Heaven, INC: Chapter 19: I SAW THE MAN YOU ARE LOOKING FOR

NORCESTOR AND IMPERIAL,
BUILDING 3,
9:50 AM PDT

POPE LET HIS GAZE drift to Building #3 again, giving the appearance of someone suffering the mild pesterings of a child. “Did you talk to the doctor?”

She shook her head. “No, I just saw him. He bumped into Chucho.”

“What did Chucho do then?”

“He chased after the fat man. The man who stole the car.”

Wait, the man who stole Ducroix’s car . . .

Pope was keenly aware of being watched, and what might happen to the little girl if she talked to law enforcement about the happenings and going ons at the Norcestor Arms. 30 years of this shit had taught Pope that, for some people, no child was too young to die. On the other hand, he needed information.

Pope pulled out his phone and stuck it to his ear, but saying to the little girl, “What happened to the man who bumped Chucho?”

“Oh, he ran away. He was scared— Uh-oh, I think Chucho’s watching. And here comes mama . . . Don’t say I told.”

Pope turned in time to see a woman bee-lining at them like a human torpedo.

“Gabrielle, venga aquí!” The woman glared at Pope. “You cannot talk to my daughter without asking. Is the law.” She glared at Gabrielle. “I told you never ever talk to police. No police!”

“I’m sorry, Mama. I only said—”

“Ma’am,” Pope boldly stated for anyone to hear, “I asked your daughter why she’s not in school today. It’s a Friday at 9:30 and she’s not in class. Why?”

The woman looked to be late 20's, in a short skirt, bed head and floppy slippers. She backpedaled a bit: “She got the fever. Bad fever.”

Pope studied Gabrielle, her small face thin behind oversized glasses. “Do I need to remind you of the new Truancy laws? Either get this little girl in bed with something nourishing and preferably hot to eat or I’ll arrest you for aiding and abetting a truant.”

The woman stared at Pope a moment before saying, “Come, Gabrielle. You can have the menudo Hector brought me. Mama let you watch TV in her bed.”

Pope watched the woman as Al, running behind, watched her pass by with an arch look on his face— though his color had improved considerably since the tapioca-maggot incident— and came up saying, “I’m away from you for two minutes, you’re busy nattering to some welfare queen about aiding and abetting a truant? Yet, you won’t let me break a world speed record for arresting illegals. Well, there’s that peerless liberal logic for you.”

Across the burned out lawn and watching intently from the shadows was a man with a smooth shaven head, thick arms and wife-beater Pope wondered might possibly be Chucho, covered in fresh prison tattoos and bad attitude.

Waving a hand, Pope flashed the international quacking sign of pointless talking. “Yada yada yada, like I’ve got all freaking day to talk to kids. Jesus,” he said, shaking his head.
Al frowned. “Hey, Gideon, little kids like to talk. Baby illegal or not, you don’t need to get all asshole-ish about it. Jeez. Even I got limits.”

Well, at least Al was buying it. Hopefully, so was Chucho or whoever else it was had watched the interchange. Now Pope just had to find Chucho and round him up without alerting him to the kid.