The Sentry Part 6

"Twenty-three here today. Another twenty at the South L.A. facility. Eighteen up in Van Nuys."

Though Artie employed counselors who resided at the various houses, his kids weren't allowed to live on-site except for short-term cases where they risked at-home physical abuse or a.s.sault from neighborhood gangs. The sites existed to give them a place to go, counselors they could talk to, tutors to help with their studies, and a peaceful harbor from the stormy waters of their lives. Artie Alvarez charged nothing for these services, and covered his costs by fund-raising and donations. Though the grounds were neat and orderly and the house was being painted, Pike noticed missing roof tiles, torn window screens, and other indications that Artie was running low on funds. When Pike mentioned it, Artie shrugged.

"It's the economy. The state's broke. Rich people aren't feeling as rich as they used to, so they give less."

He smiled at the kids as if he admired their courage to change.

"We'll get by. Now c'mon in, and let's talk this out."

Pike followed Artie into the house. The living room was set up like an office and waiting room with two desks, two couches, and two chairs. A pretty young Latina who was probably Marisol was at the front desk, speaking on the phone while typing at a computer.

As they pa.s.sed, Artie said, "Joe, Marisol, Marisol, Joe."

Marisol raised a hand in greeting without interrupting her conversation. She was trying to convince a local restaurant to donate their leftover food to a shelter for abused children. Pike noticed a pearl of sweat running down the side of her face before she brushed it away. The house was not air-conditioned.

Artie led him to what was once the master bedroom, though it now served as Artie's office. Every window was open and a couple of fans moved the air, but it was still hot. The cool ocean breezes rarely ventured this far from the sea.

Artie dropped into a secondhand chair behind a cast-off teacher's desk.

"Sit. What can I do for you?"

"Venice Trece Trece?"

"All right. They've owned the Westside for years. Which clique are we talking about?"

"Malevos Pacificos."

"Pacific Gangsters. They're at the end of the boulevard, right by the water."

"I want to speak with the jefe jefe."

Each clique had its own boss, known as the jefe jefe.

Artie arched his eyebrows and leaned back.

"Speak as in talk, or speak as in someone won't be speaking again?"

"As in talk. If I wanted the other thing, I would not have involved you."

Pike explained the situation about Mendoza and Gomer, and the vandalism that had occurred. Pike understood bangers from his days as an officer. He could make them dead, but he could not make them listen. Only their jefe jefe had that power. If their boss told them to leave Smith alone, they would leave Smith alone. A reasonable request. Made in the spirit of cooperation. had that power. If their boss told them to leave Smith alone, they would leave Smith alone. A reasonable request. Made in the spirit of cooperation.

Artie said, "Mm. So you want to make a personal appeal."

Pike nodded, and Arturo leaned back again.

"I don't see why not. They have a new kid over there. Miguel Azzara. Goes by Mikie. This kid will surprise you."

Pike nodded again. Mikie.

"You have a relations.h.i.+p?"

"I talk to all these cats, man. V-Thirteen sets, the Culver City and Santa Monica gangs, the Sh.o.r.eline Crips. They don't all like me, but they know I'm trying to do right. They all have little brothers and sisters."

Artie tapped the desk for a moment, thoughtful, then studied Pike.

"You want him to know who he's dealing with?"

"Whatever you think is best."

"He won't respond to a threat."

"This isn't a threat."

Artie thought about it for another moment, then shrugged.

"I can reach out, ask as a favor to me. He's a bright guy. Not what you expect."

Pike said, "Good."

Art laughed as he picked up his phone.

"Give me a minute, okay? I'll see what I can do."

Pike took the hint and stepped out to let Art speak in private. A few minutes later, Art emerged with the answer. Miguel Azzara agreed to meet Pike at three o'clock that afternoon.

6.

Mikie Azzara met Pike at a coffee shop on Abbot Kinney Boulevard, not far from the Venice Ca.n.a.ls. The afternoon sky there near the beach was clear and blue, and the temperature was in the mid-seventies. Pike was surprised when Artie told him where Azzara wanted to meet. Abbot Kinney was an upscale area of restaurants, designer shops, art galleries, and bars, and now here at the coffee shop, seated outdoors, he was surrounded by attractive affluent women who went well with the surroundings. Most were tanned, and most were between their twenties and forties, and most were fit. Most wore light summery dresses or shorts and sandals, and none of them smoked. It wasn't a place a V13 veterano veterano would frequent. would frequent.

Pike arrived early, and sat outside as had been agreed, sipping black coffee. The coffee was weak, but he didn't care.

At three-oh-five, a black Prius pulled to the curb on the opposite side of the street. A man in his late twenties got out, checked for oncoming traffic, then strolled across to the coffee shop. He wore a lightweight Hugo Boss sport coat over an AC/DC T-s.h.i.+rt, tailored jeans, and huaraches. He was fit, clean-shaven, and handsome enough to be a Esquire Esquire model. The women seated around Pike watched him approach. model. The women seated around Pike watched him approach.

The man searched the crowd when he reached the curb, saw Pike, and came to the table. He smiled as he offered his hand, flas.h.i.+ng perfect teeth and dimples.

"Mr. Pike? Michael Azzara. Father Art told me I'd spot the arrows. May I sit?"

Pike nodded, noting he had introduced himself as Michael, not Mikie or Miguel. He was slick, clean, and as different in appearance from the street-dog veteranos veteranos at the body shop as the Prius was from a candy-red '56 Bel Air. Miguel Azzara looked like a frat boy from USC, built strong, though, as if he had been a pretty good high-school wrestler. at the body shop as the Prius was from a candy-red '56 Bel Air. Miguel Azzara looked like a frat boy from USC, built strong, though, as if he had been a pretty good high-school wrestler.

Azzara sat, laced his fingers, and looked at Pike with an innocent curiosity.

"I love Father Art. He does so much for our community."

Pike nodded, and waited for Azzara to continue.

"How can I help you?"

Now, seated, Pike noticed the skin on the side of Azzara's neck was mottled with faint blemishes. When he was fourteen or fifteen, he had the ink, but sometime between then and now, he'd seen the laser. Small scars laced the knuckles of his left hand and split the line of his left eyebrow. Maybe he hadn't always looked so different from the men at the body shop.

Pike lifted his cup.

"Want something?"

"That's all right, thank you. How can I help?"

"You speak for Malevos Malevos?"

Azzara checked to see if the nearby women were listening. A woman in her late thirties saw him glance over, and smiled. Azzara smiled back, and looked like a movie star.

"Hey, how're you doing?"

She blushed and turned back to her friends, pretending she wasn't drooling. Azzara turned back to Pike.

"That's why I'm here, yes. How can I help?"

Third time he'd said it-how can I help?

"Reuben Mendoza and Alberto Gomer."

"Those guys are idiots. Mendoza was just arrested."

"You know why?"

"I know I had to cover his bond. Is this about that?"

"I'm the man who put him down. Is that going to be a problem with us?"

Azzara looked surprised.

"Depends on what you want. If you want money for some reason-say, a payoff so you'll refuse to testify-then, yes, it's going to be a problem."

"Nothing like that."

"I didn't think so. Not with Father Art vouching for you."

Pike went through the events exactly as he had with Hydeck, b.u.t.ton, and Artie Alvarez. He told Azzara that Wilson Smith was a friend, and that now, early that morning, someone had vandalized his shop.

Azzara listened with a thoughtful frown, nodding occasionally in the way people do, and did not speak until Pike finished.

"Uh-huh, okay. I get it. These people are your friends. You don't want them ha.s.sled."

"That's right."

"Done."

Pike waited, thinking there would be more, but there wasn't. After a few moments, Azzara realized Pike wasn't going to say anything, so he explained to fill the silence.

"This nickel-and-dime stuff is bulls.h.i.+t. It draws heat, p.i.s.ses off the CRASH units, and for what? So an idiot like Mendoza can bag a free sandwich or shake down some dude for twenty bucks? Is it worth twenty dollars, that kind of trouble, me sitting here with you? Please."

"Trece will leave Mr. Smith's shop alone. No more vandalism. No trouble." will leave Mr. Smith's shop alone. No more vandalism. No trouble."

Azzara s.h.i.+fted, irritated he had to deal with small-time stuff like this.

"It's done. This nonsense with the paint? What are they, in the sixth grade? Look, I don't know if it was Gomer or whoever-this is the first I've heard of it-but I'll find out, and this will stop. I don't want these vatos vatos out doing things like this. I mean, this is the lesson right here-me and you, right here right now, wasting our time. This is absurd." out doing things like this. I mean, this is the lesson right here-me and you, right here right now, wasting our time. This is absurd."

Pike said, "Thank you."

Azzara checked the time, sighed, then studied Pike for a moment. Pike wondered why he hadn't left. They were finished. Miguel Azzara could leave.

Then Azzara leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"The Father told me you're a dangerous man. I said, Art, what are you, crazy? Is this guy trying to front me off?"

Pike shook his head.

"I'm not fronting you."

Azzara raised his palm.

"Art covered that. He specifically said you told him this wasn't a threat, and you told him to make sure I understood. I'm cool with that. These matters of respect are important."

Pike knew more was coming, and waited it out.

"He says to me, listen, I just think you should know, and then he tells me some things. I don't know if he's making these things up, but he tells me these crazy things about you, and I don't know if he wants me to be scared or what, so I tell him to stop."

Azzara made a big show of holding up both palms this time, reliving his conversation with Art.

"I say, what are you saying here, Art, this man will go to war with me? I don't give what he wants, he'll come for me, me and my homes, all of the Trece Trece?"

Pike waited for it to pa.s.s.

"And Art, he says no, no, no, nothing like that, he just felt obligated because he was putting us together, so this wasn't coming from you. The Father wanted me to know who I was getting involved with. Can you imagine that guy?"

Azzara paused for a response, but Pike didn't respond.

"You don't say much."

"What do you want me to say?"

"You don't have to say anything. But if there are things I must understand, then there are things you must understand, too."

Azzara leaned forward, and now he stared.