Gideon Read online

  Romero was looking at stacking another fifteen to twenty on his sentence, but then a strange thing happened: the prison officials became “uncertain” about which inmates were actually involved in the brawl. With no eyewitnesses willing to step forward, the murder charge against Romero disappeared. Four months later, Eddy was released, at which time he migrated to San Francisco, where he was embraced by the 19th Street Sureños.

  The gang had no idea that Romero’s release was arranged by authorities who needed someone on the inside to help them make a case. Two months later, the head of the 19th Street Sureños was brought up on three charges of murder and racketeering.

  So Miguel trusted Romero. Pete and Ron could judge for themselves.

  The SFPD had a few off-the-books apartments around the city that they used for a variety of purposes, from housing high-risk witnesses, to serving as crash pads for management-level officers who were having marital problems (or in one case, an extramarital affair, which didn’t go over well with the top brass). The apartments were particularly handy for meetings such as this.

  Pete and Ron entered to find Miguel sharing beers with a small, muscular man in his mid-thirties. He was covered in the usual gang ink, including, but not limited to, some prison tats that were done by someone lacking any artistic talent.

  Eddy rose and shook their hands. His grip was strong, his eyes were bright and he exuded confidence. He gave the impression that if he hadn’t run afoul of the law early in life, he could’ve done well in whatever field he chose.

  This initial impression was challenged when Eddy spoke. His speech pattern was slow and slightly slurred. Miguel had prepped them for this, explaining that while in prison, Eddy’s diaphragm was injured in a fight, which resulted in a case of dysarthria. It took a while for Pete and Ron to adjust to Eddy’s cadence, but it didn’t detract from the information he laid out.

  According to Eddy, Fernando “Nano” Rojas had been tired of playing second fiddle in the Sureño symphonic and decided to make a play against Payaso. He’d kept his plans under wraps, but somehow Joker (Ruben Garcia) got wind of Nano’s intentions. Joker happened to be Payaso’s cousin, so his loyalties were obvious. Or at least, that’s what everyone thought.

  Instead of going to Payaso with the news, Joker decided to leverage his way into getting a little something for himself. His intelligence and skills were limited, and he was destined to never be more than a foot soldier under Payaso, but if he played his cards right he could end up an underboss to Nano.

  Unfortunately, Joker was a shitty card player.

  The meeting between Nano and Joker took place in an alley off Guerrero Street on the edge of Sureño territory. Joker made his pitch and Nano made him a counter-offer; three slugs from a throwaway piece that Nano had bought for fifty bucks and a dime bag.

  Ten minutes later, Nano breathlessly told the boys at the Sureño clubhouse that he’d heard shots over on Guererro Street and when he’d gotten there, he’d found Joker. Three bangers piled into a car, scooped Joker up and got him to the clinic. He’d already lost a tremendous amount of blood and was barely alive, but they figured what the fuck. Maybe the doctors could work a miracle.

  Miracles were in short supply that night. For all intents, Joker was dead the moment the third shot severed his spine; officially, he died in the Mission Street Clinic less than an hour later.

  Nano was in the clear. At least he thought he was, until he found out that someone else was in the alley that night: Sad Boy (Ernesto Juarez). Sad Boy was only fourteen-years-old and he followed Ruben around like an eager puppy, trying to gain his favor.

  Sad Boy had shadowed Joker to the meeting in the alley. He’d heard the whole conversation and he’d witnessed Nano pump a few shots into Joker’s gut. Sad Boy freaked. He had no idea what to do, or who he could trust, so instead of heading to the clubhouse, he took off running, and kept on going until he couldn’t run any further.

  The next day, the Sureños held a raucous wake for Joker, and Sad Boy’s absence was noted. One of the bangers said he saw Sad Boy trailing after Joker last night. The Sureños surmised that Sad Boy must’ve seen whoever shot Joker and then went into hiding because he was afraid of getting clipped himself.

  Payaso wanted Sad Boy found, like now. The sooner he knew which one of the Norteño cocksuckers shot his cousin Joker, the sooner he could take his revenge.

  Nano had a big problem. If he didn’t find Sad Boy first, he was good as dead, so he started the rumor that Sad Boy hopped a Greyhound to the Central Valley. Nano hoped to throw the others off while he feverishly worked his contacts.

  Nano caught a break when he got word that Sad Boy was crashing in a condemned apartment building out at Hunter’s Point. The question was, could Nano get to Sad Boy before Payaso?

  Eddy stopped his narrative as Miguel tossed a ballistics report onto the table. “Sad Boy was shot with a Remington R51 semi-auto. Three 9mm parabellums.”

  “And this is significant why?” asked Pete.

  “The model came out five, six years ago. It looked cool, but was a total piece of shit and Remington did a recall. You don’t see many on the streets anymore.”

  Eddy chimed in, “Nano’s been packing one for a few years. Always playing with it, doing quick-draw shit. He calls it el martillo… the hammer.”

  “We’d need to get hold of his gun to match the ballistics…,” Ron said, “but it’s a pretty fucking compelling story.”

  Pete stared at Eddy for a long beat, then asked the obvious question, “If Nano kept his plans a secret, how’d you find out about all of this?”

  Eddy looked over at Miguel, and got a nod in return. Clearly, Miguel had asked the same question.

  “I found Sad Boy first. I’ve got a friend who’s a fucking wiz with computers and he tracked down Sad Boy’s cell.” Eddy shook his head. “Everyone in the gangs uses disposables, but Sad Boy had all his pictures and music and shit on his phone and just wouldn’t give it up. Stupid fourteen-year-old. Anyway, Sad Boy told me what he’d seen. Begged for my help. I told him to stay low for another day or two to give me time to figure things out.”

  Miguel jumped in, “Eddy reached out to me, but I was in the middle of another case. In the meantime, Sad Boy got antsy, and then got careless. He was spotted, word got back to Nano, and Nano took it from there.”

  “Once I knew that Nano killed Joker,” Eddy said, “it wasn’t hard to piece the rest of it together.”

  “We don’t have a lot to go on except what Eddy heard from Sad Boy,” said Ron. “But if we can get a match from Nano’s gun, we’d have enough to hold him while we collect more evidence.”

  Pete agreed. If this was true, then they’d not only solve two open murder cases, they’d also stop a potential gang war.

  “Let’s go pick up that piece of crap and squeeze him,” said Pete.

  Ron winced. “You’ve gotta work on your metaphors, partner.”

  66

  Kelly did what she could to regain a degree of normalcy. She thought if she got back into her old patterns and habits, she’d have a chance, albeit remote, of reclaiming her life. The life she had before her father died; the life before she found out about his secret; the life before she became a murderer.

  The week had started off on a curious note; when Kelly arrived at the clinic, she’d smelled the faint tang of gasoline near the back door. The area had been hosed down with water, which made no sense. Also, there were a few splatters of red liquid on the wall. The patterns reminded her of crime-scene photos she’d seen in one of her med school classes. She imagined some kind of gang activity had occurred, but the pieces of the puzzle didn’t form a cohesive picture.

  There was a steady stream of patients at the clinic, which kept her busy and her mind off other issues. The goodwill that Nathan had earned the day before evaporated when he left a message saying he needed some personal days, leaving them shorthanded again. Fortunately, Vik’s brother Krishan was able to take on more responsibility and handled
a full share of the workload. Like Vik, Krishan proved to be an excellent doctor blessed with natural charisma. He also had movie-star good looks, which made him an instant favorite with the female patients.

  That night, Kelly took Pete to dinner at Boulevard, an upscale restaurant not far from her condo. She needed a change from 44 Degrees, and didn’t want to run into a dozen people she knew. She’d reserved a quiet table in the back, where they could talk.

  The food was fantastic and the service was attentive without being intrusive. Kelly and Pete spent an hour chatting about nothing specific, both waiting for the real conversation to begin.

  Kelly finally broke the ice when she casually asked about the Moretti investigation. She was shocked when he said that the case was still active.

  “I thought you said his death was self-inflicted,” she remarked.

  “I still believe that, but there are a lot of loose ends.”

  Kelly was suddenly on guard. “Loose ends?”

  “Evidence at his house indicated he had company. Someone may have been with him when he died, but we can’t be sure because we’re having trouble narrowing down the time frame.”

  “What kind of evidence?” she asked, hoping she sounded only vaguely interested.

  “Prints, clothing fibers, and synthetic hair from a black wig. There were also semen stains on the couch. The lab is running tests on the semen to determine how long it had been there.”

  “Okay, that’s disgusting.”

  Pete managed a smile. “You asked.”

  “So, he brought home a woman wearing a cheap wig, might’ve had sex with her, then he shot up?”

  “That’s the popular theory. If we could find the mystery woman, it would answer a lot of questions.”

  The mystery woman. Benedetto was right. She’d been incredibly careless.

  “Moretti had been at a club that night called The Patch,” Pete continued. “We obtained security footage of him with a woman with black hair, but the lighting in the place is too dark to make out her face. We asked the bartenders and some of the regulars, but no one knew her or could provide much of a description. Probably a tourist.”

  Security footage. Damn it. “She sounds like a dead end.”

  “I agree, and so does the brass. As far as the DA’s office is concerned, we should consider the Moretti case closed and I should spend my time working on the stack of case files on my desk.”

  Kelly smiled. “Sound career advice.”

  Pete shrugged. “Probably. I’m just having a hard time getting past the timing of discovering that Moretti killed your father, and then him conveniently dying a few hours later. There’s also the question of motive. Why would a drug dealer like Moretti kill your father, unless it was an accident?”

  Kelly willed herself to stay calm. She reached for her wine glass with a surprisingly steady hand.

  Pete continued, “I’ve got a few more leads to run down before I’m ready to close the book forever. Moretti has a cousin somewhere across the Bay that I want to talk to. We’re trying to locate him. I’m sure he doesn’t know anything, but…” Pete stopped when he saw a strange look come over Kelly’s face.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to ramble on. I’m even boring myself here.”

  He’d completely misinterpreted Kelly’s reaction. It wasn’t boredom. It was fear. Nevertheless, he changed the subject.

  “There is some good news. We think we found the person who killed that Sureño kid who was dropped off at the clinic last week.”

  Her heart sank. “Please tell me Oscar Sanchez had nothing to do with it. That poor family is going through a lot right now.”

  “He was number one on our hit list, but it turned out to be an inside job. A smartass Sureño named Nano was making a power play and got sloppy, then covered his tracks by killing two of his own guys.”

  Kelly slowly shook her head. “It’s a sad state when ‘good news’ is some gang banger killing two of his own.”

  Pete got defensive. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…”

  She laid her hand atop his. “I know. And I agree. It’s better that than a full-scale gang war. Will the killing ever stop?”

  “Not a chance. There are too many people out there with bad intentions.”

  Kelly wondered how Pete would feel if he knew he was sitting across from one.

  67

  Over dessert, Pete had asked if Kelly wanted to come back to his place. She declined with a kiss on his cheek, explaining she was exhausted (which was an understatement), and he didn’t push it. The fact was, he was running on fumes himself.

  That changed when he got a call from Ron. They’d found Nano Rojas. Rather, what was left of him.

  Twenty minutes later, Pete was striding through the Hunter’s Point Shipyards. Ron stood outside the police tape, smoking a cigar and trying to stay warm.

  “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Pete said, as he stepped up.

  “Hopefully, this will put an end to it. It certainly put an end to fucking Nano Rojas.”

  “Why here?”

  “I believe it falls under the category of poetic justice. He was strangled with his Dallas Cowboys knit scarf, then shot in the head.”

  “If you had to wager a guess…”

  “Blue or Red? I’d lay a week’s salary that Payaso got wind of Nano’s plans and didn’t feel like relinquishing the corner office or the key to the executive washroom. I’m sure Miguel’s CI will be able to fill in the blanks, but if I’m right, this should relieve some of the steam from the pressure cooker.”

  “Got another one of those?” Pete asked. Ron happily handed over a cigar, smiling like a proud first-time father.

  68

  The first call Kelly received in the morning was from Diego’s attending physician at St Francis. Dr Guadagni explained in concise but laborious medical terms why Diego Sanchez was going under the knife this afternoon to have his leg amputated from the knee down. Between the damage from the gunshot, the infections and the fact that his foot and calf were completely insensate, there was no saving the leg.

  Kelly was devastated, knowing how traumatic this was going to be for Diego. His childhood would be drastically different; at least at first. All because of a stray bullet fired by another underage boy who had no business carrying a firearm. And for what? This wasn’t about territory or drug sales. Not really. It was about an age-old feud between two warring factions that was being fought in the streets and prisons between young men who were born into it. Most of them had no choice. They were either Sureño or Norteño. Mexican Mafia or Nuestra Familia. Blue or Red.

  She wanted to be the one to break the news to Diego, but Dr Guadagni said he’d already informed the boy and his mother. In his words, “they seemed to take it well.” Diego was a tough kid, and it was drummed into him at an early age to never show his emotions, but Kelly highly doubted that behind the façade he took the information “well”.

  She dressed quickly and headed for the hospital.

  Kelly arrived to find Alma Sanchez in the waiting area. The two embraced, holding each other tight, feeding off each other’s concern for the youth who was lying in his hospital bed, scared to death, his eyes red from crying, fearing that his life may as well be over.

  Alma had been through many traumas in her life, but this was her youngest. Her shining star. She suddenly felt weak in the knees and Kelly eased her over to a chair. They sat together, holding hands, as Kelly apologized for Diego’s condition. Alma quickly dismissed that notion. “What do you mean? You didn’t pull the trigger.”

  “No, but maybe we didn’t flush out his wound well enough. Maybe we overlooked something.”

  “Don’t talk this way,” Alma said, her hand on Kelly’s cheek. “You saved his life.”

  It was the first time Kelly pondered whether her father’s work may have suffered as a result of his highly stressful extracurricular life. When you treat a patient, you have to give all of yourself. Complete focus
and total concentration. Even if it was a procedure he’d performed a thousand times, a doctor couldn’t allow himself (or herself) to function on autopilot. If her father had been in the midst of developing a strategy on how to kill Angelo Moretti, how could he have been in the right mindset when it came to trying to save a life?

  But Alma was right. They’d done everything they could. If there was any fault to be had, it was with Diego himself, who’d refused to go to the hospital. Refused out of some deeply rooted loyalty to a gang of drug dealers and killers.

  Kelly asked if it would be okay for her to see Diego alone. Just for a few minutes. Alma smiled. She was going to suggest the same thing.

  When Kelly opened his door, Diego looked away, embarrassed by the tears on his cheeks. She lingered for a moment, stalling for time, then entered wearing a look of understanding and concern.

  “Hi,” he said softly. Hooked up to an IV drip, a multi-use monitor that constantly beeped, and buried in sheets and blankets, Diego looked even younger than his ten years. The first thing Kelly did was cross over and turn off the sound on the monitor. The silence made the room somewhat less clinical.