groups reside in The Nickel. In the outer circle are mostly women: the temporary homeless, having lost a job or a husband or a home. They often bring children along with them. Then there are ‘wino’ panhandlers who are still able to collect a few dollars in the business district several blocks away to pay for a small bottle of Night Train or Thunderbird. In the next circle, there are the drug addicted, particularly those caught up by the cheaper forms of crack and meth and PCP. There are the schizophrenics who carry on a lively intercourse with many people they think live here but are invisible to the rest of us. There are the parolees and hospital releases dumped on The Nickel. And finally there are the drug-dealers and criminals who prey on all these inner circles of hell.
FOUR
Sister Mary Rose
‘B uzzard’s luck,’ Art Castro murmured to himself. This would probably waste the last fragile string he had left to yank at the LAPD. On what was probably no more than a fool’s errand for Jack Liffey and his daughter. He sighed and picked up the telephone. He hadn’t really noticed the sorry state of his relations with the LAPD until a few months earlier when his contacts were almost all gone. One by one they’d taken themselves off the job or moved to other departments in Duarte or San Bernardino – or just gone off him, for some reason. Sergeant Javier Guzman was seemingly still taking Art’s calls, but he didn’t sound very happy about it. In the end, he agreed to check Missing Persons for him.
‘This is a favor I’m doing, Javi,’ Art Castro said. ‘It’s not a money case. I’d like to find the kid before he’s peddling his ass to all the gabachos in Bentleys at Heartbreak and Vine.’
‘Don’t play no raza card on me, Ar-tur-o. Not since your buddy there at Rosewood flaked on us and testified and hurried on to the White Guy Fortress up in Idaho.’
‘No buddy of mine, if you mean Marty Hansen. He just worked down the hall.’
‘Hansen, yeah, that’s the puddle of filth I mean. The guy testified he never ever talked shit like “spic” and “greasers” to anybody, oh, no, he loved Mexes like his own wife and kids, and the defense produces a tape with a hundred fifteen “spics” and “beaners” on it. Blew our case against the Garzas to hell.’
‘Shit, man, you got plenty of problem guys in the department, too, that nobody brown will deal with; still think the only trouble with this city is too many blacks and Mexicans.’
‘I hear you. But we’re evens after this, A.’
‘I don’t know why you want to be that way. I do you specials all the time.’
‘It’s tough these days,’ Javier Guzman said. ‘This new chief is all bad news on favors. I don’t want to look up some day and see some rat squad sticking a piece of paper in my hand, OK? I swear I’ll light that Shoes up. And you, too, if it tracks to you.’
‘I’ll keep you in my good mind, Javi, I mean it. Gracias. Never no bad shit.’
‘Code four, ese. Be good now. I’ll get your info-nympho.’
The mother and daughter had devoured their Old-Time Movie meals at warp speed – Felice’s spaghetti on side-by-side burger patties (called the Sophia Loren Special, which she didn’t want to think about) and Millie had the ham steak with a pineapple ring on top (Princess Grace’s Wedding), while Maeve had picked a little at a godawful salad of near-frozen iceberg lettuce dolloped with something sweet and lumpy and pink. Everybody had refused seconds or desert, and Maeve phoned Gloria to ask about a shelter. Maeve was certain they existed, but she had no practical knowledge of their whereabouts.
‘So you picked up some strays?’ Gloria said evenly on the cell.
‘That’s not how I’d put it.’
‘Of course not. Mother Theresa and how many kids?’
‘One daughter. They really need a nice place to stay, Glor.’
‘You got the Beverly Hilton not too far from you.’
‘Be serious, please. You can point
FOUR
Sister Mary Rose
‘B uzzard’s luck,’ Art Castro murmured to himself. This would probably waste the last fragile string he had left to yank at the LAPD. On what was probably no more than a fool’s errand for Jack Liffey and his daughter. He sighed and picked up the telephone. He hadn’t really noticed the sorry state of his relations with the LAPD until a few months earlier when his contacts were almost all gone. One by one they’d taken themselves off the job or moved to other departments in Duarte or San Bernardino – or just gone off him, for some reason. Sergeant Javier Guzman was seemingly still taking Art’s calls, but he didn’t sound very happy about it. In the end, he agreed to check Missing Persons for him.
‘This is a favor I’m doing, Javi,’ Art Castro said. ‘It’s not a money case. I’d like to find the kid before he’s peddling his ass to all the gabachos in Bentleys at Heartbreak and Vine.’
‘Don’t play no raza card on me, Ar-tur-o. Not since your buddy there at Rosewood flaked on us and testified and hurried on to the White Guy Fortress up in Idaho.’
‘No buddy of mine, if you mean Marty Hansen. He just worked down the hall.’
‘Hansen, yeah, that’s the puddle of filth I mean. The guy testified he never ever talked shit like “spic” and “greasers” to anybody, oh, no, he loved Mexes like his own wife and kids, and the defense produces a tape with a hundred fifteen “spics” and “beaners” on it. Blew our case against the Garzas to hell.’
‘Shit, man, you got plenty of problem guys in the department, too, that nobody brown will deal with; still think the only trouble with this city is too many blacks and Mexicans.’
‘I hear you. But we’re evens after this, A.’
‘I don’t know why you want to be that way. I do you specials all the time.’
‘It’s tough these days,’ Javier Guzman said. ‘This new chief is all bad news on favors. I don’t want to look up some day and see some rat squad sticking a piece of paper in my hand, OK? I swear I’ll light that Shoes up. And you, too, if it tracks to you.’
‘I’ll keep you in my good mind, Javi, I mean it. Gracias. Never no bad shit.’
‘Code four, ese. Be good now. I’ll get your info-nympho.’
The mother and daughter had devoured their Old-Time Movie meals at warp speed – Felice’s spaghetti on side-by-side burger patties (called the Sophia Loren Special, which she didn’t want to think about) and Millie had the ham steak with a pineapple ring on top (Princess Grace’s Wedding), while Maeve had picked a little at a godawful salad of near-frozen iceberg lettuce dolloped with something sweet and lumpy and pink. Everybody had refused seconds or desert, and Maeve phoned Gloria to ask about a shelter. Maeve was certain they existed, but she had no practical knowledge of their whereabouts.
‘So you picked up some strays?’ Gloria said evenly on the cell.
‘That’s not how I’d put it.’
‘Of course not. Mother Theresa and how many kids?’
‘One daughter. They really need a nice place to stay, Glor.’
‘You got the Beverly Hilton not too far from you.’
‘Be serious, please. You can point
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