Free the Pallbearers (2010) by Stephen - Scully 09 Cannell

he?"
    "That's Rick O'Shea. President of Creative Solutions." She sighed. "My boss."
    I was looking at the empty doorway where, moments before, two hundred and thirty pounds of tattoo-enhanced gristle had been standing.
    "That's the president of your nonprofit corporation?" I said. "Kinda not what you'd expect, is he?"
    "He's a very difficult man." Diamond sighed again. Then she gathered up the folders she'd been carrying before, grabbed the clipboard, and turned to face me in the doorway.
    "Listen, Shane, I gotta go. I'll see you at Sabas's place at six."
    "Great."
    We both left the rec center together, and I split off to go back to my Acura. Before getting in, I walked the lot. I was looking for a car that didn't belong here. The kind of ride a thirty-year-old tattooed gym rat might drive.
    It was easy to spot. A one-year-old, custom-painted maroon Escalade with expensive chrome spinners. I looked in the passenger window and saw a gym bag. On the side, it said: RICK "RICOCHET" O'SHEA. I walked around to the back of the SUV and wrote down the plates.
    O'Shea was about to get a little piece of my unofficial investigation.
    Then I got into my car and, even though it was early, headed on out to the twelve hundred block on Whittier Boulevard in Boyle Heights.
    An hour ago I'd been feeling like this case was loose. But something had just shifted. At the beginning of any investigation, what you're looking for are the little inconsistencies that may be hiding an important fact. Tiny pieces of the puzzle that don't quite fit. You're looking for the slight but unmistakable odor of deceit.
    Like Alexa, I'm also pretty good on cop reads. Rick "Ricochet" O'Shea was definitely coming off as a false note. He didn't belong in this picture.
    Besides that, he was an asshole.

    Chapter 15
    As I drove toward the six o'clock meeting in Boyle Heights, I checked in with Sally Quinn. She wasn't there so I left her a message to call me. I was going east on Whittier Boulevard, heading deeper and deeper into East L . A . Tagger art announced the gang blocks. MS-13's graffiti gave way to East Side Surenos, then 18th Street Locos, and finally to Latin Kings. The letters were angry black slashes made from thousands of Home Depot spray cans.
    If you're uninitiated, this jagged tagger script can be almost impossible to read, but after a few weeks in a squad car, you get pretty - good at it. Driving the East L . A . ghetto was a little like riding through hostile Indian country in an open wagon. If you didn't want an arrow in the back, you'd better scan the rocks for signs of danger.
    Since many of these Hispanic gangs had different countries of origin, their cultural differences tended to define their behavior. Knowing which bunch you were up against could affect your survival.
    I finally pulled up in front of the address Seriana had given me. I had been expecting an office building, but instead found a small, badly maintained Spanish-style bungalow in the middle of six blocks tagged as Latin Kings turf. I looked at my watch. It was still early, and I didn't see Jacks Harley or any other car I recognized from before. I figured I was the first to arrive, so I sat at the curb and cased the run-down block and house. A small sign propped in the window read:
    SABAS VARGAS

ATTORNEY AT LAW
    A few minutes later, I saw a white woman dressed in a tailored cream-colored pantsuit, carrying an expensive-looking, oversized shoulder bag, walking up to a porch six houses away. She looked completely lost.
    I watched as she knocked, waited for the door to open, then spoke for a moment to somebody inside. The door was abruptly slammed in her face.
    I knew even before she turned that it was Vicki Lavicki walking around down here in her summer suit and sensible shoes like a Jehovah's Witness who drew the short straw.
    Then a lowrider with four young thugs inside glided by, pulling to a stop where she was standing. She stupidly crossed to the lowered Chevy and started asking