“They’re out back wrecking another car,” said Wanda.
“Come on,” said Preston.
He led Hood outside, around a beaten stucco garage, down a ramp and into a small barnyard. His trail across the earth was narrow and well worn through the weeds. The dogs followed.
Bradley was in the barn, up to his shoulders in the engine of an old white F-150. Clayton, the document forger, stood across from him, also bent into the depths of the engine. Hood nodded to Erin, who was sitting at the end of a picnic bench under one of the barn windows, a small guitar resting on one thigh and an arm draped over the body. Wedged between the bench and her leg was a notebook with a pen on top. Stone, the car thief, sat at the other end reading a thick hardcover book. Between them was a pot of something steaming and one upside-down mug and an ashtray with a cigarette burning in it.
Preston walked over toward the workbench, felt for the chair, then swung it around backward and sat down facing Bradley’s direction. The dogs spread out around him on the cool concrete floor.
“Look what I found,” he said.
Bradley straightened and looked at Hood. He flipped a torque wrench full circle and caught it by the handle. “Not hard to find someone trespassing right up to your front door.”
Erin waved and smiled feebly but didn’t look at Hood. Clayton glanced at him. Stone never looked up from his book.
“So what do you want, Charlie?” asked Bradley. “You may as well just say it here and say it quick. I’ve got work to do.”
“Someone blew Kick away about four hours ago,” Hood said, though he knew where all this was going.
The quiet barn got quieter.
“I got a cup for you,” said Erin. “Have some coffee, Charlie.”
He walked over and upended the cup and poured. He caught the worry in Erin’s eyes as she looked back at the guitar strings. Hood went over to the truck and stood between Bradley and Clayton. The engine head was off and the cylinders were exposed and he could see the burned silver-black carbon in them.
“Kick was an unformed child playing games in the land of little error,” said Bradley to the engine. Then he looked at Hood. “So I don’t feel one bit sorry for him. My only slight regret is that I wasn’t the one to blow the life out of him. But that would have taken a risk far greater than Kick’s life was worth. As you can probably infer, and as all of these people will tell you, I’ve been on this property since last night and right here in this barn since before sunrise this morning.”
Bradley flipped the wrench again and caught it.
“That’s right,” said Preston. “I never let him out of my sight.”
Bradley dropped his wrench to the floor and it landed with a clang. Clayton dropped his, too. Stone dropped the book to the floor with a flat crack and Erin dropped her notebook and Preston took off his glasses and aimed his dead white eyes at Hood and they broke out laughing.
He smiled and waited for the laughter to trail off. “Well, that’s two felons, a blind man, and a woman who loves you.”
They all booed him. Erin strummed her guitar loudly, no chords, just dissonance. Hood wasn’t sure if she was trying to drown them out or join them.
Then Bradley wiped his hands on a once white T-shirt. “We’re just funnin’ ya, Hood. Come on, we’ll talk.”
They walked out and Bradley led the way up a trail from the house to an outcropping of rocks. The day was warming. Hood saw a small patch of California poppies blooming eagerly after the rain, the first he’d seen all year.
“Did you go to the grave yesterday?” Hood asked.
“I drove in from above, up by the mausoleum. I almost came down when I saw your Camaro but I didn’t feel like seeing you on my mom’s birthday. No offense.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to share my mom with you, either.”
“I didn’t kill him. I wouldn’t have waited six months. My decision on that was made a long time ago. He’s a Southside Crip with enemies all over the place. It wasn’t me. All of those people back there will tell you I was here.”
“I can see that. But the description fits you and the timing is right.”
“Where?”
“Skid Row.”
Bradley shook his head, as if killing anyone on Skid Row would be beneath him.
“How?”
“Shotgun. Black cowboy hat, dark bandana over his face-outlaw style. Jeans and boots. He was tall, white or light Hispanic. Drove a black Silverado.”
“Well, you won’t find a black Silverado anywhere on this property.”
“That’s for sure.”
“But I do have jeans. And boots. I even got a combat Mossberg in my room, and a finger to pull the trigger with.”
“If I have to ask Erin where you were, Bradley, I’ll see it if she’s lying.”
“Go ahead. I want you to ask her. You’ll see that she’s telling the truth, just like the others. Did she give you directions here?”
“I found you through Cal State L.A.”
“I didn’t attend one class.”
“You applied and used this address. It’s on the campus police cop-only Web site.”
He studied Hood, then chuckled softly. “I’m thinking of applying to the Sheriff’s. Or maybe LAPD. You still willing to get me in?”
Hood knew where Bradley got his flair for the dramatic, his confidence in the bluff, his belief in the making of luck.
“Talk to me when you’re serious, Bradley.”
“You going to rat me out to LAPD for what I said about Kick? That was all in the past, man.”
“They’ll make the connection without me.”
“I didn’t kill him, Charlie. That’s the last time I’m going to say it to you.”
His eyes on Hood were hard and unwavering. His chin was strong. Conviction? Challenge? Wounded pride? Truth glides through appearances, thought Hood.
“Bradley, you can kill a man and hide behind your friends and get away with it. But you can’t get away with it for very long. Friends don’t stay friends forever.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Sheriff, by golly.”
“Learn from your mother.”
“You don’t know what I’ve learned from her.”
“She let herself get killed for nothing. You have to understand the connection between what you do and what it leads to. She understood that, but she couldn’t control herself. Almost, but not quite. You’re going to have to. Bradley, you can do anything in the world you want.”
“I’m doing exactly what I want.”
“Living with creeps? Dragging Erin through your messes? You don’t know what you have because it’s all been given to you, and you think you deserve it. You’re a spoiled child in the body of a man. Suzanne coddled you. You should have had your ass kicked a long time ago.”
“You can try.”
“By your age you have to kick your own ass.”
“You old guys all say the same thing.”
“So will you if you live that long.”
“Having fucked my mother gives you no rights with me. None.”
“She’d be ashamed of you right now. Her heart was big. She tried to take care of the people who loved her.”
Hood turned and walked alone back down the path to the barn. He saw the men and the dogs. Clayton offered him a beer. The Jack Russell followed him. Erin was out on the front deck in the shade, guitar over her knee, red hair hiding her face. The notebook was at her feet and the pen was on it and there was writing on the page in red ink.
She shook back her hair and looked up at Hood. Her beauty came at him sideways and just under what was visible, a body blow.
“Was he here all morning like he says?”
“Every minute of it,” she said, and Hood saw that she was lying.
“Did he threaten you?”
“Come on, Charlie. He wouldn’t do that.”
“Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to say. Just isn’t.”
“Write a song about a guy who’s willing to sell out his girl so he can get away with murder.”
“Sell me out?”
“Obstruction of justice? Perjury? It’s jail time, Erin.”
She looked up, briefly, wiped a tear on a knuckle, the guitar pick still in her hand. “Hood? Don’t. Please get outta here before he walks up. If he sees me crying he’ll figure all the wrong things.”