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Authors: Dell Shannon
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to go and kill him, Tony."
"I didn't mean to kill him, for God's sake."
There were eight or ten other men there standing
around watching. The squad-car man had a list of names. "Does
anyone know who this is?" asked Grace.
Perez shrugged. "Who knows? He just come in off
the street. Had three or four beers and got into the game."
Palliser squatted over the corpse and felt in the
pockets, came up with a billfold. There were eighty-four dollars in
it and in the first plastic slot a driver's license for Alfredo
Delgado. He'd been a moderately handsome man in the mid-thirties, and
the address was Brooklyn Avenue in Boyle Heights.
They talked to the other three men who had been in
the game, who told the same story.
"Diego who?" asked Grace. "Diego
Allesandro. He's a regular here. He left before it happened. He
wasn't here," said Perez. "You going to lay a fine on me?"
Grace surveyed him amusedly, brushing his narrow
mustache in unconscious imitation of Mendoza. "I don't know, Mr.
Perez. It would be up to the district attorney's office, but I don't
suppose they'll bother." The token fine, the unrealistic rules
weren't going to stop the card games in bars or anywhere else.
"It was just a friendly little game," said
Perez uneasily.
"I mean it started out like that, see. The guys
don't get to playing cards in here—I mean all the time, I mean it's
not a regular thing. Just once in a while. You can tell them, can't
you?"I
Grace exchanged a cynical look with Palliser, who
shrugged. But it took the rest of the afternoon to clear it away. The
morgue wagon came for the body and they took Aguilar down to the jail
and booked him, went back to the office. Palliser set the machinery
going on the warrant. It would get called murder two and might easily
be reduced to plain manslaughter under the circumstances.
Grace typed the report and then they went over to
Boyle Heights and talked to Delgado's landlady. He'd been renting a
room in an old single-family house. The landlady's name was Bream and
she didn't seem very much upset to hear about her roomer. "Wel1,
he wasn't here much. I never had much talk with him. Couldn't say if
he had any relatives." She agreed indifferently to let them see
his room and they looked through drawers and pockets, but found no
address book or letters. Delgado had probably been a drifter and
somewhere there might be people concerned about him, but there was
nothing to say so here. They let it go. And that took them nearly
till the end of shift, and thankfully they both left early.
As Palliser drove home, he was thinking vaguely about
the way the crime rate was up in Hollywood. But they had an equity in
the house, and Trina was a good watchdog. Maybe when he got his next
raise they could look somewhere farther out.
And Grace, easily shelving
the routine job, was thinking fondly and fatuously about the new
baby. The plump brown little boy who would be christened Adam John at
the Episcopal Church next Sunday. He'd been worth waiting for.
* * *
IT WAS Piggott's night off. Schenke and Conway
drifted in together at eight o'clock to the big communal detective
office that always seemed so much bigger and emptier at night than
when it was full of busy men on day watch.
"What do you bet we'll have a busy night?"
said Schenke. "The heat building and the weekend coming up."
The switchboard was shut down. Any calls would be
relayed up from the desk downstairs.
Conway assented cheerfully. He had a date set up with
his new girl, Marilyn, tomorrow afternoon. They were going to one of
the few new movies worth seeing and out to an early dinner at that
Italian place on the Strip. She was on the eleven-to-seven shift at
Cedars-Sinai. He thought about Marilyn happily. A nice girl, no
nonsense to her, perfectly happy to have the date without going all
serious. He'd just met her last month when they had that rape case.
After his latest couple of girls starting to talk suggestively about
real estate prices and what good cooks
"I didn't mean to kill him, for God's sake."
There were eight or ten other men there standing
around watching. The squad-car man had a list of names. "Does
anyone know who this is?" asked Grace.
Perez shrugged. "Who knows? He just come in off
the street. Had three or four beers and got into the game."
Palliser squatted over the corpse and felt in the
pockets, came up with a billfold. There were eighty-four dollars in
it and in the first plastic slot a driver's license for Alfredo
Delgado. He'd been a moderately handsome man in the mid-thirties, and
the address was Brooklyn Avenue in Boyle Heights.
They talked to the other three men who had been in
the game, who told the same story.
"Diego who?" asked Grace. "Diego
Allesandro. He's a regular here. He left before it happened. He
wasn't here," said Perez. "You going to lay a fine on me?"
Grace surveyed him amusedly, brushing his narrow
mustache in unconscious imitation of Mendoza. "I don't know, Mr.
Perez. It would be up to the district attorney's office, but I don't
suppose they'll bother." The token fine, the unrealistic rules
weren't going to stop the card games in bars or anywhere else.
"It was just a friendly little game," said
Perez uneasily.
"I mean it started out like that, see. The guys
don't get to playing cards in here—I mean all the time, I mean it's
not a regular thing. Just once in a while. You can tell them, can't
you?"I
Grace exchanged a cynical look with Palliser, who
shrugged. But it took the rest of the afternoon to clear it away. The
morgue wagon came for the body and they took Aguilar down to the jail
and booked him, went back to the office. Palliser set the machinery
going on the warrant. It would get called murder two and might easily
be reduced to plain manslaughter under the circumstances.
Grace typed the report and then they went over to
Boyle Heights and talked to Delgado's landlady. He'd been renting a
room in an old single-family house. The landlady's name was Bream and
she didn't seem very much upset to hear about her roomer. "Wel1,
he wasn't here much. I never had much talk with him. Couldn't say if
he had any relatives." She agreed indifferently to let them see
his room and they looked through drawers and pockets, but found no
address book or letters. Delgado had probably been a drifter and
somewhere there might be people concerned about him, but there was
nothing to say so here. They let it go. And that took them nearly
till the end of shift, and thankfully they both left early.
As Palliser drove home, he was thinking vaguely about
the way the crime rate was up in Hollywood. But they had an equity in
the house, and Trina was a good watchdog. Maybe when he got his next
raise they could look somewhere farther out.
And Grace, easily shelving
the routine job, was thinking fondly and fatuously about the new
baby. The plump brown little boy who would be christened Adam John at
the Episcopal Church next Sunday. He'd been worth waiting for.
* * *
IT WAS Piggott's night off. Schenke and Conway
drifted in together at eight o'clock to the big communal detective
office that always seemed so much bigger and emptier at night than
when it was full of busy men on day watch.
"What do you bet we'll have a busy night?"
said Schenke. "The heat building and the weekend coming up."
The switchboard was shut down. Any calls would be
relayed up from the desk downstairs.
Conway assented cheerfully. He had a date set up with
his new girl, Marilyn, tomorrow afternoon. They were going to one of
the few new movies worth seeing and out to an early dinner at that
Italian place on the Strip. She was on the eleven-to-seven shift at
Cedars-Sinai. He thought about Marilyn happily. A nice girl, no
nonsense to her, perfectly happy to have the date without going all
serious. He'd just met her last month when they had that rape case.
After his latest couple of girls starting to talk suggestively about
real estate prices and what good cooks
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