X-Ray Vision Ch. 12: Exposed

Tuesday Afternoon

Nick

"Here's the ones the Boss wants checked out."

Jillian had a list of names and addresses. The public defender on their case had ratted them out, worried they wouldn't show, it would look bad for him. Didn't say it outright, just hinted at it, couldn't give details without some ethical issue but suggested a visit might be in order.

A new guy on the job, more worried about his reputation and career than his clients. Whaddaya expect for free?

Tito had his motorcycle, an Enfield, practical and efficient, no farkle, just like him. Room for two, I was good with riding behind.

Jillian said take the truck! Who knows, we might have an extra passenger by the time we were done.

Truck was at the condo.

"Hoof it?"

Tito was going down the list, probably memorizing the details, he's like that. Without looking up, "Take my bike to Jillian's, get the keys from Greg, go from there."

I wasn't worried about a helmet; figure I've got some luck left and Tito is a pretty cautious driver. But hey he has a spare hanging from the pillion. A little big on me but Tito insisted on adjusting the strap before he would let me get on.

Ah! Kelly must have a big head.

We got to Jillian's place but nobody home. Jill had said, keys in a drawer in the kitchen, so near but so far!

"We could do this on the bike..." but Tito was doing something at the front door, and whoops! it's open. I see him slip a leather case back in his jacket. Those are illegal in most states. Not if you don't get caught, I guess! And we had permission anyway.

He was in and out, had the keys in his hand, holds them out. He wants me to drive! Not the usual way with kick-ass strongmen like Tito.

I'm learning, everything about Tito is different.

First address, near downtown, a duplex behind Eastwoods, not a terrible neighborhood but not great. I park just up the block, but Tito doesn't get out, just craning his neck, having a good look around.

"How you want to do this?"

He's asking me? Got to get my head in the game.

"Ask some questions, check his state of mind? See if he's home; see if his vehicle is here. Reverse that!"

He smiled, nodded. So first off, the garage is open, no car. A motorcycle is out front, some tools on a leather pad, unrolled, more tools in the leather thingy pockets.

"What's the offense?"

Without looking, "Assault, a dispute about a parking lot accident." Of course, he had the list memorized.

Sounded fairly normal; folks could get emotional about their ride.

"Maybe that bike? Got a dented pipe, the mounting strap is off, a long box on the floor inside, parts?" Tito raised an eyebrow, nodded agreement but clearly, he'd seen all that.

Just checking with the partner? Making sure we were on the same page.

"He wouldn't leave all that out, not in this neighborhood, he must be home. Getting a drink; taking a piss; answering the phone."

Agreement again. And here we go - he's coming out of the garage, a cordless phone in one hand, the other hand waving around, agitated.

Together we open our doors, step out. Tito heads toward him on the sidewalk; I take the street, casual, non-threatening.

Not like I could take this guy, he's big! Not tall, but wide, legs filled those leathers, boots. A short-sleeve T, vest over it, chains closing it, some tats.

Looks like, well, a motorcycle club member.

We get close, he sees Tito, says something, switches the phone off.

"So hey! What's up? My briefcase getting nervous?" He was expecting us, or somebody like us.

Tito smiles his small smile, stops just out of range, polite, careful. I continue past, hit the sidewalk just beyond them, arms all relaxed, just watching. He sees me, blinks, not concerned but just checking me out, turns back to Tito.

From my angle I could see the club emblem on his vest. See he wasn't carrying, no bulge in those tight pants. Maybe in his boot but I don't think so; riding boots are really snug.

"Crinshaw Bail Bond, just here on a routine visit."

The guy looks annoyed. "I said, I gotta take a ride, clear my head? And this dweeb things I'm running? I'm just gonna fix my bike, take a daytrip down the coast road. Court date isn't until next month!

"And like I give a shit about this charge."

He's annoyed, but something else too. Not getting irate, working himself up like a guy that feels wronged. Quiet, resigned.

"Gotta put a dent in your plans, bike out of commission. Then, 30 days is no joke, job on the line, gotta pay the rent." Tito was giving him an opening, seeing if he'd say something, give something away.

He didn't respond, just turned, looked at the bike for a long moment. Turned back, still ignoring me, gestured with his palms up, like, whadda ya gonna do?

"My lady can cover the rent. She's mad, sure, but she has my back, understands what my bike means to me. How I got myself into this.

"Do the crime; do the time. I'm not running from anything; I did slug that guy. He probably didn't deserve it, but I was worked up."

Tito didn't seem concerned either; he was actually relaxing. Got a sympathetic look, nodding.

"So he dented your bike? He a rider? Somebody, not a biker, hits my ride, I'm gonna be steamed."

"Not even a rider! Just a..." His shoulders slump; he's not proud of this. His whole posture is of a guy who's done something dumb and knows it.

Tito waits him out.

"Ok, see, I'm at this bar, I don't like to park my baby in the drunks' lot, too easy to get dinged. My bike's parked just down from the dock, they got a loading dock on the side.

"I come out, not even late! Afternoon, a club committee meeting, I'm road captain, we got this ride coming up, gonna miss it now... anyway, I get out just in time to see a delivery truck backing up, the idiot's gonna miss the dock by a mile.

"I yell, he looks at me but keeps drifting, drifting, like in slow motion I watch him stare at me, I point and yell and he hits the brake exactly too late, I hear it crunch..."

He's more upset about the damage to the bike, than the trouble he's in! A real biker, this guy. The bike, the club's his life, that's clear.

"So you pull him out, give him a going-over?" Tito is guessing, keep the guy talking.

"No! It's just some dumb kid! I don't hit kids! I yell at him, sure, call him some names, but he's all red, apologizing, scared.

"The owner comes out, lit into me, told me to back off, leave his driver alone! Says it's just a bike, I should get a life."

Tito understands; the owner, not a biker, not a rider, didn't understand, was mouthing off, slanged his ride.

So he punched him. And now, clearly, regrets it.

They stood a while, just two riders, both looking at the bike now, that ugly dent, the tragedy of it all.

"Here's how I see it, for what it's worth.

"You appear on the charge, they'll give you 30 days, no contest."

Our client agreed; that seemed inevitable.

"But maybe you won't have to appear."

Ok I wasn't following. Tito can't be suggesting he skip? No, he has something else in mind, he had our guy's attention now.

"Nobody wants lawyers in this! Nobody wants it this way.

"The driver, the kid? Probably his nephew or some shit; the bar owner was just standing up for his own.

"You want this to go away, you meet with the bar owner, explain, say what you said to me. Tell him you won't contest it, sorry, shouldn't have slugged him.

"He's got any heart at all, he'll drop the charge. Shake the guy's hand, could be that ends it?"

Biker guy stands up straighter; he's on board with this. The right thing to do anyway, you slug a guy didn't deserve it, you gotta apologize, take your lumps.

Bikers, they have ethics, people forget that.

Tito reaches out, they shake, and we're done here.

In the truck, I gotta say something.

"People open up to you."

Tito flashes that tight smile. "People want to open up. It was written all over him; he had to tell somebody; he was hurting.

"Interrogation isn't about bullying a confession, making them talk. It's more often, letting them talk. They get started, it all comes out. Regular citizens anyway; sociopaths, that's a different situation."

He'd clearly thought a lot about his. Read a lot? More I know about Tito, the more competent he seems. Approaches everything methodically, scientifically.

Tito the Professional!

Maybe I won't call him that, not to his face.

Next stop: an address in the suburbs, a development north of town, used to be a cornfield but now cul-de-sacs with the same seven houses over and over.

Looks kinda-new but getting worn around the edges. Probably all the families with kids, kids can be hard on a property.

Our stop - minivan in the driveway, basketball backboard over the garage. Plastic trike, wading pool in the yard, grass worn from kids racketing around.

"This the right address?"

Tito didn't respond, just had me park behind the minivan, set the brake. What's he thinking? Soccer mom gonna make a run for it? It's protocol, I guess.

Ding-dong! Fancy doorbell, sound like a grandfather's clock chime. Little kid-face pressed to the glass beside the front door, disappears then "Mooooom!" from inside.

"What's the charge?" I was curious. Shoplifting animal crackers?

"Assault with a deadly weapon."

Huh. Well, maybe if somebody threatened her kids? Don't mess with Mama Tiger, you can't win.

Door opens, nice housewifey lady answers, bright smile, clearly been cooking. Flour on shoes, wiping her hands with a towel.

"Crinshaw, Ma'am. Here to do a routine check."

Smile disappears. Swings the door wide, heads back to the kitchen without saying anything, so we follow.

She's back in the kitchen chopping vegetables on a big cutting board, really getting into it, Chop! Chop! Huge expensive knife, fancy island, marble countertop. Somebody is making bank!

"Go play in the back yard honey." She's dismissing a kid, maybe 10, looks like they're gonna protest but gets a look at her 'do what I told you now' face and decides not to push it.

Once they've opened the sliding door, slipped out, slammed it shut she starts in.

"That bitch decide to harass us some more? What is it this time? Wants me to wear an ankle bracelet? Put a tracker on my car? She's tried it all."

"No, ma'am. Just checking in, make you aware of the court date."

She snorted, pointed to a calendar hanging on the side of the fridge. Crammed with dentist appointments, PTA meetings, ball practices and all the rest of the busy-family stuff.

Circled in red, her appearance.

I look at Tito, wondering where this all came from. How could anybody imagine she would skip? She was the poster child for community-connected family-invested safe-bail no-risk client.

"Something about plans to leave the country?"

Rolls her eyes, keeps on Chop! Chop! but harder now.

"We were gonna visit Shelly's Mom in Canada, over the school break. Those plans all in the shitter now, conflicts with my appearance date and the bitch knows it."

"Ma'am?" Tito not sure what that could be about.

"She made the travel arrangements! Her agency! Plane tickets, hotel, theme park admission!

"But now she says, non-refundable! So sorry! Buncha bullshit, made those plans six months ago, it's all on her computer, she fixed it.

"Trying to screw us, pretend we're gonna make a run for it, not cancelling our tickets then reporting us for having them. Typical entitled bitch crap."

"Why would she do that, ma'am?" Tito, being non-committal but still looking for the story behind the story.

"Because... because she's a Karen, thinks she's God's gift to the community, protecting her neighbors from the evil Lesbian couple down the block."

Shit. I was gonna have a hard time being impartial on this one.

"The charge is assault? Folks get nervous about that, have been known to do rash things. We're just here to get the lay of the land, make this go smooth, help any way we can."

"Pshhht." She wasn't buying it.

I had to say something. "Ma'am? I'm having a hard time putting this all together. You, kids, assault? Could you lay it out for us?"

She stopped chopping, looked at me for the first time. Recognized me for who I was - a young butch woman, sympathetic, ready to listen.

A big sigh, and she marshalled her thoughts, gathering the vegetable carnage into a bowl. She'd put the knife down which made me feel better anyway.

"Soccer practice, I'm dropping off the kids, everything's hunky-dory. Then Karen pulls up! Sneers at me like she always does, parks across the way so her kids don't have to be exposed to mine. Her three run along, leaving her to carry all their gear. Spoiled brats.

"I say Hello! Like we're neighbors, which we are. Like I'm one of her customers; she can take our money but... anyway.

"She's opening the back door, pulling bags out, gear for her three kids. I tell mine to give her a hand, all neighborly."

At this point her face flares angry, remembering.

"She flinches like they're diseased, yells at them to stop! Put that down! Don't touch my stuff!

"So I say Run along kids, I've got this. They go, looking back, wondering what was the deal.

"So I step up, ready to lend a hand, she lays into me. You don't belong here! You and your kids shouldn't be allowed with decent people! Don't you ever let them get near my boys!"

She's breathing hard, still mad. Still upset at her kids being called trash.

"That had to be hard to take." Tito is still playing therapist, making leading comments, maybe she'll say more than she means to.

"It's nothing new. Get it all the time, at the bank, at the pool. Never get put on committees at PTA. All that bitches doing, or more like her.

"But that day I'd had enough. I said a few things, I don't regret it, she had to hear it. Called her a repressed medieval bitch, a self-centered self-righteous moron. More.

"So she takes a swipe at me with one of those bags, so mad she can't talk. Didn't connect; I just step away, she's a skinny fuck-puppet, arms like sticks. She spins, falls down.

"And I laughed! She's sitting on her ass, mud on her skirt, on her butt, getting madder and madder.

"I go to get back in my van, just let her be, disengage Shelly says, be the better person.

"I hear a thunk! She's lobbed one of her bags at my van! Hit the side, dented the door!

"So I start the van, gonna just back away, come back for the kids after practice. But... I don't know, I just lost it. Put it in reverse, hit the gas.

"Didn't want to hit her! She wasn't even behind me! Nowhere near!

"She screeches, yelling bloody murder! I keep going, right into her van. Her hatch is open, hits the luggage rack on my roof, breaks off, thuds on the ground.

"I put it into drive, pull carefully out, she's still hollering, I don't want to repeat it. I see her on her phone as I pull out of the lot. Get home, the cops are here. And so."

Tito is following, nodding, all neutral, impartial.

"So, no actual assault? Just property damage?"

She shakes her head, starts dumping her vegi-slush into a stock-pot, turns on the heat.

"She tried to charge attempted murder! Then half a dozen other things. Settled on assault with a deadly weapon."

I was beyond words; if I had been there then, I'd have decked the bitch myself! What a sanctimonious shit!

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to hear it worked out this way. We'll leave you be, get on with your day, if you can assure us you plan to make your appearance?"

She nodded Yes! "I'm gonna lay it out for the judge, let her know exactly what this bitch did! What she said! How she's been harassing us, systematically, continuously! Can't just leave us alone!"

That sounded like a great idea; I'd like to be there when she got going, told off this self-centered Karen bitch in front of a judge. That would be epic.

We let ourselves out, left her to her soup, got in the truck.

"I'd have wanted to deck her myself."

Tito smiled that tight smile, didn't comment.

"You think she's gonna do time?" Really curious.

That got an actual see-the-teeth smile out of him! Didn't know he could do that.

"The judge? She said 'her'.

"Only one female judge in this county. Married to a deacon, a youth counselor. Nicest lady you ever met, runs a gay youth support center, out of her church basement."

Oh, that sounded so, so wonderful. Karen wouldn't know what hit her. Maybe there was some justice in the world? At least in our little corner of it.

Two more stops today. One in the trailer park, other side of town. The other, nearer one - apartment near downtown. We headed there first.

We arrive, apartment block built when downtown was smaller, now hemmed in by fast-food, pawn shops, dry cleaning, city parking lot. Traffic on all sides, noisy, smelly, gotta be pretty cheap.

"How you wanna do this?" Me asking Tito.

We walked around back - alley, dumpsters and broken glass, newspapers blowing around, fire escape. Blocked off on the other end, this end dumped out on downtown streets, congested.

He considered. "Assault, illegal gambling. Some fight over a card game. Lives here with his brother? Could be two of them there; one to stall, the other, our guy, goes out the back?

"One of us knocks; the other stands out here, waits for somebody to show."

I volunteered for alley duty. Not worried about one guy, but two? Tito looked like he could handle that better.

So, I wait. And wait. Then a window opens, over the fire escape, I get excited. A guy leans out, it's Tito, looks up and down the alley, spots me, waves to me to come around.

We meet in the hallway.

"Nobody home; door open. Apartment empty. Ghosted."

I believed all that except the 'door open' part. It was certainly open now. Tito is a useful guy!

We're ready to call it in, get a skip-trace involved when the door opposite cracks, on the chain, little old lady peeks out.

"You looking for Mr. Jakes? The gorilla that lives there?"

Tito gives her a polite look, nods.

"Gone. Left this morning."

"Do you happen to know where he went?" A Hail Mary, but who knows?

She nodded! "His buddy, works at the exterminator? I saw a van in the alley when I came back from the bingo. They were loading it!"

"Can you describe the van, ma'am?"

She nodded again! "Second Street Storage! They across the river, warehouse district? Cold storage!"

She was a font of information.

"How about the brother, ma'am? Did he move out too?"

Again a nod. "A year ago! They fought; he left. Gorilla-boy took to cards to pay the rent. Didn't have a job; home all day anyway. Months behind! Always yelling through the door at the super; afraid to call the cops on him, the little weasel."

He was lying about living with a brother. Everything about this smelled.

Tito thanked her, told her she was a good citizen, helping keep everybody safe.

"I hope they throw the book at him! Put him away! He dumps his trash in the alley! Pees in the stairwell! Smokes all day in there! Stunk up the place for everybody else! Good riddance!"

Her door slammed; the oracle is closed for the day, I guess.

"We gonna call it in?" I suspected not; Tito had a thoughtful look.

"Let's try one more thing. Check out that storage unit? Might get a line on him there."

I wasn't sure it was up to us, to make that call, give the skip more time to get away. But if he'd been gone since morning, maybe it wouldn't matter much one way or the other.

"I'm in!"

Big sign on a chain-link fence, Second Street Storage! Cold Storage! Contract or month-to-month! 50, 75, 100 sq ft!

Gotta be the place.

Rows of connected metal garages, some with AC units installed.

Gate is open during business hours. Office is really one of the end units, overhead door with a people-door in it. AC unit in the wall laboring, rumbling but it's pretty cool inside.