“I know what you’re saying, but it’s not something I can talk away. Eli Sherman, or whatever his name actually was, was a pure psychopath. One of the purest I’ve seen. Most psychopaths are self-destructive, or if they do turn criminal, they get caught because of their megalomania. Eli was caught because of the fluke that I happened to open his closet when he was in the shower. Otherwise, no one would’ve caught him. Deception is just what those types of personalities do. I have to accept that, and move on.”
“Why did you say whatever his name actually was?”
“He went by a lot of different names. The task force that was after him the year after his escape found that every name he had used was fake. They don’t know his real identity.”
“What was he like?”
“He had all of the traits I admired in a person. He was honest, loyal, tough…I never once saw him afraid of anything or unwilling to help somebody that needed it. When I found out what he really was later on…I think maybe he had the ability to see what it was we look for in people and that those are the traits he needed to show me. Once the veneer was off, he was narcissistic and cowardly. Essentially the exact opposite of the man I knew.” Stanton shifted in his seat and stared out the window a long time before speaking again. “I think he knew he could manipulate me right from the beginning.”
“I was only assuming you two were close because most police officers that come in here are closer to their partners than they are to their spouses. It sounds like you two actually had that type of relationship.”
“We did. He’d call me at one in the morning if he was drunk at a bar and I’d go pick him up. He’d come over for Sunday dinners…he knew I wouldn’t go out to eat on Sundays, so every Sunday he would make a dish and bring it over and join us for dinner. He was actually one of the best chefs I’d ever met, but now I’m thinking he probably picked it up on the way over.” Stanton bit the membrane on the inside of his cheek and then ran his tongue over the indentation. “I let him play with my children…” He took a deep breath. “But it doesn’t matter now. My ex-wife is remarried, my children are growing up, and he’s off in another country hiding in apartments and warehouses. It doesn’t affect me anymore.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. I can even see it in your body language. You’re more uncomfortable now than when we talked about a recent break up.” She leaned forward. “Jon, there’s a group that I have. They’re a group of survivors, much like you. I’d like for you to come to our next session.”
“What kind of survivors?”
“Well, one of my patients in that group was married to a man who was a pedophile that hung himself. Another is the mother of a gang leader who was executed.”
“Oh, those kind of survivors. I don’t think I would feel comfortable there right now.”
“Well, when you’re ready, I think it’d be incredibly beneficial for you to hear other people’s stories. And it would really help them as well. Some of them have tremendous anger toward the police and I think you could really help turn that around. And it would make you realize you’re not alone.” She checked her watch. “Our half hour’s almost up. Is there anything else you want to discuss with me right now?”
“No.”
“How’s the Xanax working?”
“Fine. I haven’t had any of the more serious side effects. Just a stomach ache the past couple of days.”
“That should go away on its own. If it doesn’t, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
He rose. “I won’t. Thanks, Doc.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you next week. And Jon? Please consider coming to that group.”
Stanton nodded, and was out the door without saying anything. When he got to his car, he had to sit a moment and calm his breathing before he started the engine, and pulled away.
CHAPTER 17
On the corner of Thirty Third Street in Logan Heights, several young girls sat in a car, holding cash out the window. The day was clear without a single cloud in the sky. Several cars were driving by and could see exactly what was occurring as the girls handed the cash over to a man in orange shorts and prison tattoos over his arms and shoulders. The man whistled behind him and a young boy of about twelve ran into an alleyway and came back out with a small plastic baggie. He handed it to the girls, blew them a kiss, and then ran back to the alley.
Detective Stephen Gunn watched this from his car as he finished his cigar and threw it out on the sidewalk. He got out of the car and dodged traffic until he was across the street. As he approached the girls, he could see the man with the tattoos leaning against their door, a smile on his face now. He could hear their conversation.
“You girls suck dick?” he said.
One of the girls giggled. “No.”
“That’s bullshit. I know y’all suck dick. Why don’t we hit my apartment and smoke some weed and you can show me how you suck that dick.”
Gunn stepped around the car so the man couldn’t see him and came up behind him. He grabbed him by his head and slammed him, nose first, into the car. The man swore and instinctively went for the Glock tucked into his waistband when Gunn pulled out the weapon, de-chambered it, and threw it over by a garbage can.
Gunn held up his badge to the girls. “Unless you want to be suckin’ his dick while you’re in jail, I suggest you get the hell outta here.” They started the car. “And girls, I’ll be takin’ that crystal you just bought…thank you. Now get the hell outta here.”
Gunn pushed the man away. Blood was pouring out of his nose. “You broke my fuckin’ nose.”
“How you been, Juan? You know, it’s funny, I’m sittin’ there today just hard at work and I realize, you know what? I haven’t heard from my good pal Juan in almost three weeks. Imagine that, man. I ain’t heard from you in three weeks.”
“Yo I been sick, man. I just got back out here on dees corners man.”
“Yeah? ‘Cause I drove by here couple days ago and saw you hangin’ out with your faggot friend over there.”
“Yeah, I been back for a few but I been outta the game for a minute.”
Gunn glanced around. “Where’s my fuckin’ money, Juan?”
“I told you man, I been outta the game. I ain’t got no money.”
“Really? You ain’t got no money, huh?” Gunn took a few steps toward him and Juan jumped back. “You old school, Juan? Right? You always talkin’ about how life was like back in the day. I mean you’re only like, what? Thirty-five? But since all you wet-back gangsters die out here at twenty that’s pretty old to still be in the game, right?”
Gunn jumped at him and grabbed him by the throat. He brought him near so that he could smell his breath and look into his eyes.
“Here’s a rule you can fuckin’ remember: this is my corner. This ain’t your corner; it ain’t the LHG’s corner. This is my corner and I call the fuckin’ shots. Now you pay me what you owe me or we got a big problem, you and me, and maybe that butt-buddy of yours over there gets a little promotion ‘cause his boss is missin’ in action.”
“I’ll get you the money, man. I ain’t playin’. I’ll get it to you. I need some time, though, man. I just got back in the game, man. I wasn’t lyin’.”
“You got three days to get me three weeks’ worth of payments.”
“Three days? Man, I can’t do that. I can’t sell fast enough, man.”
“Well then you better rob a fuckin’ truck or take out a loan or something ‘cause either my money or your balls are goin’ home with me in three days.”
“All right, man, all right. I’ll find it. I’ll find it.”
Gunn let him go. “See, I knew you were reasonable. That’s why I like you, Juan. Reasonable.”
As Gunn got back into his car, he saw Juan go and pick up his firearm from near the garbage. He stared at him with venom, but just quietly tucked the gun into his pants and went back to work.