Frank said, "Johnnie. Go home."
"I'm talkin' to Swamp Boy here. Just tryin' to have a friendly conversation only he's not being so friendly. Where's that southern hospitality, boy?"
"Conversation's over," Frank said. "Go home."
"Since when can't I talk to my colleagues after work?" Johnnie argued.
Frank's eyes iced up and she said, "Don't make me say it again."
"Fuck."
"Come on," Noah said, putting his arm around Johnnie. "I'll buy you a beer."
"Fuck off," Johnnie answered.
Frank stayed where she was until he left the squad room, then withdrew to her office. Darcy followed.
"I don't need you to defend me," he complained.
Frank checked a sigh.
"And I don't you need you losing your temper and pulling a Sandman on him."
Darcy had been demoted from Venice Division to Figueroa for planting his supervisor's face into the beach, through which action he'd become known as the Sandman.
"I wasn't going to do that."
"Good. Johnnie's got a short fuse at the end of the day and I was tired of it. Do you have a problem with that?"
Darcy chewed the inside of his lip.
"No," he mumbled before turning around, squeezing past a flustered Jill outside Frank's door.
Now what?
Frank wondered if she'd run into Johnnie on the way out.
"I thought you left."
"I did. Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Sure."
Jill closed the door and Frank waited while she dragged a chair closer to the desk. Maternity may have suited Jill, but working a full case load didn't. She looked pale and tired. Big circles under her eyes were vainly covered with make-up and her hair looked dull and brittle. Frank remembered it being thick and deep red. They used to call her the Fire Truck because of her flaming hair and quick response to a hot man.
"I need to ask you a favor."
Jill twisted her hands in her lap and Frank braced herself for the resignation speech.
"I know it sounds silly, but I want off this Duncan case."
"How come?" Frank asked, relieved.
"I'm just not comfortable with it. I know it sounds ridiculous. I can go into a roach-infested tenement and have maggots crawl out of a two-week-old corpse and up my leg, but I don't want to deal with this devil worship shit. Not now. Not with a baby to look after."
"What devil worship shit are we talking about?"
"What Johnnie said. For once he's right. People don't want to talk about Love-Jones. They're scared of her. You can see it. One man I talked to yesterday, he's retired from Caltrans, a straight up fellow, and he went off, telling me not to mess with her if I knew what was good for me, that she was a witch, she could make things happen. He almost slammed the door in my face!
"Then one of my CIs—I didn't even call her, she called me, she lives near Love-Jones' place on Slauson—she told me about some really bizarre things that go on there. Granted she's not the most reputable source, but for her to call me out of the blue and tell me she's seen lightning flashing over that place without a cloud in the sky, and red lights on at all hours of the morning?"
Jill's voice climbed as she added, "And her boyfriend? She says he fights pit bulls and none of them will walk by that building. She said they start peeing and whimpering like puppies whenever they get near it. And to top it all off, she tells me the dumpster in front of their place is always filled with dead chickens and pigeons. There are even goats sometimes! I just don't want anything to do with it. I'm asking you to take me off, Frank. Please."
"No problem. I was going to put everybody back on regular duty anyway."
Jill was visibly relieved and Frank leaned forward.
"Let me ask you something. Personal. I don't mean any disrespect, I just don't know. If you believe in God, and have a strong faith like you seem to, then wouldn't you feel protected from evil? From characters like Mother Love?"
Jill's head shook vehemently.
"Oh, no. Evil's everywhere, and it's insidious. I have tremendous faith but I'm not perfect. The thing about the devil is he uses any chink in your armor, any weakness in your belief as a foothold to claim your soul. It might start out innocently enough, but Satan's persistent. He digs in and has all eternity to undermine your faith, until you finally, without even knowing it, have crossed to the dark side. He's patient and clever. And he's dangerous. Don't underestimate him, Frank."
"No. I won't," Frank reassured. She'd never seen this evangelical side to Jill and was slightly unnerved.
Jill stood, all tired pride and defiance. "Anything else?"
When Frank shook her head no, Jill smiled weakly.
"I know I probably sound like some crack-pot zealot, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. This just feels all wrong to me."
She seemed to consider an idea, then added, "Be careful, Frank. And take care of Cheryl. She's so green. Don't let her get hurt."
"I won't," Frank promised.
Jill left Frank stinging with the memory of Kennedy bleeding out in her arms. That had been Frank's fault. No. She wouldn't let anything happen to Lewis.
13
The Slauson exit was coming up. Frank was on her way home, but she wasn't in a hurry. The only thing waiting for her tonight was the impassive steel in her weight room. She swung onto the off ramp, crossing back under the Ten, not at all curious about why she was going to the Mother's headquarters. It was close to 5:00 PM and traffic was heavy on the east-west artery. That was good. Frank parked across the street from the brick complex, her old Honda indiscernible amidst all the other cars.
For an hour she watched, and waited, for what she didn't know. Frank was enjoying her secret proximity to the Mother. She'd always liked surveillance and thought she would have made a great spy. She had a fine view of the entrance fronting Slauson and noted three people go inside, stay a few minutes, then leave. The first was an old black woman, followed by a well-dressed Hispanic woman, then a nervous middle-aged black woman. A thin blonde woman came out fanning herself. None of them looked like cluckheads and Frank guessed they were some of the Mother's hoodoo clients.
Debating whether she should go in or not, she saw a ragged figure shuffling towards the building. Despite the heat, a wooly gray head poked from layers of uniformly tattered and dirty old blankets. Frank couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. She got the uneasy feeling it was the same beggar she'd seen when she'd been riding with Lewis.
Frank watched the figure inch its way toward the door of the slaughterhouse. It wavered about twenty feet short, seemingly unable to travel any farther. The grimy bundle settled against the warm brick wall and sank to the sidewalk. Its blankets puffed around it like a toadstool. The figure remained still for a long moment, then slowly lifted its head.
The face was leathery, the eyes clouded and sightless. The gray head pivoted, noting its surroundings like some ancient, lumbering reptile. Satisfied, it stopped, its face square to Frank's. Through the rush of cars and trucks, Frank saw the pink mouth widen into a grin. The dead eyes were straight on her.
Frank stared at the ruined visage. It was impossible, she told herself. Just coincidence. A trick of the light.
She held the relic's leer. There was no way it could see through the thick film over its eyes, yet it stared. Right at her. Despite the broiling sun, Frank shivered.
The relic grinned. Suddenly its chin dropped to the blankets, like someone had yanked the plug on it. Frank watched a minute longer, half tempted to roust the old fuck and find out what its story was. But she didn't. Instead, she started the car, expecting the relic's eyes to fly open and fix on her. It didn't move. Frank eased into traffic, careful not to look back.
After work the next day, like a kid determined to walk by a haunted house to prove she's not afraid, Frank cruised by the impassive brick building. No one loitered out front and the thing in rags was nowhere in sight.