CAMISADO
“Hey, buddy, it’s been a long time!”
“Too long, I guess.”
Doug Fakaofo and Romeo hugged each other and smiled.
“I was glad to hear you were comin’ out,” said Doug. “What brings you?”
“Business, what else these days, huh? Not that we can’t put in some good party time, too, of course,” laughed Romeo.
“That’s great, man!”
“But I got a favor to ask you, Doug. I got some people with me and I want to leave ’em here while I take care of something. It shouldn’t take long, maybe only a couple of hours. We’re just in off the road and they’ll prob’ly sleep for a while anyway.”
“Hey, you know it’s no problem. They’ll be safe here. Bring ’em into the house.”
“Thanks, man. I knew I could count on you.”
“Any time.”
Romeo had spoken to Lily Fakaofo, Doug’s wife, from a pay phone in El Centro. Doug was out at the time, but Lily had told Romeo they’d be happy to see him. The Fakaofos lived in Hacienda Heights, a largely Samoan-American section of Los Angeles. The Samoan community was a tight one, distrustful of mainstream America; they kept mostly to themselves. Not even the police knew much about the people there, and Romeo figured it would be a perfect place to stash Estrellita and Duane while he and Perdita delivered the shipment to Reggie in Hollywood.
Doug “Big Brown” Fakaofo had been in the Marines with Romeo, and they’d kept in touch. The Fakaofos were heavy reefer users and they greatly appreciated the kilos Romeo sent them via UPS from Texas on their birthdays and at Christmastime. Both Doug and Lily were large individuals, Doug going about two-eighty and Lily a nifty two-ten or so. Lily’s brother, Tutu Nukuono, whom Romeo had met only once, weighed well over three hundred pounds. Tutu had worked as a plumber with Doug until a few months before, when he beat a cop to death with a chain during a brawl in the parking lot of the Moonlight Lagoon, a local bar that catered mainly to Pacific islanders. Tutu was now serving a life sentence without possibility of parole at Folsom.
“I sure was sorry to hear about your brother, Lily,” Romeo said. “He’s a good kid.”
Lily shrugged. “He shoulda known better than to stomp a uniform. Him and a bunch of his biker buddies got carried away wailin’ on some Devil’s Dragons, I guess it was, who’d strayed into the neighborhood.”
“White boys lookin’ for strange-colored pussy,” said Doug. “They got into it with Tutu’s gang, the cops come, one of the blues tangled with Tutu, and that was it. Only reason he didn’t get the gas was there weren’t no way they could prove premeditation.”
“Well, I know Folsom ain’t no picnic,” said Romeo.
Doug nodded. “Yeah, but Tutu already got himself some friends inside. Anybody can handle it, he will. Let’s go get your people.”
Lily told Romeo she’d feed Duane and Estrellita, then lock them in the back bedroom, the one Tutu had used. Doug volunteered to ride shotgun for Romeo in the truck; Perdita would follow them in the Cherokee and they’d all drive back together to Hacienda Heights.
“She’s some tough, sexy-lookin’ lady, that Perdita,” Dough said to Romeo as they headed off to deliver the goods.
Romeo grinned. “Think she’s a keeper, do ya?”
Doug laughed. “Guess I could keep her occupied for a hour or few, I concentrated hard enough,” he said.
“Never doubted you for a minute, Big Brown. Perdita Durango’s somethin’ all right. Picked her up at a fruitshake stand in New Orleans. The creature’s got a mind of her own, though, you know?”
“Just have to be sure she don’t stay awake longer’n you do, she’s angry about somethin’. Some women you need to watch like that. Lily’s on my side all the way, always has been.”
“You’re a lucky fellow, Doug. Stay that way.”
“Tryin’ to. What you plan to do with those kids?”
“It’s a good question. Think we’ve squeezed just about all the use out of ’em. They’ve seen too much to cut loose. I’ll deal with that pretty quick, soon as this is finished.”
Romeo kept checking in the sideview for Perdita. She stayed right behind them all the way. When Romeo brought the truck to a stop in front of the warehouse on Ivar, Perdita drove the Cherokee past it and parked a half-block up the street. Doug and Romeo got out and Romeo walked over and knocked on the side door of the building.
“Hola, primo! You made it okay, I see,” said Reggie, after opening the door. “Come on in.”
“I have a friend with me. This is Doug Fakaofo. You remember I told you about him, Reggie. ‘Big Brown.’ He was with me in Beirut.”
“Of course,” Reggie said, shaking hands with Doug. “Come in.”
As soon as the door closed, Woody Dumas got out of the K-car and motioned with his right arm to the men on the roof of the building next to the warehouse. At that moment, a dozen vehicles, carrying both federal and local law enforcement personnel, converged on the street, entering from either end. Two men used a battering ram on the door, which easily gave way, and most of the rest of them, led by Woody Dumas, ran in single file.
Woody saw Reginald San Pedro Sula, dressed in a blue denim leisure suit and wearing a Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap, fire two rounds from a .45 automatic; the first into the forehead of Romeo Dolorosa, the second into the left temple of Doug Fakaofo, killing each of them instantly.
“Federal agents!” Woody shouted, as the men surrounded the shooter.
Reggie dropped the gun and raised his hands. He started to smile, but before he could complete it several men grabbed him and threw him to the ground, causing his head to bang against the concrete floor. Woody knelt by the men who had been shot, verifying that they were dead. The forehead wound in the smaller of the two looked large enough for a decent-sized sewer rat to crawl through. The man’s mouth was open and Woody could not help but be impressed by his extraordinarily large, perfectly formed teeth that even in death radiated a powerful white light.