I took Hollywood Way and kept going north. Every once in a while, I'd look back to see if our passenger was bleeding. Wouldn't you know it, just as I was heading past the Burbank Airport a cop car pulled in behind me.
"Damn," Danny said, reaching down to mess with the piece.
"Keep your goddamn hands in your goddamn lap. Don't do anything to make them pull us over. Especially no eye rollin'."
"Ain't got to do anything 'cept DWB."
"We got a dead man in here, remember?"
I kept below the speed limit and the cops pulled alongside us at a stoplight. The one riding shotgun pointed for me to roll down my window. Danny was mumbling but I didn't want to listen to his jive.
"Zelmont Raines, right?" He was older than the one at the wheel.
"Yeah," I said grinning like I was one of the goofy Wayans brothers. "How's it going?"
"You were playing overseas, weren't you?"
"That's right," praying for the light to change. "Had to come back and try my luck with the Barons, you know how it is." Danny said something under his breath again, and I wanted to kick him in the nuts to be quiet. The cop was nodding as if that covered anything else he might want to ask. The light finally turned green and I waited for the blues to take off. But of course this dude had to have something to tell his pals back at the station.
Finally he said, "Would you mind signing an autograph? My boy is playing ball in high school."
He asked it the way cops always do, with that tone that said, "Look, asswipe, I can make it hard for you if you don't volunteer and do this." Just like a coach.
"Sure." What the fuck could I do?
Danny looked like he was going to have a fit, but I chilled him with a stone stare. I pulled to the curb, the cruiser slipping in behind me. Cars and trucks went by us like everything was normal. I got out, smiling for the cameras.
"I really appreciate this." He had his notepad opened to a blank page. For a second, I freaked, thinking maybe this was a trap 'cause I hadn't paid my child support. As if having a dead body less than ten feet from a member of the LAPD wasn't enough to get shitless about. "Make it to Jeremy, okay?"
"Hey, I'm just glad somebody remembers me." Like I knew he would, he couldn't help but give my ride the once-over while I struggled to spell his kid's name. "Two `E's, right?"
"Yes."
It seemed like he looked at the tinted windows a little too long. What if like in one of those horror films the dude we thought was dead suddenly came to life? We were standing near the front windows, and he naturally settled on Danny, a young brother whose profile he's probably seen in one bulletin or another.
"There you go." I was going to offer an explanation on where we were going but decided that would sound wrong.
He tapped the pad against his open palm, like he was trying to decide something. I might be able to hit him, take his piece, then what? Have the law chase my sorry ass down the highway like Rodney King? Only they'd shoot me rather than waste time beating me.
He looked narrow-eyed at the rear of the truck, then back at his partner, who held his fingers up from the steering wheel as if to say, well?
"Thanks for the autograph." He stuck out his hand.
I shook it and grinned like a thief making off with the farmer's prize rooster. When I climbed back into the ride I could feel Danny's hostility That boy was wound too goddamn tight, and it was gonna be a problem sooner rather than later. As I remembered, there was a side street before you got onto the rise to Verdugo Mountain Park. I took it, and there was no mistaking where we were.
"Aw, motherfuck," Danny swore. "This is some rank shit, man.
"It's a county dump, what'd you expect?" A few big haulers were going up a hill off to the right. A couple of Stadanko's blue and silver Shindar trucks were among them.
"He must have some kind of plant or something around here," I said out loud.
"Yeah?" Danny said, bringing his T-shirt up over his nose.
"Yeah, Stadanko, hauls solid waste, toxic shit, and lard from restaurants here. He would have to have a place where they pump that crap out and it's converted'rendered,' I think they call it."
"You a garbage-studyin' motherfuckah, ain't you?" He pointed. "On the other side of the hill is where they dump the garbage?"
"Yeah, biggest pit of nothing you'll ever see." I saw a side road to my left and took it. The path led down to an area where there were a couple of regular garbage trucks and some cars parked near several low buildings. Nearby, I could hear traffic racing by on the Golden State Freeway.
"Did you see the car they were driving?"
"Naw, I was kinda busy bustin' 'em up."
I couldn't tell if he was being smart or what. Then I saw something I recognized. We had cut down another pathway and had come to a part of the yard not seen from the front. The silver Prowler with the cobalt rims was parked parallel to a building with a door, windows, and no name on it. Behind that building were some tall round towers with pipes feeding into them.
"This is it." No sooner had I said it than he was scrambling out the door. I grabbed his arm. "Slow down, we gotta scope the scene out first."
"Get up off me, man." He snatched his arm back, his piece in his other hand. "We got to go save Nap."
"We will, Danny, only we got to think, huh? You want to go charging in there not knowing what to expect? Maybe somebody gets hot and pops your brother before we're through the door."
He didn't say squat, his gun half on his lap, that prison yard blank on his mug.
I backed up and parked the Explorer away from the building. Then we got out and crept over. I couldn't hear anything so we went around to the rear. There were metal parts from machines and pieces of wood scattered back there next to a concrete wall that was about seven feet tall. A window up high in the building was open. We stopped to listen for a few seconds and heard some groans.
Me and Danny looked at each other, the kid getting sick. We knew what the sound was. The back door, which was near a corner, was locked, and I had to keep him from shooting the lock off. The sound of men laughing, enjoying their work, could be heard through the open window.
I looked through the pieces of metal and found a bar I could use to pry the door open. We got it in position and tugged. The door came loose and we went inside fast. Now we were in an office. There was a door on the other side, which flew open as me and Danny reached it. Standing there was a dude with an automatic, and I hit him dead in the face with the iron bar before he had a chance to fire.
He said something in Russian or whatever the hell it is they speak in Serbia. I hit him again, grabbing the piece from his hand as he went down, blood gushing from his forehead. Danny was already past me.
"Cut him loose, bitch," Danny hollered at one of the thugs, putting his gun in the boy's face. The guy had the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, the skin on the knuckles of his right fist torn and bloody. There was another one looking at us, his jaw all down around his ankles. He'd been sitting eating some chow in cream sauce, one end of a plastic milk crate filling in for a table. His dinner show was Nap's beating. A glass of wine had been knocked over next to the plate. I recognized him from the red wound on one side of his forehead. He was the punk I'd hit with the ashtray the other day.
They had bound up Nap pretty creatively. A chain was looped over a steel beam running down the center of the pointed roof. The end of that was wound around Nap's wrists, his arms up over his head. A big lock kept the links together. He was standing spread eagle, his ankles bound with chains. The end of each one of these was connected to some piece of machinery and pulled tight as hell. His shirt was off, his pants and underwear pulled down. A small lead pipe was on the ground near his feet. It was dark on one end. He had a handkerchief tied around his mouth and duct tape wrapped over that. His face was pulped up with welts and bruises. Pure hate was in his eyes.