everything. So, I couldn’t help but notice as she sped past me that she was driving a silver Chevy Cruze.”

I shrugged. “Crime now to drive an American made car?”

He chuckled. “Not yet, no. But killing someone is.”

I tossed the rag on the workbench. “She kill someone on the way out of the shop, did she?”

“Like I said,” he said. “I’ll ask, you answer.”

I looked at my watch. “Seven minutes.”

He pressed his hands to his hips. “When I left your clubhouse, I went to Lucy Hart’s home to talk to her and her daughter, Alexandra. Alexandra being one of the girls who had been abducted, I felt the need to press her for information about how she got away from her abductors. When I pulled in front of the house, I couldn’t help but notice there was a silver Chevy Cruze in the drive.”

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of saying one word. After pausing for a few seconds, he continued.

“I knocked on the door, and when it opened, I’ll be damned if the lady at the door wasn’t the same lady that was at your clubhouse.”

I cocked an eyebrow.

He raised his index finger. “I know Navarro’s fucking the reporter from the Tribune.” He raised his middle finger. “And, I know Peanut Butter is engaged to be married to some nurse.”

He put his hands back on his hips. “So, I doubted she was there to see them. Me being a detective and all, I’m thinking maybe it was you she was there to see. So, I had one of my patrols go by her house a few times to see if any of the FFMC crew show up. This morning I get a report across my desk that has mention of a Heritage Softail parked in the drive that’s registered to you.”

I looked at my watch. “Three minutes.”

“What’s your relationship with Lucy Hart?”

I straddled my bike. “Don’t have one.”

He took a few steps back and glared at me. “You saying you don’t know her?”

“That’s not what you asked me.”

He shook his head then let out a sigh. “Do you know Lucy Hart?”

“Yep.”

“You’re not making this easy, Downey.”

I chuckled. “You’re not asking the right questions, cop.”

I kicked the bike into neutral and pushed it outside the garage and into the drive. Still standing in the garage, the detective appeared to be growing annoyed.

I looked at my watch.

“You’ve only got a minute, so I’ll do you a favor,” I said. “Lucy Hart was my neighbor for ten years. I met her daughter after she was abducted. I’d love to find the cocksuckers who did it, believe me. Sad truth is that she was blindfolded the entire time and didn’t get a good look at them. I’ve asked over and over. Get the same story each time. It’s not a crime to know people, and unless you’re going to cuff me, I’d appreciate it if you got out of my garage so I can go to work.”

He walked out of the garage and stopped beside my bike. I got off, shut the door, and locked it. With his eyes locked on me, I walked back to the bike, got on, and met his stone-faced stare.

I shoved my hat between my legs, put on my helmet, and looked at him. “Got any more questions?”

“That little boy saw it all,” he said. “He didn’t want to tell me everything, but he witnessed it. I’m sure of it.”

“The one who gave you a handy for that lollipop?”

“Word on the streets is that Calle 18 wants their money,” he said. “And they’re not going to stop until they get it.”

“Well, if they come here looking for it, they’ll get shot. Might tell ‘em that when you see ‘em next.”

“If I knew where to find them, I’d be sure and tell them.” He cleared his throat and then met my gaze. “So, you’ve got guns? Do you own a .45 caliber pistol?”

“Can’t say that I do, detective,” I responded. “Now, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to go earn a living.”

“I’ll be in touch,” he said. “I’m sure something else will come up.”

“I don’t give hand jobs for lollipops, detective. Find someone else to fuck with.”

I pulled the choke and pressed the start button. As the sounds from the exhaust echoed against the side of the house, he turned away.

The .45 caliber pistol I used to kill Calle 18’s filth had long since been dismantled and tossed in the ocean, once piece at a time.

As I pulled out of the drive, I hoped like hell that’s where it stayed.