He turned on the Xerox machine and spent the rest of the day burning copies in the hot, narrow room.
Shane punched out at five-thirty, walked back to his car next door, and headed to Harvard Westlake.
Chooch was sitting alone on the curb. Everyone else had been picked up. He stood slowly, then dragged both his book bag and ass over to the car and got in.
"Sorry. We're gonna have to make new arrangements for the pickup. I can't get back here till five forty-five. I sent you a message. I hope they gave it to you."
Chooch was strangely quiet. He just nodded.
Shane put the car in gear and headed up onto the freeway, back to Venice.
"Did you have some kinda talk with Mr. Thackery?" Chooch finally asked after almost ten minutes of silence.
"No, why?" Shane said, glancing over at him.
"I don't know. He pulled me out of study hall. It was like he was a different guy, wants to be my bud. He said I was gonna get another chance, that he had gone to bat for me."
"I'll bet your mom called and set him straight. Sandy did pretty good, huh? I'm telling ya, you got your mother down in the wrong column, Chooch."
"Yeah… What column is that, the 'Don't bother me, I'm always busy' column? She's had me in boarding school since second grade. Up at Webb School in Ventura, I never even got to come home at Christmas. I was the only kid left in the dorm over the holidays. I was being watched by custodians… had to eat at the headmaster's house. Sandy's some mom, all right. We gotta get her a Mother's Day award."
"People aren't always what they appear to be," Shane persisted. "Your mom has reasons. Her job takes her away a lot. She's trying to give you a great education. She wants you to have a good start in life."
"Thackery said if I have any problems, or if I want to talk, I should look him up," Chooch said, changing the subject. "As if I'd even tell that dickhead which way was due north."
"Look, Chooch, if he's changing his tune, don't hawk a lugie at him."
"He's a prick."
"Yeah, maybe. Or maybe he's had a change of heart. If he's trying to cut you some slack, take it."
"And you believe him?"
"Yeah. Yeah, sure, I believe him. Hey, look, Thackery may be okay underneath all that Latin he quotes. Maybe he's just a guy who's scared, like us."
"I ain't scared a' nothin'."
"Then you're the only one on the planet, Chooch. Everybody is scared."
"Were you scared when you shot that guy?"
Shane looked over. He had not discussed the incident with Chooch, and he didn't have a TV. He was foolishly hoping it would never come up.
"It's all over school," Chooch said, reading his look of dismay. "So tell me. When you offed him, were you scared?"
"Yeah. Yeah… I was scared to death. I was shitting bricks."
Chooch sat there for a long moment thinking. "Physical stuff doesn't scare me. I'm not afraid a' getting bombed on or fucked over that way. But" he hesitated for a moment, his eyes on the road ahead "sometimes I'm afraid that what I believe in isn't true, that everything I think is true was just set up by somebody to fool me."
Shane nodded. "Yeah, I've been getting some of that myself lately."
"And sometimes, just once in a while, I want to be the most important, instead of the least" He paused for a long time, his face in a wrinkled frown. "Sometimes I'm scared I'll never have anybody who gives a shit."
They rode in silence.
Finally they got back to East Channel Road. Shane pulled the car into the garage, and they went into the house. Shane closed the door and watched as Chooch dragged his book bag into his room, to sit there with desperate, lonely thoughts that probably matched his own.
Chapter 17
SHANE SAT in his living room listening to an occasional siren, which always seemed to come from the east, where the gangbangers held their nightly life-ending turf parties. It was six o'clock and the sun had just gone down. He put his mind back on his problem.
Any police detective worth his salt always started a case by arranging known or probable facts in chronological order. Shane took a piece of paper off the table and began making notations:
1. Late Feb. or early March, Ray Molar gets a job driving for Mayor Crispin.
2. March, R. M. begins not coming home.
3. April 2, Joe Church fails to respond to Hoover St. robbery (related?).
4. April 10, R. M. gets shirts done at Mountain Cleaners.
5. April 14, B. M. gets phone call from mystery woman/tape coming.
6. April 16, 1:30 A. M., R. M. gets home, beats B. M.
7. April 16, 2:35 A. M., R. M. shot (no tape found in house).
8. April 16, 5:17 A. M., T. Mayweather does DFAR (S. S. secure files in IAD possibly accessed).
9. April 16, 6:00 A. M., S. S. threatened by Kono and Drucker, police garage.
10. April 16, Joe Church escorts S. S. to C. O. P.
11. April 16, C. O. P. threatens S. S. with murder indictment. Wants case material returned.
12. April 18, Samansky, Ayers break in and search B. M.'s house (no tape found). Warrant signed by Hernandez, Crispin appointee.
13. April 18, Letter of Transmittal arrives. S. S. suspended. S. S. motive for murder mentioned.
14. April 18, T. Mayweather walks 1.61 appeal through department. S. S. back on duty.
15. April 19, S. S. reports to IAD (DA intends to audit BOR).
He stopped writing and looked at the list. It was his first chronological log. There were huge holes in his time line. Aside from the missing tape, there was Ray's increasingly violent behavior toward Barbara. Also, the list made it even more obvious that there was some kind of link between Ray and the top floor of the Glass House, and that it might have to do with Mayor Crispin. The list directed him to where he had to look next. He needed to find out why Molar had his shirts done ninety miles away. He looked at his watch seven o'clock. Shane turned on his desk lamp and picked up the phone. He got the number for the laundry on Pine Tree Lane in Arrowhead and dialed. After a few rings, a man's voice came on the line.
"Mountain Cleaners," the voice chirped.
"Yes. Who am I speaking to?"
"This is Larry Wright."
"Mr. Wright, I'm Sergeant Shane Scully, with the LAPD. I'm working a case and I have some dry-cleaned shirts that were done at your laundry. I'm trying to find out who dropped them off."
"I see, well, without looking at the tags, I wouldn't know. They're bar-coded; I'd have to run them through our scanner."
"This case is pretty important. If I got in my car, I could be up there in two hours. I know it's an imposition, but do you think we could make an appointment to meet about nine tonight?"
"No problem. I'm usually stuck here till nine-thirty."
"Great. I'll bring the shirts with me." He hung up and dialed Longboard Kelly.
"Yer tappin' the Source," the surfboard shaper answered. Kelly believed "the Source" was a magical place where great waves came from.
"It's Shane. You think you could come right over and keep an eye on Chooch for a couple of hours?"
"I'm busy crankin' off an eight-ball, dude. After I finish, I could make it."
"You're doing what?" Shane asked.
"I'm on the throne, takin' a shit. Gimme five."
"Great. I'll pay you."
"What for, man? One day, if I get busted, you play the 'Get Brian out of jail' card."
"Right. Only we took that card out of the deck. How 'bout I play the Tut in a good word for Brian' card instead?"
"Agreed, dude! I'll be right over."