The Bad Shepherd by Dale M. Nelson

Author:Dale M. Nelson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2017-09-09T16:00:00+00:00

Jimmy Mack set the meeting at Brewer Park on the USC campus. Fochs wanted to meet Sterling somewhere outside of his hood but not in another gang’s territory and not so far out that it was a place he’d never go. Many gang members rarely travelled outside their neighborhoods. In fact, it was common for residents of South LA to live their entire lives without having seen the Pacific Ocean a mere ten miles away.

Fochs orbited the statue on Exposition Boulevard and waited in the heat. Fremont arrived just under twenty minutes late. Bo spotted him immediately because he didn’t look like he went to school. At least Fremont down-dressed his Crip look with a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans. The bandanna was probably tucked into a pocket. Jimmy Mack must have talked to him. Fochs inclined his head once when he saw Fremont, catching the kid’s eye. Fochs stood his ground and waited for Fremont to walk up to him, studying him as he approached. He was darker than his brother and taller, slimmer though not skinny, wiry.

Fremont walked up to the detective and looked him over, head to toe. “Yo, you Fochs?”

“That’s right,” Bo said. He didn’t extend a hand. There were some hands you just didn’t shake. “Let’s walk.” Fochs knew from discussions he’d had with Jimmy Mack that Sterling was very deep in the life, basically picking up where his big brother had left off. There were about four years between the Fremont brothers, which put him at twenty-three. Fochs knew his street name was “Stir” and that it had been earned.

Fochs headed into the park; Fremont followed. “I spoke with Jimmy Mack this morning, and we agreed it would be a good idea for you and me to speak. Did he tell you who I am? That I knew your brother?”

“Yeah, he say that,” he said, looking at Fochs.

Smug little fucker, Fochs thought.

“He also said it was your partner who killed Renzo.”

“I’m trying to show that your brother was not armed when he was shot by Los Angeles Police Detective Mitchell Gaffney.”

“You ain’t answered my question. He your partner?”

Fochs looked up the shaded sidewalk and waited for a pair of coeds to pass out of earshot. “Yes, Detective Gaffney was my partner. I believed at the time that he planted the gun they said was your brother’s. I argued that Detective Gaffney panicked and shot your brother, and I pushed for an investigation into that.” Fochs exhaled into the hot summer air. “I believed then, and still do, that the LAPD covered it up. I agreed to take the case because I want to prove your brother wasn’t armed when he was shot.”

“What’s it to you? You were trying to arrest him, weren’t you?”

“I was trying to arrest him because he was selling coke. That doesn’t mean he deserved to get shot,” Fochs said flatly. He considered the young gangster next to him for a long second, before saying with calculated contempt, “Besides, I wasn’t interested in your brother.

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