They went back and forth for another twenty minutes. By that time, Decker had been at him for almost two hours. Beads of sweat had coalesced on Brand’s face, chest, and arms. His anaconda tattoo now looked as if it was swimming in the river.
Decker gave the kid another cigarette, hoping that would calm him down. “One of the victims lived, Alex. He saw things-”
“Not me.”
“You could do yourself a world of good. All you have to do is tell me what you know about it.”
“I wasn’t there!”
“I didn’t say you were there.” A beat. “I said that all you have to do is tell me what you know about it.”
His eyes were on his lap. “I don’ know nothin’.”
“Alex, that’s not true. You know all about José Pinon and that he fucked up because he didn’t kill the surviving victim. You know all about Rondo Martin and El Patrón. People have heard you talk.”
Brand’s expression appeared stunned and confused. He shut his lips together as if that would take back his words.
“Tell me about El Patrón.”
Brand shrugged, but he didn’t make eye contact. His leg was still bouncing.
“C’mon, Alejandro. You don’t want it getting back to El Patrón that you were yapping about him.”
More silence.
“We also have people looking for José in Mexico,” Decker lied. “What’s Pinon going to do when he finds out that you’ve been talking about him?”
“Look, man, I tole you the truth! I wasn’t there!”
“I believe you,” Decker said quietly. “I believe that you weren’t there. But you do know who was there.”
“No, I don’ know.” He squirmed. “I just hear some things. I don’ know what’s true and what’s not true. Why you bustin’ my cojones, man?”
“Tell me what you’ve heard.”
No response. Decker waited him out. Finally, Alex said, “You work for that guy with the sunglasses?”
It took a few seconds before Decker realized he was referring to Brett Harriman, and that was definitely not good. Luckily, Decker was a more seasoned liar than Alex was. “Who are you talking about?”
“The faggy guy in the courthouse. I could tell he was spying on me. I shoulda dealt with it when I had the chance.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Alex. I told you, I’m from Homicide.”
“I knew he was a motherfucker. I could tell how he was lookin’ at me.”
“Alex, let’s try to keep on topic.” Decker made a mental note to contact Harriman. “Tell me what rumors you’ve heard.”
“What do I get if I talk to you?”
“You get a Homicide police lieutenant who’s on your side along with your shithead lawyer.”
“You tell the Narcos that the shit wasn’t mine?”
“No, I can’t do that. But if you cooperate, I’ll talk to the judge who’ll be sentencing you. If he’s impressed enough, he could knock off some time.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. But what do you have to lose?”
“I don’t want people findin’ out I talked to you.”
“So tell me what you know and I’ll see what I can do.”
Brand thought about it. “I just hear what you said. That José fucked up and that El Patrón was looking for him.”
“Just to make sure that we’re on the same page, let’s make sure we’re talking about the same El Patrón. Tell me about him.”
“I dunno his name.” Brand averted his eyes. “He does a lot of business with Bodega Twelve, if you know what I mean.”
“Drugs?”
“Yeah, he gets the shit from the big guys. Everyone says he ordered the hit.”
“Describe him to me.”
“Just that he’s some white dude who flashes a lot of cash. I never seen him.” The cholo’s smile deepened as the seconds ticked on. “You don’ know who he is.”
“How do you know that he ordered these hits?”
“That’s just what I hear from my amigos.”
“Which friends?”
“I don’ remember…” Brand looked at Decker. “That’s the truth, man. I just hear from around.”
“How did you hear about José Pinon fucking up?”
“José is a loser.”
“How do you know José?”
“He was a righteous Twelver when I was a kid, but then he started going to someplace called Go-karts or something. It’s where rich vacas in suits ‘rehabilitate’ gang members.” He chuckled. “I don’ see him for a while. The next time I see him, he tells me that some rich guy hired him as a guard. I thought it was a joke.”
Decker nodded.
“What a stupid fuck!”
“José or the man who hired him.”
“Both,” Brand said. “The idiot gave him a uniform. He gave him a gun. He gave him a title. José thought he was hot shit…above us, know what I mean? I hope El Patrón finds him and burns his balls with cigarettes.”
“Describe El Patrón to me.”
“I already tole you, I never seen him.” Brand crushed out his cigarette. “Now whatchu gonna do for me, man?”
“Well, Alex, the point is you haven’t told me anything good. I knew about José Pinon and El Patrón. I need a name.”
“I don’t know his name.”
“So give me the name of the shooters.”
“I tole you. José Pinon was there.”
“Who else?”
Brand fell quiet.
Decker said, “It’s only a matter of time before the surviving victim identifies everyone who was there and your information will be useless.”
“Then let him do that.”
Decker switched tactics. “Did José ever talk to you about the people he worked with on his job?”
“I don’ talk no more to José. He stopped hangin’ once he got his fancy fuck job.”
“So he never mentioned any names to you?”
A long sigh. “I think he tole me that most of them were Hispanic. Once José tole me I was smart-the only smart thing he ever said-and that if I could get my shit together, he could probably get me a job. But he had to talk to his boss first. I said I wasn’t interested.”
“Who was his boss?”
“I dunno. Some dude.”
Decker pulled out his list of guards. The first name he read was Neptune Brady. Brand’s eyes lit up.
“Yeah, that was the dumb fuck who hired him.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“No.”
“Could Neptune Brady be El Patrón?”
“Could be if he’s a white guy with a lot of cash.”
“I’m going to read some more names. Tell me if they sound familiar.” When Decker got to Denny Orlando, Brand held up his hand.
“That guy sounds familiar. He works with José.”
“Yes, he does. Or did. He’s dead.”
“José whacked him?”
“Somebody did.”
“Figures. He turns his back on Bodega 12th Street, he can turn his back on anyone.”
Decker mentioned Rondo Martin and Brand didn’t react. “That name doesn’t sound familiar?”
Brand thought a moment. “You name a lot of people. I get them mixed up.”
“He’s a tough white dude. Could he be El Patrón?”
Brand was dismissive. “I don’ know what El Patrón’s name is, but I don’ thin’ it’s somethin’ stupid like Rondo Martin.”
TWENTY-NINE
SOME WHITE DUDE who flashes a lot of cash?” Marge said. “Boy, he really went out on a limb.”
“Like they say in the electronic world: GIGO.” Oliver smiled.
“How very techie of you.”
“I also know LOL and IMHO.”
“You don’t have a ‘humble opinion,’ Scott.”
Oliver said, “No, it means ‘in my highest opinion.’”
“Or ‘in my honest opinion.’” Decker exhaled aloud. “Wow, this is a lot more fun than talking to bullshit cons who feed me crap.”
The three of them were sitting in Decker’s office, kicking around ideas. Oliver had on a black suit, Marge had on a gray suit, and Decker was wearing a brown suit. They were appropriately dressed for a funeral, an event that would have dovetailed nicely with their sagging spirits.