PDF Playboy USA Marzo 2016

Descargar PDF Playboy USA Marzo 2016

sailors, marines and its cops, many of whom
are former military.
Trashbag is fucked.
Burke pressed him to take the case.
Boone said he’d think it over.
Now, driving back to PB, he does. “No” is the
smart answer, because “yes” brings a big wave
down on his head. PIs have to work with cops
or they can’t work, so taking on a cop killer de-
fense is, career-wise, sticking a gun into his
own mouth.
He wins the Phillips case, he loses his living.
Boone knows how it works—the whole city
comes at him. His license gets looked at, safety
inspectors find problems in his office, he gets
stopped for running every yellow light.
And then there are the relationships.
The other detective on the case is John
Johnny Banzai, one of Boone’s best surfing
buddies and closest friends. Boone has dinner
at his house, chats with his wife, plays on the
floor with his kids.
And he’s a good cop.
Whose career will get jammed up if a cop
killer skates.
Or if he got the wrong guy.
No, Boone thinks as he pulls into a parking
slot outside Pacific Surf, this is a lose-lose prop-
osition. Any way it turns out, you’re fucked.
He decides to call Alan and take a pass.
There are llundreds, maybe thousands of
innocent people behind bars, Boone thinks
as he goes up the stairs. Trashbag might be
better off there. Three meals a day and a bed,
He calls Burke.
“Okav,” Boone says. “I’m in.”
Even though he knows that there are some
waves you shouldn’t ride.
Boone goes back to the file.
When he goes down to his van later, a parking
ticket is stuck on the windshield, his left tail-
light is smashed and there’s a “fix it” ticket for
that too.
It’sjust starting, Boone thinks.
This is only the small shit.
Akemi, the young Chaldean guy behind the
counter of the convenience store, gives Boone
a sardonic smile. “Did I know Trashbag? That’s
not exactly the way I’d put it, my brother.”
The Chaldeans are Iraqi Christians. Many
of them immigrated to San Diego during the
war, and now they own a lot of the local conve-
nience stores.
Good people, Boone thinks.
“How exactly would you put it?” Boone asks.
“He’d walk by here every night,” Akemi says.
“Same time. I think he lives down in the under-
pass, a lot of them do.”
“Every night?” Boone asks.
“With that black garbage bag over his shoul-
der,” Akemi says.
“Was he a problem?”
“Not really,” Akemi says. “We threw him out
a few times when he’d try to pocket the little
booze bottles here at the counter. But I didn’t
think he was a bad guy, just sad, until he did
this terrible th ing.”
He shakes his head.
“Did Officer Healey come in here every night?”
Akemi smiles. “Like clockwork.”
Boone knows what the smile means. The cof-
fee is on the house. He doesn’t have anything
against it and neither does Akemi. Conve-
nience stores like cops coming in, and the job
should have its small perks.
“What did you see that night?” Boone asks.
“Like I told the detectives,” Akemi says. “I
heard shots. I called 911.”
“You stayed inside.”
“Trouble will find you,” Akemi says. “You
don’t have to go out and look for it.”
This, Boone thinks as he leaves the store,
is true.
Boone walks the dirt path along the side of
the road.
It’s well worn, trod bv the homeless.
Thev have their routes and their routines,
Boone knows. It keeps them barely attached to
the world.
He stops halfa mile from the store at the spot
where the arresting officers picked Trashbag
up with the murder weapon. There’s not a lot
around—some warehouses, a vacant lot.
Boone walks down to the highway underpass
that Trashbag called home.
The cops periodically “clean them out,” but
the homeless come back at night. Now there are
cardboard boxes and a few old blankets. Some
old plastic jugs for drinking water, some emp-
ty half-pint booze bottles and cigarette butts.
One ofthe blankets moves.
A woman—at least Boone thinks she’s a
s,qvå, “vou
ro GO our
“Marv, I’m Boone. You know a guy they call
“That Joe, he’s gone now,” Mary says.
“Hey, Marv?” Boone asks. “Did Joe have a
“Joe, he didn’t,” Mary says. “He wanted
one, though.”
Mary whispers. “Said he was gonna kill
a cop.”
Boone feels his heart sink.
Trashbag did it.
“A cop named Healey?” Boone asks.
“No,” Mary says. “That Healev, he was nice,
he would bring food sometimes. Joe liked him.”
Mary smiles. Her teeth, what there are of
them, are black. “If Joe kills anyone, it would
be Langdon. That Langdon, he’s mean. Always
movingus along, shovingus around. Joe said he
would take care ofit. You can’t push that Joe too
far. I’ll leave now.”
“No, go back to sleep,” Boone says. He takes
10 bucks from his pocket and lays it on her
blanket. “Then getyourselfsomething to eat,
But she’s already asleep.
Trashbag Phillips killed the wrong cop, Boone
Drunk, he mistook Healey for Langdon,
walked up and “took care of it.” To defend the
only family he knew.
Boone goes back to the office and gets on
the computer.
To try and answer the question—who is
Joe “Trashbag” Phillips? Is he the kind of
woman—pokes her head out.
“I’ll go,” she says.
“It’s okay.”
“You a cop?”
“No,” Boone savs. Not anymore.
your name?”

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