Read Online Earth Angels by Gerald Petievich - Free Book Online Page A

Stepanovich believed was a gun.
    There was no doubt in his mind that the shooting would be ruled justifiable and in compliance with the police manual.
    His finger tightened on the trigger.
    "Don't shoot!" Gomez begged. "Don't shoot. I give."
    "Go ahead and jump, cocksucker!" Black shouted from below the window.
    "My hands are up!" Gomez begged. "Please don't shoot."
    Arredondo reentered the room dragging an obese young Mexican woman wearing only a black bra and panties. He shoved her to the floor and took a position to cover Gomez with the shotgun. "She's the only other one here."
    Stepanovich bolstered his revolver. Advancing to Gomez, he grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to the floor. With his knee planted between Gomez's shoulder blades, he cuffed his hands behind his back.
    As Gomez lay on the floor, Stepanovich took out his wallet, removed a Miranda warning card, and read it off. Concluding, he asked, "Do you understand those rights?"
    "Yeah."
    "Do you wish to answer questions?"
    "No. I want a lawyer."
    Stepanovich and Arredondo looked at each other, and Arredondo shrugged.
    Black and Fordyce entered the front door and began searching the living room.
    Stepanovich left his prisoner with Fordyce and walked into the bedroom. There was a mattress on the floor and a pile of clothing in the corner. A shadeless lamp was perched on a cardboard box next to a framed photograph of Pepe Gomez and three other shirtless, unsmiling gang members standing in the living room of Pepe's apartment. Gomez was holding a pump shotgun in the port arms position. The other three were holding revolvers.
    "You OK?" Arredondo asked.
    Stepanovich nodded, not taking his eyes off the picture. "I almost shot him."
    "No loss to the world."
    "I was halfway back on the trigger. He was unarmed and I almost let him have it."
    "He's an asshole, man. He killed a kid. Anyone would want to kill him. Besides, you didn't do it. What you were thinking is your own business." Arredondo slapped him on the shoulder.
    Stepanovich took a deep breath and exhaled. Picking up the photograph, he slammed it sharply against the edge of the dresser. The glass shattered on the floor as he pulled the photograph from the frame.
     
    The task force detectives' search for weapons lasted until after eleven. Every piece of furniture was overturned, every drawer emptied, every piece of clothing thoroughly patted. Black even dumped the contents of the refrigerator and a brimming trash receptacle onto the kitchen floor and examined everything thoroughly.
    There was no shotgun.
    With the search completed, Stepanovich kicked aside some canned goods and kitchen utensils, slid a chair back from the kitchen table, and sat down. He reached into his pocket and took out a pen and the search warrant. Then, per the required legal procedure, he listed the items he'd seized as evidence on the reverse of the search warrant:
     
    1.One 8 x 10 photograph depicting Pepe Gomez and three other males holding weapons (found in bedroom).
    2.One pair tennis shoes bearing Eighteenth Street gang markings (living room).
    3.Letter bearing return address of California State Prison at Chino (kitchen).
    4.One shotgun shell 12-gauge (bedroom).
     
    ****
     
    SIX
     
    Stepanovich and Arredondo booked Gomez for murder at the Parker Center jail, then trudged across the street to the County Courthouse. Showing their badges to a guard at the door, they took an elevator to the district attorney's office on the fourth floor. The modern, well-furnished office was empty. A piece of typing paper taped to the reception counter read: "DEPUTY DA ON DUTY IN ROOM 210." An arrow on the sign pointed to the right.
    In Room 210 a slender man whom Stepanovich figured to be about his age was sitting with his feet on a desk reading a Model Railroader magazine. A nameplate on the desk read "ELLSWORTH C. WEBER." Weber had neat, kinky hair and wore a wrinkled short-sleeved white shirt and a soiled necktie. Taking his feet off the desk,