Art looked up from his case file to face Ethan, affording a familiar view of his bent nose that was gnarled from a lifetime of breaks. It made him look more menacing than the craggy edges of his face already did. “Ha, ha, ha, very funny. I told you I slipped getting out of the shower. I only bruised the bone, and by the way it’s fine now.”
“I’m surprised your live-in nurse didn’t help you out of the chair in the bathtub. I’m a little ashamed of her.”
“She’s not a live-in nurse, Ethan, she is my wife.”
“So you were just preparing for the future by marrying an RN, huh?” Ethan laughed as he spoke. He couldn’t help it. The banter between them was what got him through the day, but it wasn’t his partner’s nature to fire off the first attack. It was always up to Ethan to get the ball rolling, and no matter what idiotic quip he came up with, Art always felt the need to set the record straight. Ethan knew that, sure as shit, a reply would be on its way. Art did not disappoint.
“Sure, that’s exactly what I was planning when we got married twenty-one years ago.”
Ethan grinned. “Well, you tell that live-in nurse — I mean, wife — of yours I miss her chicken curry.”
“Sure thing. Speaking of Mary, you want to go to the festival with us this weekend?” Art returned to the folder in his lap and began sifting through some of the pages.
“Is there an age requirement? I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it if I’m not part of the blue hair club.”
Art let out a huff and rolled his eyes at Ethan. “For the last time, I’m black. So even if I had hair, it wouldn’t be turning blue like those old white ladies who dump chemicals on their head.”
“I’m surprised you know so much on the subject.”
“Being married gives a guy the inside track on these things. You should try it sometime.”
“Nah, I don’t need a woman telling me what to do all the time — what to wear, what party I need to attend, and who we invite over for Sunday lunch. And deep down inside, I think you envy that.”
Art grunted out a half laugh and went back to his papers. “I envy your freedom, my friend, but not your loneliness.”
Maybe Art was right, but Ethan hadn’t been afforded the luxury of a female companion for a long time. “So how is her family doing back in California? You seem refreshed from the vacation,” Ethan said, dodging Art’s perceptive comment.
“Everyone’s good. We took the kids to a few amusement parks and museums while we were there. You know how they say Disneyland is the place of children’s dreams? What the brochure doesn’t tell you is that it’s an adult’s nightmare.”
“So I take it they enjoyed themselves?”
“Yeah, that, and other places too. Anthony really liked the La Brea Tar Pits. We learned a lot while we were there. One of the pits was very interesting; they call it Pit 91. They say thousands of years ago it was like a lake of tar covered in dust and dirt. Tons of fossils have been found there.”
“Huh.” The light switched to green and Ethan pressed the gas pedal, making a left turn.
“Also, as it turns out la brea is Spanish for ‘the tar’, so translated literally, The La Brea Tar Pits would be called ‘The The Tar Tar Pits’. Talk about redundancy.”
“Art, you truly have a wealth of knowledge.” Ethan shook his head, chuckling.
“Yep, but if my mind ever starts going, I give you full permission to help me check out.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, but on a side note, I’ve been doing some reading of my own lately regarding Theodore Roosevelt. You guys have a lot in common.”
Art glanced at him, curiosity piqued. Anything to learn another snippet of knowledge. “Really, like what?”
“Bad eyesight and the early 1900s.”
“Ethan, you’re always such an idiot.”
Art had a point. It was a silly jab, but Ethan couldn’t resist. “At least I’m consistent, but okay, I’ll be good.”
“Changing the subject, you need to stop driving this vehicle to work.” Art tapped his hand on the glove box. “It’s way too high profile.”
“It’s better than that old and busted sedan you drive.”
“My pops used to say, ‘A rubber wheel beats a rubber heel any day.’”
There was no way to argue that logic, and it silenced Ethan from further comment.
Traffic was thickening up worse than before, and Ethan concentrated on the road. There was a lull in the conversation, and the low volume of Metallica’s “Fade to Black” album could be heard from the cassette deck.
A few moments passed and Art snapped the folder closed, his perusal of the files concluded. “So you think you’ll ever grow some balls and get a wife and start having kids?”
“No thank you, I’ll leave that old fogey business — like changing diapers — to the real men.”
Art laughed softly. “That was years ago. Sabrina’s sixteen now, and Anthony’s going to be eleven in October. She’s into all her friends and fashion now, and Tony’s glued to his video games. We just bought him one of those Nintendos for Christmas. All he ever talks about is Mario. You seen that thing yet? It was pretty pricey; I don’t know how I’m supposed to top that for his birthday.”
“I guess it has been a while since I was at your house,” Ethan said. “I think you should just get him a bike instead.”
“Well, it’ll be hard to pry him away from his games but I’ll talk to the wife. You have to agree, it’s really amazing what they’re doing with computers and technology nowadays. I mean, look at us; you may not remember it, but our job used to be all paper and now we’re moving up in the world. Though I’ve got to say, those black and green screens hurt my eyes. They need to fix that.”
“Art, you need to calm down. You’ll get your blood pressure up again. Plus I think it might be cataracts; you should have that checked out.” Ethan snickered at his bad joke.
Art wagged a finger at him. “Someday you’re going to be just like me — old and left behind by the times. I remember my own father telling me —”
A fizzle of static interrupted their banter and a dispatcher’s voice came over the CB radio, “All available units, we have a possible shot fired at 2752 Yorkshire Way.”
Art stared at Ethan. “Isn’t that —?”
All of the humor had left Ethan’s face. He grabbed the red light, slapped it on the roof of the car through the open window, and hauled ass to his uncle’s house.
03
Estate from New York
“He must have really blown his mind,” Detective Deacon Maznicki chuckled while everyone else surveyed the room. “What do you think was the last thing that went through his brain?” he said to no one in particular.
A random officer who had the misfortune of catching Deacon’s eye shrugged, gave him a look of distaste, and carried on with his business.
“A bullet.” Again Deacon laughed alone, his upper body heaving. The curly sprouts of hair on his chest came close to getting snared in his braided gold necklace. “And what is up with that God awful odor? It smells like his asshole yawned one too many times before he died. Am I right?”
A few scornful looks were thrown Deacon’s way, but no one responded. Before he could open his mouth again, a giant black hand clamped down and squeezed the nape of his neck, not to cause harm but to garner attention.
Deacon stiffened in surprise and jerked his head around. “Well, if it isn’t Arthur Hansen the MAN-sen. Say, have any more suspects hurt themselves during apprehension lately?” He made air quotes with his fingers as he said the word hurt.