Free Street Rules by Baxter Clare Page B

migraine and he’d be in around ten.
    “You know you’re out of sick time,” Frank responded.
    “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he wheezed on the other end. “What am I supposed to do, huh?”
    “That’s a good question. Might want to think about it while you’re nursing that hangover.”
    He started to protest and Frank hung up, making a mental note to talk to Noah. When all her detectives arrived, they had their morning meeting. Even-keeled and calm, Frank sat with her feet crossed on Gough’s old desk. Ike was sporting a bruise on his cheekbone. From rough trade, he claimed. While the boys razzed him, Frank’s hand strayed to the back of her neck. This time she caught herself and stopped kneading the tense muscles, but Noah had already seen her. She thought about how long they’d been friends, how there was a time when he would have died to rub Frank’s neck for her. Popping the rest of a doughnut in his mouth, he stared at her, as if reading her thoughts. She swore he could sometimes, and she looked back down at her notes.
    “All right,” Frank said, starting business. She brought Ike, Diego, and Noah up to date on Placa’s case then asked Nook and Bobby what they had. The smaller man flipped through his notebook.
    “Well, we’ve been chasing homies all over town. Nobody knows nothing, and if they do they’re not tellin’. The one thing we got is that Placa was really making a move on Playboy territory, specifically 51st Street. The corner held by Ocho Ruiz. You remember him?” Nook asked Frank.
    “Refresh me.”
    “Got the octopus tattooed on his back? The tentacles wrapped around his chest?”
    “Oh yeah,” Frank nodded. “Lot’s of time in stir. The tentacles connect to a big M.”
    “That’s the one. And he’s out again, but word is he’s slippin’. Sampling too much of his own product.”
    Ocho Ruiz had started as an entrepreneurial hustler, keeping an eye out for bailers doing business on the corner, hollering when the heat came near. He’d fought and killed for his turf, stabbing and clubbing his way to a profitable corner of the drug trade in his barrio. He’d managed to stay on top even in lockup. Reputedly this had been done with the aid of the Mexican Mafia, hence the large M tat.
    “Best part though, turns out he drives a yellow ‘91 T-Bird.
    We’ve been tryin’ to find him, but he ain’t around. I figure maybe we’d go over to his crib after we’re done here, see if we can catch him nappin’. But my bet is his ass is in the wind for a while.”
    “And nobody’s claiming this?”
    “Not a whisper,” Bobby said. “I persuaded his mom to consent to a search. We found two .38s and a .45, but no quarter.”
    “Confiscate?”
    Bobby nodded and Frank said, “Good. Get ballistics on them.”
    If they couldn’t get Ocho for Placa, they might be able to nail him on another case.
    “How about Itsy?”
    Bobby said, “She’s pretty torn up. We couldn’t get anything out of her. The other girls, Negra and Payasa, they saw her around ten that morning, then she disappeared for a couple hours. Evidently she did that a lot, but nobody knows where she went.”
    “Keep at them. And both of you drop by and have a chat with Claudia and the kids. I know they know something, but they’re not letting on. And hit Itsy again, and who’s that little dark gal that’s been putting in work for the set?”
    “La Limpia,” Noah piped in. “She’s Rolo Hernandez’ sister.”
    “What’s he got to say?”
    “Nothing. He was home in bed. Has the flu or something.”
    “All right. Keep hitting the homes. Let’s hit the Playboys too. Find Ocho’s dogs, bring them in if you have to. How about that CI of yours, Nook? Think she could help?”
    “I’ll see.”
    All the detectives had snitches or, confidential informers who’d trade a piece of news for a twenty. After everyone updated their cases, Frank moved on to other business, then the small group dispersed. Checking her watch, Frank