(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. Last chapter wasn't much; just introducing Los Malos's rival gang, the Chupacabras.)

Los Malos

Chapter 4

Bayer sighed as he sat down. “What now, Chief?” he asked, wearily. “We haven’t got anything on Los Malos yet.”

“Where’s Farrow?” Tier said.

“Hunting down Constance,” he answered. “She found some of her friends and is trying to get them to tell her something.” He rolled his eyes.

Tier nodded absently. “Probably a good thing,” he reasoned. “You should probably handle this anyway.”

Bayer was instantly alert. “Why? What do we have?”

“Mrs. Hall came in here yesterday to show us her son,” the chief explained. “Peter Hall had been beat up pretty badly, and she says it wasn’t the first time. She wants it to stop.”

Bayer looked thoughtful. “How does this connect to the Los Malos case?” he asked, though he was already thinking of the answers.

“Well, before he was beaten, he was questioned by his school principal and the police about Los Malos after he had accidentally let something slip,” Tier said. “We managed to get Justin Dellon, a member of Malos, with Peter’s help. As soon as Justin was arrested, Peter was suddenly very nervous and kept glancing over his shoulder, as if someone was watching him. That day, he came home later than usual, and he was banged up pretty badly.” Tier looked up at Bayer knowingly. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

Bayer shrugged. “Knowing Los Malos, he’d probably be dead,” he commented, but he stood up. “Where is Peter?”

“Here, actually,” Tier said, also rising. “I told Mrs. Hall we could track down her son’s attackers if we could talk to him a little.”

Bayer nodded as they moved out of the room. He could talk things out of kids that they didn’t think they knew.

Mrs. Hall was there at the door, a short, slender woman with russet hair and brilliant green eyes.

“Officer Bayer,” she greeted warmly, holding out her hand. “I’m Mrs. Hall.”

Bayer noticed the smile was tight, but he smiled pleasantly back and shook her hand. “Good morning,” he replied, shaking her hand firmly. Her hand was limp as a dead fish. “How’s your son?”

She took a deep breath and withdrew her hand. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “He hasn’t told me anything.”

Bayer lowered his voice. “How bad was he?”

Mrs. Hall drew a deep, shuddering breath and answered, “Pretty bad. One eye was swollen up, and he was limping. We had to take him in to get stitches for a cut on his arm.”

“Did he give you any excuses for his injuries?”

“Yes, when I pushed for one,” Mrs. Hall said. “He claimed he was riding a friend’s bike and it toppled when he hit a rock in the road.”

“And did it sound believable to you?”

Mrs. Hall shook her head. “He has only a few friends he would ride bikes with, and they all would’ve told me he was injured. And whenever he stays with another friend, he always calls me.”

Bayer nodded thoughtfully, then said, “Thank you. Can I talk to your son?”

“Yes, please,” she said, turning back towards the front room.

Peter was slumped in a chair in a secluded corner, as if trying to disappear. His head was down, and he refused to look at anyone. One of his arms was tightly bandaged.

“Peter,” his mother called, if a little hesitantly.

The boy looked up at her, then turned away.

Mrs. Hall sighed, but she called again, “Peter, come here. Please.”

Reluctantly, Peter stood and stumbled over to the door. Bayer could tell he was trying very hard to cover up a limp, and he kept his gaze on the ground.

Tier pursed his lips, regarding the boy worriedly. “You can handle this,” Tier said to Bayer, and he turned and went back to his office.

Bayer laid a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Could you wait here a moment?” he asked Mrs. Hall.

She glanced at her son, then nodded, stepping into the front room and taking a seat.

Bayer began to lead Peter down the hall. The boy was still struggling to hide a limp, but it was still very prominent.

The room Bayer chose wasn’t like the other rooms. This one had a maple wood table and padded chairs, and a water cooler sat in the corner. One window looked out on the offices, where some policemen were looking up records and such, while the other window looked outside. Most officers chose this room to question traumatized victims.

Bayer closed the door and sat. “Please, sit,” he said gently.

After just a slight hesitation, Peter complied, slumping in his seat. His gaze was riveted on his feet.

Bayer wasn’t sure how well he could handle this. He was used to talking with criminals who were cussing him out or threatening or just sitting there in their seat giving him deadly looks. Most of the time he didn’t talk to their victims, as he tended to intimidate people. He only hoped that Chief Tier’s trust hadn’t been misplaced.

“So you’re a freshman?” Bayer asked lightly, trying to relieve the tension in the room.

Peter shrugged.

After a moment of silence, Bayer continued, “How is school for you?”

He shrugged again.

“I hear there’s some gang trouble at school,” said Bayer, still casual.

Peter breathed in sharply, but he said nothing.

“Several fights over the past few weeks,” He remarked. “For some reason, the gangs always get a bit more restless for blood during the spring. Spring Fever, I guess.”

Still nothing from Peter.

“I hear you had quite an accident,” Bayer said, hoping he wasn’t being too blunt. “What happened?”

“My bike fell,” the boy mumbled. “Nothing big.”

“I’ve seen many falls,” Bayer remarked with a shake of his head. “And I can’t understand why the ground is three times as hard for you as it is for others.”

Peter stiffened.

“Are you hungry or thirsty?” Bayer asked, recognizing that it was time to back off a bit. “The water’s cold, and we have snacks in the cafeteria.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? You look a little thin to me. You eat much?”

“I said I’m fine.” Peter drew a hand across the back of his mouth.

After a stiff moment of silence, Bayer nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Can I see your arm?”

Peter looked up with frightened brown eyes and shook his head frantically. “It’s…it’s bandaged,” he stammered. “I’m not allowed to take it off until tonight.”

“It’s loose, anyway,” said Bayer. “I know we have some bandages in the station. We’ll fix it up after.”

But the boy was adamant. “No!”

“Just let me see it,” Bayer insisted, getting rather impatient. “It’s not like you’re hiding drugs in there, are you?”

There was something in the officer’s voice that made Peter hesitate. Bayer took a deep breath. “Here, let me have a look.”

After a slight pause, the boy slowly held out his arm across the table. Bayer noticed he was shaking.

Gently, carefully, Bayer unwrapped the bandages. The wound was warm and swollen, with black stitches crisscrossing the red cut. It was still slightly oozing, but mostly, it was clean, with smooth sides. Bayer turned the arm to the side, examining it.

“That’s quite a gash,” He remarked. “How’d you get it?”

The boy swallowed and licked his lips. “I..the, um, chain caught it.”

“Really?” Bayer asked, suddenly interested.

Peter nodded.

“Hm,” Bayer said, letting the arm go and standing up. “I would think the cut would be more jagged if the chain caught it.”

The boy looked up suddenly, but Bayer didn’t notice. He walked to the door and opened it, calling out to someone, “Tyler, think you could get me a roll of bandages? Thanks.”

He shut the door and sat back down at the table. “So,” he said, suddenly business-like. “Who attacked you?”

The boy seemed petrified. “I..no one, sir,” he stammered. “I fell off my—“

“Peter,” Bayer interrupted. His voice was very quite. “No one believes that story anymore.”

The boy looked down. “They saw me come,” he said into his lap.

Bayer furrowed his brow. “Who?”

“They see everything. No matter where I’ve been and what I’ve done to hide, they know where I’ve been.” He didn’t seem to have heard.

Then Bayer nodded in sudden comprehension. “Ah,” he said. “Los Malos.”

Peter looked up in fear, and Bayer realized with a jolt that he had been crying.

A young policemen with blond hair poked his head through the door and held out a white roll of thick gaze. “Here you go, Menelik.”

Bayer stood and took the roll, thanking the young policemen, then closed the door. When he turned the boy was slumped in his seat, head against his chest, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. With a sigh, Bayer took a white paper cup, filled it with water from the cooler, and set it down in front of the boy. “Here,” he said gently.

This time Peter didn’t reject it. He took the cup with trembling fingers and sipped it carefully, as though it was poisoned.

“Now,” Bayer continued, “we’re not going to let Los Malos hurt you. That’s what we’re here for. But with your help, we might be able to flush them out once and for all and put the jerks that did this to you behind bars once and for all. Sound good?”

Chest heaving, the boy shook his head. “Th-they won’t let y-you find them,” He said, trying futilely to keep his voice steady. “They’ll j-j-just know wh-who told you.”

“They won’t know,” Bayer assured him. He gently took Peter’s arm and started to wrap it back up with the clean bandages. “Besides, Officer Farrow is after them right now, so they can’t trace the sudden searches for them back to you.”

The boy took another sip, still unconvinced.

“Listen,” Bayer said. “If you could just tell us where they attacked you…?”

“I don’t remember.”

Bayer sighed. “I thought we established—“

“No, honestly,” Peter said. “I really don’t know.”

Bayer studied him for a moment, then let the matter drop. “All right then,” He said. “Do you know any of the names of these kids?”

The answer was a little hesitant, but the boy gave in. “Paco, Reiko, Taylor,” he said.

“We know those,” Bayer said. “But we can’t get them because we don’t know where they live or where they go. We tried to catch Taylor, but she left home and school the day after she appeared on camera. Anyone else?”

Peter thought a little bit, whether he was contemplating the interesting ways Los Malos would punish him, or trying to remember some of the names, Bayer didn’t know. “I only know Kevin, and that’s it.”

Bayer was instantly alert. “Kevin? Kevin who?”

The sudden question caught Peter off guard. “Um…” he thought, trying to keep off more tears. He took another drink and wiped his mouth. Bayer tried his best to keep calm. “Pendings, or something like that,” he said haltingly. “But I don’t know much about him.”

Bayer took deep breaths. Pendings. It was a familiar name. He’d have to look it up.

“Thank you,” he said, tying off the bandage. “It’s been a great help with you. I’m sure you’ll be glad to go home after this.” He stood and guided Peter to the door.

Peter tried to suppress a shudder. As he left the room, he glanced fearfully over his shoulder, at the window, half-expecting a face watching him.

The door closed behind him.