Free Slipping Into Darkness by Maxine Thompson Page A

pretty ruthless.”
    â€œDoes that have anything to do with his kidnapping ?”
    â€œNaw, but this war on drugs does.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThis war on drugs is a bunch of bullshit. The government don’t want to get rid of no drugs. This is an international business. Almost every industry is run through some form of drug money that’s been laundered. Rap, the car industry, guns, you name it. Not to mention the crooked cops and the different cartels who ain’t gon’ get paid if this stuff ever ends.”
    â€œSo what is your point, F-Loc?”
    â€œIt’s getting harder and harder for the brothers to make money in L.A. The Feds have cracked down on the border. Business is being conducted out the country now. They’ve even cracked down on the Colombians.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œWord on the street is that a big crime family in Brazil was cutting a deal with Mayhem and this was going to be his new connect. Some of the Eses got mad and felt he was undercutting them. He sent wifey, who used to be one of his mules, to do the deal; plus, she’s from Brazil and can speak that Portuguese. Anyhow, she’s being held hostage there with the money. Your brother was making some big moves since he got out last year, and somebody didn’t like it.”
    â€œDo you know anything about his strip club?” My job was like being part of the CIA of the streets. You had to get out there to get information.
    â€œIt’s cool. I slid through there a few times.”
    â€œWhat’s the name of it?”
    â€œThe Kitty Kat Koliseum.”
    â€œWhat street is it on?”
    â€œHollywood Boulevard.”
    â€œSo it’s in Hollywood?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œHow about a tattoo with a snake on a pole?”
    â€œThose could be any of the Mexican gangs, but I think it’s mainly part of a family.”
    â€œWhich tattoo parlor do they use?”
    â€œThe main one the Eses use is in the barrio. It’s called the Innovative Tattoo Shop.”
    Someone knocked on my car window on the rider’s side and I almost leaped out my skin. It’s not always a safe place to be sitting in a car in the jungle.
    â€œF-Loc.” I glanced up to see someone who looked like a typical crackhead. Chapped lips. Knotted hair. Dirty. Shaking. “Give me a nickel bag. I swear I’ma pay when I get my GR check first of the month.”
    â€œLook, nigga. Do I look like government cheese sittin’ up in here? I ain’t givin’ a nigga a free nothin’. This ain’t the welfare. You see me talkin’ business. Get yo’ ass away from this car before I break my foot off in your ass.”
    Then, F-Loc turned back to me as if nothing had happened. “Sorry ’bout that. Like I said, shit is dryin’ up. I used to could break a nigga off, but not no more. Times is tough out here on the street. I ain’t givin’ out nothin’ but tombstones and ya got to be dead to get those.”
    I suppressed my laugh, so that he would know I was serious about my business. “Okay, thanks, Loc.”
    We bumped fists, and he climbed out of my car. Shaking my head, I drove off. I’d worked in the male culture so long as a policewoman, I’d picked up a lot of their ways. That’s why I was still trying to detox from all that swearing like the proverbial sailor. It’s not ladylike, and whenever I’m around Romero, he treats me like I’m fine china, so now I notice I don’t even want to curse.
    I didn’t know who to believe–F-Loc or the so-called agents. I bet the truth is probably somewhere in the middle.

Chapter Ten
    On a hunch, I jumped on the San Bernardino Freeway and drove out to the Innovative Tatto Parlor on Cesar Chavez Avenue. It was when I pulled up in front of the turquoise adobe-looking shop that I decided what I would do. I flashed my badge, quickly, the same way the Feds did to me