The overhead lights gleamed across his shaved head as he glanced from the page to Juan Bracamontes, who had occupied IR-2 on countless occasions. Art suspected this wouldn’t be Juan’s last visit.
Bracamontes’ small, beady eyes were in constant motion, surveying the area. Art knew what he was thinking — that something was different this time around. After all, Art had rolled up alone, slapped him in cuffs after a short chase and drove him in without explaining the purpose of the arrest.
Juan reached an arm up to scratch the back of his stubbled head but was stopped short by the handcuffs that were shackled to the metal table. He made brief eye contact with Art before his glance darted away again. “How long is this gonna take, man?”
Art ignored the question and looked back down at the information in his hands. He heard Juan let out a dramatic sigh. He waited before speaking, letting the silence and Juan’s anxiety grow. The shackled man was about to usher another complaint when Art finally said, “Well, this is quite the list of accomplishments you’ve got here Juan — breaking and entering, assault, assault and battery, assault with a deadly weapon, possession of narcotics, possession with the intent to sell, grand theft auto, assault, violation of parole, assault, and wow — Holy Christ, this is just the past five years!”
Juan pursed his lips. “Yeah, but I ain’t did nothing, so I don’t know why I’m here!”
“Ain’t did nothing, huh?” Art laughed at the idiocy of Juan’s comment. “I should just lock you up for what you’re about to do, since looking at your list of priors tells me you’re intending to update this file any day now.”
“It don’t work that way — I know it, and you know it,” Juan sneered. “That damn gold shield tells you whatta’ do, ‘cause you its bitch.”
Art knew he wasn’t the gem of the station. He’d had to help people like Juan give the right answers on more than one occasion. It was times like this that he’d rather spend twenty minutes beating his frustrations out on these jackasses instead of adhere to the rule of law. Despite his heavy handed reputation Art never threw the first punch, but he made sure to throw the last.
However, Art needed this perp to be lucid for their conversations, not missing teeth and vomiting blood. He’d cuffed Juan’s skinny ass to the table just in case he was dumb enough to try something stupid. Judging by Juan’s vacant expression and obvious underachievement in the area of English language, this was a definite possibility.
Art placed the file down beside a tape deck that sat in the middle of the table. He planted his palms on either side of Juan’s handcuffed wrists, towering over the other man. “Look, shitbag, it wouldn’t take much to get a warrant for your apartment and I’m sure I could find something that would stick. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel.”
After a short pause, Art pulled out a photograph from one of the folders on the table. “Prison life is getting more dangerous by the minute. It’s not as cozy as it once was. You still with Los Siete Reyes? Or is it Los Abandonados now?” Even though he had a Latin wife, Art’s Spanish was nowhere near perfect, but he knew the words were understood.
The stubborn man feigned disinterest and shifted his attention to the corner of the room, studying the wall tiles with great interest.
“Look at the picture.” Art left it on the table and began again, “In case you’re wondering, the man in this photo is Salvatore Larios. Or should I say — was.”
Curiosity beckoned Juan and he finally glanced down at the black and white image. It showed a naked man lying on what could only be a shower room floor. Puncture marks ran along his side where the rib cage was and a few others where his kidneys would be.
Art’s footsteps echoed in the room as he paced slow circles around Juan, watching him as he spoke. “Larios made one too many enemies this time around. He was attacked by a group of twelve men. After he was beaten, some in the crowd sodomized him before killing him.” Art let that sink in a moment and continued. “There are other photos too, up close ones. Put it this way, if he hadn’t been murdered, he would never have a problem taking a shit ever again.” Again Art allowed the full weight of the story and the photograph to marinate in the man’s mind before he spoke. “I wouldn’t put too much faith in your prior tenure; Sal was a veteran, even by your standards. He’d seen more cells than the Pope has absolved sins.”
Juan shrank back, cast his shifty eyes down and fixed a stare at the tabletop as though looking for help within its gleaming metal surface. The only answer given was a distorted reflection of his tattooed face and arms. He was no doubt trying to remember if there was anything at his place that could implicate him. Art knew at least half a dozen things must have come to Juan’s mind.
He looked at the colorful designs on every part of the shackled man’s body — not even his face and fingers had been spared the onslaught of ink.
Some of the artwork was well crafted and pristine. Others were a faded black, misshapen where the ink bled at the corners or poorly blended. One arm sported celestial bodies: planets, comets, stars, a moon peppered with craters, and a sun that shed tears of light in every direction. The mirrored arm bore oceanic life: crustaceans, seashells, coral spikes, and tendrils of sea anemone floating through a blissful watery current, all plastered against a dark blue backdrop.
As delicate and appealing as those depictions were, the cruder tattoos stuck out the most; those that had been inked from within the walls of prison life. Juan’s shirt had been torn from the earlier scuffle with Art, and a portion of lettering was revealed on his chest. Art didn’t have to be a detective to know that the large Old English letters spelled the word ‘BRACAMONTES’.
There was also the infamous web just behind Juan’s ear, and an ugly looking skull with cracked and broken teeth on the back of his head. Finally, the solid black gang sign of Los Siete Reyes: a large number seven took up the length of Juan’s neck, its bottom nearly touching his collar bone. Atop the seven was a regal crown.
It was Juan’s general appearance and the amount of time he’d spent in prison that gave way to the nickname ‘Cell Block Juan’. Word on the street was that over time he’d come to feel proud of the moniker and used it often when referring to himself. Once you’d been in and out at least three times, you were a seasoned member.
Silence stretched in the room, but finally Juan found courage to speak. “You got nothin’ on me, man,” he grumbled.
But Art noticed the slight tremor in his voice. Juan might make himself out to be a badass, but he was just another pussy who beat women and harassed others with guns. Guns were the great equalizers; without them, this little rat was just some punk loser. Tonight’s chase had solidified that point. If Juan was indeed the tough-as-nails thug he pretended to be, he wouldn’t have tried to run.
Art had played his hand and nailed it, putting the pieces together and coming to his conclusions. Juan’s file stated that he’d given up circumstantial evidence against Raul Salazar — AKA ‘El Chino’. Since being released the last time, Juan must have become affiliated with yet another gang; it was the only way he could get some quick protection from Los Siete Reyes. Each one of The Seven Kings had a district cut into the map. El Chino was one of the lower tier kings in the department’s eyes, but the higher ups would be gunning for Bracamontes. Juan must have offered up more for shelter too — a cache of drugs, money, or both — but Art didn’t care about any of that.
Up to this point his guess had been a loose gamble, but it was the only one that seemed to fit. Art picked up Bracamontes’ file and began sifting again. He was short on time, but if it came down to it he would start his fishing expedition. Juan had tats for more than one rival gang and everyone knew that didn’t go over well in general population. This was just the leverage Art needed, but if Juan called his bluff it would only waste time. Or worse, he’d get nothing at all if Juan ended up dead while they did their search.