Hinky (5)

The only thing Yates disliked more than people were other cops. He had a deep-seated suspicion of anyone who gravitated towards law enforcement. He didn’t trust them and did everything in his power to minimize contact with them; not an easy task for an L.A.P.D. Sergeant. Detective Horvath was no exception.

On the face of it, the two men should have been kindred spirits; not that either of them would ever have acknowledged such a concept. Both had been Marines. Both had distinguished themselves early in their careers attaining the rank of Sergeant in record time. They could have been drinking buddies on one of the regular runs to Baja informally organized by members of the Department. It was not to be, however.

A shooting incident involving Yates, Horvath, a member of the Crips and an innocent bystander with selective memory insured that Yates’ career trajectory would be stalled on the launching pad while that of Horvath would be accelerated. Both men knew the truth about the shooting, but neither had ever told it. They contented themselves to live with the consequences of what the witness had thought he’d seen. Any other course of action would have opened the door to further investigation and far greater consequences for both of them.

“Why’d you kill him?” was Horvath’s opener.

“He sold me a set of tires that were no damn good.”

“This isn’t a joke. One implausible coincidence and your career is over; two and you’ll be talking to the D.A. from the wrong side of a partition.” Horvath looked at Yates trying to read his thoughts. None were evident.

“I didn’t like the look of the car and he was obeying all the traffic laws; probable cause in anyone’s book, so I ran the plate. It came back clean and I let it go at that.”

“You didn’t pull him over?” Horvath probed.

“Any record of my running his DL?”

“No.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

The two men stared at each other. Horvath didn’t believe the story and Yates was daring him to take it further. Beyond the concerns of the immediate situation both men were assessing how well their mutual secret was holding and calculating the probability that the other would someday crack and need to tell someone.

“We’ll let it sit there,” Horvath said relenting for the moment. “Unless push comes to shove.”

“It always does,” was Yates’ parting shot.

More to follow...

(c) 2006 Stephen Mitchell