There was a rap on her half-open door and William entered her office. He was clearly alone. Buffy’s heart sank. Her displeasure must have shown on her face, as his own greeting was less than enthusiastic.
“Morning, Summers. It’s good to see you too,” William said sardonically.
“Um, hi. I thought Mr. Park was gonna be joining us?“
“Gavin just got a call he had to follow up. Some emergency or other. Lot of that going around lately,” William explained. “Had to drop me off, actually. So you’ll have to do the honors,” he continued. “That all right?” he then asked almost politely.
While he was talking Buffy had been fidgeting, first fiddling with a pencil on her desk and then adjusting the narrow wood barrette in her hair. William noticed she had it pulled half up today, which drew even more attention to her eyes. He decided right then it was slightly ridiculous how pretty she looked all the time.
It took a moment for Buffy to process the news. Her hands returned to the pencil, gripping it tightly. “You want to ride with me?”
“Is that a problem?”
Buffy opened and closed her mouth. “No-o, not at all.”
“Let’s get going, then. We’ll talk on the way.”
William held the door open for Buffy as they left her office. As she brushed past him, he caught the subtle scent of her jasmine perfume. He involuntarily breathed in as it teased the memory of his olfactory nerves. After she had stormed out of his office the week before, he had momentarily stood in the place where she had railed at him, unconsciously deciphering the barest trace of her that remained.
As she made her way out through the agency’s front room with William behind her, Buffy’s eyes lighted on the stack of unsorted new mail in the designated incoming basket that rested on the narrow wall ledge just below their dozen individual employee mailboxes. She glimpsed the lettering of a familiar return address on a large official-looking envelope that lay on the bottom. Halting her steps, she whisked it out and tucked it in her bag. As he moved up to stand beside her, Buffy tried to pay attention to what William was saying. “I was surprised when I found out you’re only a couple miles away from us. You’re grant-funded, right?” he asked rhetorically. She looked up to see him scanning the crowded room with a critical eye. “Practical enough. Kind of a dump though,” he commented, gesturing vaguely at the evidence of peeling paint on the walls and the water-damaged drop ceiling.
Buffy was about to defend her workplace when she heard the traitorous snickers of Holden Webster, one of her junior caseworkers. She noticed all of the others seemed to be studiously ignoring William and she found herself wondering what he might have said to them on his way in.
As if just then realizing he had been overheard by all her employees, William stated somewhat contritely, “Just making an observation.”
“Maybe you could not,” Buffy suggested dryly. “We have to work here.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “But you’re tucked away in your cozy little private room away from the cubicle crush, eh? Perks of being the boss?”
“Our office layout isn’t Miss Summers’s fault. Or her preference,” Doris interjected from her desk several feet away in a cool tone, her face remaining turned toward her computer.
William looked baffled for a moment and then merely apologetic. “Please excuse me,” he said.
Mildly stunned, Buffy moved to open the door and let William pass through. Turning around as she exited, she called, “I’ll be back by noon, everybody.” Looking up for the first time, Doris sent her a quick triumphant smile.
Walking across the shared parking lot, Buffy gestured towards a vintage Volkswagen beetle with a gleaming spring green-colored body and cream piping parked at the far end. It wasn’t in mint condition, having noticeably suffered a few nicks and dents, but to an old car enthusiast or restorer it still held its appeal. To Buffy, a fan of the old Herbie series as a child, it had simply filled her with nostalgia and excitement when she spotted it in a used car lot two summers ago, the first time she was able to buy a car of her own. It didn’t matter that it was from the 70s, or that passengers could barely fit in the back seat, or that it didn’t have air conditioning. It didn’t even matter that it was a stick shift.
“Well, isn’t she cute?” William drawled, his head cocked in an appraising manner as they approached the vehicle.
“I like my car,” she felt the need to inform him prissily as she got in, trying not to blush as she saw him noticing the Supergirl floor mats that had been a birthday present from Angel.
He regarded a wilting pink daisy in the tubular vase clipped to the car’s air vent. “I like it too,” he replied honestly, a little surprised at his own admission. “Drive a vintage car myself,” he added.
Several minutes later William was rethinking his assessment as he clutched the door handle with a death grip and desperately tried to keep his breakfast down. He hadn’t thought that with a small car like a VW bug it would even be possible to careen around corners but Buffy was proving that assumption wrong. Her driving style was reactive to say the least only she seemed to be not just one but several steps behind what was happening on the road. Stops were near emergencies and accelerations were so delayed he kept expecting honking from other cars. For the first time, he was amazed by the restraint of Los Angeles drivers. Her difficulties also appeared to be compounded by the complications of the car’s manual requirements. Twice when shifting gears, Buffy neglected to take her foot completely off the gas, overrevving the engine. As they approached the intersection of Bauchet and Vignes, she barely avoided stalling as she put the clutch in.
During the momentary reprieve at the red light, William couldn’t help but open his mouth. “You know, for someone whose family legacy is in the transportation business, you’d think learning to operate a vehicle properly would be a point of pride. You do realize you’re not in an automatic, right?”
The usual nervousness of having a front-seat audience to witness her performing a skill she had little confidence in was replaced by resentment. She glared at him. “I can drive,” she grit out.
“What? Into a wall? Probably.” As she fumed silently, he smiled at his own joke and looked out the window.
Buffy refused to speak again until she was pulling into the side lot of the jail. “We’re here,” she huffed. Before William could blink, Buffy had jerkily parked the car and was slamming her door shut. Without a backwards glance, she rushed ahead, making her way across the street and towards the building.
“Oi, wait up!” William called as he locked his door. She didn’t slow down so he took off after her, wondering how someone so small could move so fast.
Buffy was staring stonily ahead while she and William sat side by side at the table in the attorney room of the prison, waiting for the guards to bring Carlos in. William couldn’t tell if she was pissed or just deep in thought. He cleared his throat. “So I’m just gonna ask him for his account of the night he was with Richards. Hopefully he’ll just come clean and agree to be available should Gavin need him to testify at trial. If not, I put the screws to him a little,” William said plainly. “Unlike his friend, he’s an adult so even though this is his first time through the ringer he won’t catch a break unless he has something to offer.”
Buffy nodded. “Can I ask him questions?” she asked.
William looked unhappy. “You should have told me if you had something like that in mind.”
“I didn’t really have the chance to yet,” she said pointedly. “Anyway, I might not have any.”
“What are you—,“ William began to ask just as Carlos was escorted into the room by a guard.
“Mr. Trejo,” William greeted him, standing up. “Please have a seat.”
The guard set him down on the chair opposite William and Buffy and warned him to behave before leaving the room.
Even to the interested eye, Carlos looked fairly unremarkable. He had a medium-sized build, jet-black hair, and a chubby face that seemed to swallow up his dark eyes. A couple of years older than Dashawn, Buffy thought that he looked younger than most of the teenagers she encountered.
“I’m William Pratt, assistant district attorney handling Dashawn Richards’s case, and this is Miss Summers from juvenile justice,” William began. “She’ll just be sitting in today,” he added as much for Buffy’s benefit as Carlos’s.
Carlos looked confused and suspicious. “What do you want from me?”
William decided it was best to get straight to the point. “I’m here to talk to you about what happened the night you and Dashawn witnessed a murder,” he said, clasping his hands together.
Startled, Carlos flailed for a moment before protesting, “I don’ know what you’re talking about.”
“We already know what happened, Carlos. We just want to hear your version of events,” he said, injecting a note of reassurance into his voice.
“Don’ I need my lawyer?” he asked with a tinge of nervousness in his voice.
William chose his words carefully. “You’re only in here on your first possessions charge, which you can clear up if you simply cooperate,” he said. “I don’t see that you have any need for representation. Unless you have something to hide?”
Carlos shifted in his chair uncomfortably. His eyes, focused on the corner of the table, moved to take in William’s serious gaze and then landed on Buffy. She lifted her brows, trying to keep her expression open.
“Not much to tell if you talked to Dashawn already,” he stated finally, a hint of resentment audible in his voice.
“Indeed,” William agreed. “So let’s just recap, shall we?” He glanced down at the open file before him. ”You and Dashawn Richards are friends?”
“Yeah.”
“How long?”
“Six years.”
“How do you know him?” William inquired conversationally.
“I used to date his sister,” Carlos announced with fake bravado. Buffy suddenly regarded him with intense interest.
“Do you know that he’s a drug dealer?” William asked bluntly.
Carlos grunted and said with a trace of contempt, “He just a hopper on a crew.”
“A what?”
“Like, a corner boy.”
“You seem to know a lot about the workings of the trade,” William observed with heavy implication in his voice.
“I ain’t no gang-banger wannabee,” Carlos said indignantly. “Tha’s Dashawn’s thing.”
“So you’re just a customer?” William asked.
Carlos bitterly replied, “I bought a half of coke. Big fuckin’ deal.”
“All right, let’s get back to the night in question. What were you and Dashawn doing?”
Carlos sighed. “We was just kickin’ it. We was getting my car to drive to Inglewood when we heard the yelling.”
“What time was it?”
“Bout eleven p.m.”
“Where were you when you happened upon the shooting? Specifically, can you give me an address?”
Carlos thought for a moment. “Alley on 107 near Alameda.”
Checking his notes again, William nodded, satisfied. “And then what?”
“We heard some yelling. I dunno what about. We looked down the alley.” Carlos’s narration slowed considerably. “There were two guys on the other end. All’ a sudden we saw one of the guys, uh, the taller one, had a gun in his hand. He straight popped the other guy in the chest.” Carlos seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
“How many shots?” William asked.
“Just one. Soon as we saw it go down we took off. Didn’ look back.” He seemed unburdened as he concluded his account.
“Did you see what kind of weapon Hamilton had?” Buffy suddenly chimed in. She ignored the look of displeasure William shot her.
“It was a gun,” Carlos told her, the thought that she wasn’t very bright plainly visible on his face.
Buffy pounced. “But was it a revolver or a semi? What size caliber? Frame?” Peppering him with questions, she maintained a relaxed manner.
“I dunno nothin’ about guns,” Carlos said, overwhelmed and shaking his head. “I just saw Marcus pull it out and use it.”
William sensed Buffy’s body posture stiffen slightly. In the next instant, he felt her kick him in the shin under the table. He quickly looked over to see her furtively signaling at him with an incline of her head towards Carlos. Part of William wanted to roll his eyes at her theatrics, but having arrived at the same conclusion as her, he was too distracted by its significance. Instead he turned to Carlos and crossing his arms, asked him curiously, “How do you know who the shooter was?”
Carlos lowered his eyes but not before William could read panic in them. “Dashawn tole me,” he said gruffly.
“Well, isn’t that’s interesting because Dashawn told us he never talked to you about it. In fact, he assured us you didn’t know who he was.” William sized up the young man’s slumping posture. “He also said you weren’t involved in drug selling,” he said in a disbelieving tone.
“I tole you I’m not,” Carlos said forcefully.
“How do you know who Marcus Hamilton is?” Buffy asked in a low tone.
“Everyone in the Downs know who he is,” Carlos replied, frustrated.
“That’s twice you’ve lied now. Try again. Last chance,” William said sternly.
Carlos sat unspeaking, glowering at both William and Buffy.
“Who are you afraid of?” Buffy asked, staring him down. “Marcus?”
“I ain’t afraid of anythin,’” he blustered.
“Dashawn was afraid. No, not afraid,” Buffy corrected herself. “He was terrified. But he did the right thing even though it meant he had to disappear for a while.”
Carlos let out a short laugh. “He only has to worry about Marcus. And that motherfucker’s in jail.”
Not missing a beat, Buffy asked calmly, “And who do you have to worry about?”
Realizing he had made a second strategic error, he seemed on the verge of giving up on his defensive gambit altogether. Nonetheless, he still persevered. “Nobody,” he maintained.
At that moment, something finally clicked in Buffy’s brain. “Who was the dead man Carlos? How’re you connected to him?” she demanded with quiet intensity.
“Shit,” Carlos muttered under his breath.
Caught off guard, William quickly got up to speed. “The police are finding his body as we speak,” he half-bluffed to Carlos. “Once they identify him they’ll come after you if you have any connection to him. You’d better tell me about him now before I have to take your deal off the table,” he warned. “Who was the victim?”
Carlos rubbed his hands over his eyes. He suddenly looked older than his eighteen years. “Daniel Holtz,” he finally told them. “He was my boss,” Carlos admitted in a tone of some regret.
“Your boss,” William repeated. “And what was his business? Drugs? Guns?”
“No way, man. He just ran a coupla check-cashing joints.”
“Where?”
“Um, one of ‘em is in Boyle Heights and other one is in Jefferson Park.”
“I see,” William said. “And what did you do for Holtz?”
“Security, mostly. Some delivery, back and forth.” Carlos shrugged. “Whatever he needed.”
“And?” William pushed him.
“And that was it! I swear,” Carlos insisted.
William pursed his lips. “So solve this riddle for me, Carlos,” William said. “How’s a legitimate businessman end up getting killed by a drug supplier? A few blocks from the projects?”
“I don’ know.”
“But he had a connection to Marcus Hamilton,” Buffy observed. “What do you know about that?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But you know something,” she prompted. “Or you think you do?”
“Marcus, he was at the Heights shop three times before—you know.” Carlos had a hard time saying it aloud.
“Before he killed Holtz?” William asked. When Carlos nodded, he pressed, “Why did he come to the shop? He brought drugs with him?”
“No, no.” Carlos shook his head. “Never saw no drugs. It wuddn’t about drugs,” he said as if he was talking to himself.
“Then what was it about?” William tried again.
“Just business. Just… contracts and shit,” Carlos replied uncertainly. “Every time, Marcus and Holtz, they just went to the office and talked,” he explained.
Although he had a few guesses himself, William could see that Carlos genuinely hadn’t understood what business the men had transacted.
“Did Holtz have a habit of dealing with people in the drug trade? With those who are higher up the ladder?”
“No, Holtz never dealt with no fake suits befo’.”
William scratched his head in thought and looked on the verge of moving on but Buffy had caught the subtle implication in his words. Making eye contact with Carlos, she cut in casually, “Before what?”
Carlos didn’t miss the fact that he was being worked over but he figured he had to finish what he started when he admitted to knowing Holtz. He took a deep breath and stated, “Befo’ he hooked up with Russell Winters.”
“The real estate mogul?” William asked sharply. He was shocked but not surprised at the mention of a name that had induced loathing in him for the past several years.
Carlos looked confused for a moment but then responded, “Guess so, yeah.”
“What kind of arrangement did they have?” William demanded.
“I don’ know. I just think they had one. Marcus, he was only, like, a jobber.”
“A what?” William asked.
“A middleman,” Buffy supplied. “Why do you think that?” she asked Carlos carefully.
“Coupla months back I found a check in his desk. Signed by Russell Winters. It was on top a bunch of papers with Marcus’s name all over ‘em.”
“How much was it for?” William questioned him.
“Thirty-five Gs.”
William let out a low whistle. Looking at him critically, he asked, “What do you know about Russell Winters?”
“Not much. He owns some properties.”
William snorted. “I’ll say.” Then he asked, “Holtz never talked to you about his association with Mr. Winters?”
“No.”
“And you never met him yourself?”
“No, just dropped some packages a coupla times at one of his houses.”
“But you’re afraid of him,” William observed.
Carlos shifted uneasily, not denying William’s words.
“Does he have a reason to come after you?”
“No, it’s just… man like that, that kind of money? Face is on every billboard in the city. Even I don’ know anythin’…” Carlos didn’t finish his sentence.
“Indeed,” William replied. He rubbed his chin. “Is there anything else you can tell me? Think about it.”
Carlos shook his head. “Tha’s all I got,” he said, looking utterly drained. William proceeded to furiously make some notes in his file.
As he wrote, Buffy focused in on Carlos. “Carlos,” she ventured gently. “Does Deshawn know all this?”
Carlos shook his head. “He barely even knew Marcus Hamilton. I had more face time with him than Deshawn,” he revealed. “Fuckin’ barbarian. I warned Holtz one time, you know? Even at the top, the big men are outta control.” For the first time in the interview, Carlos spoke with real anger.
Buffy tried to reconcile the two witnesses’s accounts and attitudes in her mind. “But Deshawn must have seen how spooked you were by the shooting?”
“I just tole him he was better off not knowin.’”
“You wanted to protect him?” There was an audible note of sympathy in Buffy’s voice.
Carlos looked embarrassed and shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Guess he had the same idea,” Buffy commented softly.
Finished with his writing, William looked up and took over again. “I’m sure the DA’s office will want to talk to you again,” he informed Carlos. “As well as the police. If everything checks out we’ll drop the possessions charge and see about moving you somewhere secure for the time being. I don’t think I need to remind you not to talk to anyone about any of this.”
Carlos merely nodded in silent acknowledgement.
“You think of anything else, you give me a call,” William told him. As Carlos sat with his head in his hands, William stood up and used the wall phone to call back the guard.
Within five minutes he had come to fetch Carlos and Buffy and William were told to wait a few more minutes for him to return.
Turning away from the door as it closed behind Carlos, William looked at Buffy who was still sitting, one hand propped sideways under her chin and the other steadily tapping his pencil on the table. “Well, that was unexpected. How did—“ William began but was cut off by the sound of a scream from outside. He looked at Buffy, whose eyes widened as she leapt out of her chair and ran over to the door.
William managed to get out, “Hold on, Buffy,” just as she threw it open and rushed out.
Darting after her, he was confronted with a surreal scene in the hallway. He could see the guard who had left with Carlos sprawled out unmoving on the ground at the end of the hallway. Near him a large dirty blonde man in a prisoner’s uniform had Carlos shoved against a wall by back of his neck. Carlos was whimpering and trembling.
“Shut the fuck up!” the prisoner hissed at Carlos. From somewhere he couldn’t really pinpoint, William could hear the muffled sounds of running feet and metal doors and prayed that help was on the way.
Before he could yell at Buffy to stay back, she had already run the half-length of the hallway and launched herself at the man holding Carlos and brought him to the floor face down. She wrestled a makeshift weapon of some kind out of his hand while her boot heel dug firmly into his back, eliciting screams and a string of profanities from the man. Carlos sat awkwardly a few feet away, looking dazed and clutching his neck. Another prisoner suddenly appeared from around the corner and spotted the trio.
“What the fuck!” the man growled, making a beeline for Buffy, still perched on top of the first prisoner but now fully aware of the oncoming threat. She moved into a defensive posture as he approached. Things seemed to be moving insanely fast in front of William and yet he felt like hours had passed since he first started moving towards the crush to help Buffy. Finally reaching the end of the hallway, he charged forward on a rush of adrenaline to deflect the man from his path. As the man reared back William quickly brought his left elbow up level with his shoulder before smashing his fist into the side of the man’s face. He went down with a cry. Upon impact, William had to work to keep his balance.
From the other end of the hallway, a dozen guards arrived on the scene and within moments swarmed around all of them. The next thing William knew, one of them was standing directly in front of him, blocking his view. “Are you hurt, sir?” he asked, his eyes zeroing in on William’s left hand as he unconsciously fisted and flexed it.
He stopped immediately. Fighting to catch his breath, he choked out, “What? No, no. Check on the others.” The guard withdrew and went to help one of his colleague cuff the William had brought down. Looking around him with a sense of anxiety, a group of guards on his right suddenly parted and his eyes lighted on Buffy at the same moment that she spotted him.
Hurriedly walking over to him, she gave him a quick once-over, noting his more than usually pale complexion but no signs of injury. “You ok?” she asked seriously.
William nodded dumbly and watched in silence as she marched right back over to the guards and demanded to know what had happened. He heard one of them say something about a “break attempt” and then Buffy discreetly asking him to keep a watch and extra security detail on Carlos.
A suited, older man had arrived without William noticing, and he was making an announcement over the din of guards. “No serious injuries. Let’s move. We’re going on mandatory lockdown right now.” He shepherded Buffy over to William and curtly informed them, “I’ll have a guard walk you two out,” before gesturing for assistance.
Seeing that the man was clearly not amenable to conversation just then, William postponed his questions for another time.
A couple of minutes later he and Buffy were dutifully following their escort to the exit, which the guard secured as soon as they were on the other side. Buffy and William continued walking several steps until they cleared the building and then as if on cue, both stopped. Standing there, they just looked at each other for a few moments, each of them trying to process everything that had happened since they had entered the prison less than an hour ago.
Trying for a light-hearted approach to dispel the heavy mood, Buffy commented, “That’s a nice hook you got there.” Without bothering to mask the appreciation in her voice, she asked, “Where did you learn to throw like that?”
Confused and still somewhat in shock, it took William a moment before he could jumpstart his brain and respond. “Just know how to hit is all. One too many brawls back in England.” He shook his head “Never mind me, how the hell did you get that guy on the ground? And how is it that you took to the fight like it was your bloody second nature?”
“Oh, well, I am a black belt in judo,” Buffy said slowly, absorbing his questions. Then she paused, looking like she was deciding something before she confessed, “But mostly, it’s because I used to be a cop.”