(For those of you who haven't read the other chapters, here's and overview: Los Malos, an L.A. gang, beats up a kid, gets two new-comers named Connie and Mike, and the police are on their tail. Then Los Malos meets up with their rival gang, the Chupacabras, and traded some insults. Last chapter, you met Peter Hall, a victim of Los Malos. He was the kid Los Malos beat up in the beginning.)

Los Malos

Chapter 5

Taylor was tripping. She paced the alley, hands shaking, eyes darting. Out of her mouth streamed rapid German, English, and occasionally broken Spanish that she picked up from Paco. Out on the street, some sirens screamed by, and Taylor paused, feet tapping, to listen with bright eyes. But the sirens moved on, and, with a quick, disappointed sigh, she resumed her pacing.

Behind her, Connie was counting money with smug satisfaction and tucking it away. Jessie was missing; she had tried to steal from Connie and had disappeared. Paco’s doing, though where she was now was a mystery. He didn’t really seem like he’d kill her.

Mike frowned. Everyone seemed afraid of Paco, though he didn’t really know why. He smoked and stole and got mad at the Chupacabras. Big deal. He wasn’t like the others, wanting to fight. In fact, he avoided a fight at all costs. It didn’t fit.

Paco came in from the other end of the alley.

Speak of the devil, Mike thought grimly.

“Where were you?” He asked curtly.

Reiko raised an eyebrow at him, but Paco ignored him altogether. He glanced at Taylor, still pacing, and looked at Connie. “What did I tell you about feeding the animals, girl?” he said.

Connie laughed. “I don’t see why not,” she replied. “It’s just crack; harmless, I swear.” She was also getting comfortable around Paco, but unlike Mike, it was more of the “chummy” sort of feeling, other than the “this teacher seemed mean but never carries out his threats, so I can tease him all I want” sort of feeling.

“Where were you?” Mike repeated impatiently.

Paco turned and cocked his head at Mike, but the tough act didn’t work this time. “Making sure our place was set,” he said coldly.

That made Mike relax. He and Connie had been running around the last few nights, trying to find their own place to sleep. It was more or less the last test; if you can survive L.A. after dark, and manage to avoid the cops, then you’re in. The fact that Paco was finally letting them into the gang’s place was the final acceptance. Not only that, but it also meant better sleep and less risks.

Paco nodded, satisfied that Mike was mollified, then sat down and flicked his fingers at Connie, who gave him one of the official “Los Malos” cigarettes.

“Is Kevin here?” he asked the others, lighting his cigarette.

Everyone shook their heads.

“Really?” Paco frowned. “That’s weird. He usually can get out by now.”

“It could be the security guards are paying more attention to him,” Reiko suggested.

“Why, though?” Paco said. “It’s not like they know, is it?”

“Well, you know Kevin. He’s always blundering,” said Connie.

But Paco was shaking his head before she finished. “No, he doesn’t blunder about Los Malos,” he insisted, chewing on the end of his cigarette. “Otherwise, why would I let him in?”

Of course, Paco doesn’t make mistakes. Mike snorted.

The Latino youth glanced up at Taylor, who was oblivious to their entire conversation, still pacing and muttering in three languages.

“We can’t easily bring her, though,” he said with a smile, quietly as if she would hear. Like she’d care if she heard. Then he raised his voice. “Hey, Taylor! Chill out, okay?”

The German girl spun around to face him, switchblade gripped in her trembling fingers. She yelled something at him in her strange mixture of English, Spanish, and German, making it utterly incoherent, but anyone could see it was a challenge.

Paco laughed and stood up. “Reiko, keep an eye on Taylor, in case she freaks out, okay?”

Reiko nodded, and the group set out to look for Kevin.

* * *

“Found him!” Farrow crowed, triumphantly dropping a manila folder on the desk.

Bayer swiveled away from the computer he was on to open the folder. “Finally,” he sighed with a smile. “Pendings is an elusive one, isn’t he?”

“Mostly because he’s not much of a threat,” Farrow said, shrugging. “A ‘wannabe,’ you could say. He tries to smuggle stuff into school and can never get away with it. He keeps ditching school, too, but we were never concerned about where he went.”

“If he wasn’t that much of a threat, then why do we have a criminal file on him?” he asked, studying the contents of the folder.

“He went to Juvenile Hall,” she answered. “Once. Three month sentence. Seventh time he was caught with a weapon.”

“Seventh time?” Bayer raised an eyebrow. Most schools had a kid in prison before the fourth time. “What took them so long?”

“Racial issues.”

“Ah.” Bayer rolled his eyes. “That’s easy to solve, though; send me. No one’s going to take racial issues to a black officer.”

Farrow chuckled, but not very much. Racial conversations made her uncomfortable. She promptly changed the subject to the important thing. “So, apparently, Pendings was good friends with Michael Sove. They met in Juvenile Hall…” she paused, biting her lip. “I wonder if that’s how Sove learned about Malos…”

“So, Peter’s witness means we have probable cause,” Bayer said, standing up. “Which means we look up Pending’s address and bring him down to the station before he decides to slip away like Moeller.”

Farrow grinned and pulled on her jacket. Her skin looked freakishly pale against the black cloth. “I’m driving this time, though; you drive like a madman.”