Chapter 11. Downtown

Bill Maxwell honked on his horn, twice. Then - just to emphasize his point - he pressed down hard on the wheel. Still, the cars in front of him did not move.

The traffic leading up to The Slammed Box was at a stand still. It was like sitting on the L.A. Freeway on a Friday afternoon. Only now, his partner, the counselor, and a bunch of kids were in trouble at the other side of the stand still traffic.

Bill checked his watch. It was already 10:10.

"Damn!!!"

It had been at least a half an hour getting there. He was angry at the traffic, but more angry with himself for the poor response time. Worse than a rookie, he thought, beating himself up. He mumbled a few more choice words, then checked his watch again. Bill Maxwell had no intention of making it all the way across town - through back streets when necessary - only to be stopped just outside the scene.

Bill jerked the steering wheel to the right, and drove the right two wheels of his tan sedan up onto the sidewalk. Flicking on his hazzard lights, and jumping out of the car, he decided to take to foot.

Parking laws, be damned!

Racing through the sidewalks, he pushed past people standing by their cars, also waiting for the traffic to die down. Finally, he headed towards the flashing lights and a small fleet of LAPD cars. He approached the first officer he saw.

"Ok boys... what's going on here?" Bill asked, as he caught his breath. He reached into his suit jacket and flashed his badge. "Bill Maxwell, FBI."

"FBI?" the officer responded, annoyed. "You sure don't miss a beat... next thing you know, we'll be up to our knees in lawyers..." Bill cringed at the thought, then thought of the counselor.

"Listen, I've got some undercovers here, and I need to ..." Bill began. But before he could finish, he heard a familiar voice call out his name.

"Hey! Maxwell! Over here!"

Bill turned and looked across the street at Villacana and the rest of the band.

"Never mind, boys..." Bill said, patting the officer on the back.

"Those kids are your undercovers?"

"Yeah," Bill responded, "That kid in the leather jacket? Baby Face Barone, we call him... Best new fed in town. Rookie of the year...!" Bill's sarcasm was lost on the police officer. But what did it matter, as long as he bought his story? And what did that matter, as long as he could get on with it.

Bill jogged across the street, and over to the kids. Flashing his badge again, he convinced yet another officer that this group was working with him.

"What is going on, here?" Bill asked. "And where's Ralph...and the coun... Paaa... Miss Davidson... ?"

"I don't know, Mr. Maxwell" Rhonda replied, close to tears. "We haven't seen them all night. And Cyler's missing, too."

Bill looked at the blonde girl, then scanned the faces in front of him, trying to remember which one was Cyler.

Villacana... Rhonda... Rodriquez... and... oh yeah... Cyler... yeah...

"What are you kids doing here?" Bill asked, protectively. "What happened?" The officer in charge, interrupted, but upon seeing Bill's badge, let them have a few minutes to themselves.

Tony continued, explaining the gig, the fight, and the police raid.

"And don't forget, like, hiding under the stage!" Rodriguez chimed in. Tony shot him a threatening glare.

"And Cyler went off, to find a way out," Rhonda added. "But he never came back, Mr. Maxwell. He never came back!"

Bill scanned through the crowds, looking for Ralph. Or Pam. Or even Cyler.

"Hey Maxwell," Villacana asked, pulling Maxwell out of earshot of the rest of the band. "I don't wanna get them all upset, or nothing, but there were a whole buncha ambulances here. And a few body bags, too." Villacana tried to hide his fears behind a thin veil of Machismo. Maxwell, the great master of that technique, saw right through it, and took a deep breath.

"Ok, I want you kids do what the nice officers tell ya...ok? I'm gonna go start taking some names..."

- - -

"Johnson...Cyler Johnson," the exhausted teen responded. "C - y - l - e -r."

"And you are?"

"Pamela Davidson. Come on, now! We told you everything in the ride over!" Pam chastised the officer. "I need to get to Mercy Hospital, to find out what happened to Ralph!"

"It's ok, Miss Davidson," Cyler said, consoling her, and rubbing her back. "He'll be ok."

Not looking up, Officer Markus continued typing on the old typewriter as he continued. "Mr. Johnson, can you tell me exactly what happened at the club tonight."

"My band was supposed to play at the club tonight, but it was a mistake. Our manager's a complete bozo, see? And he booked us at the wrong club..."

"Tell me about the woman, Mr. Johnson..."

Cyler looked back at the officer, a bit surprised, and even a bit more embarrassed.

"Umm..."

"You said you saw a woman in the club, in the hallway. Near where you found that body..."

Pam, hearing those words, shook her head in her hand even more. Come on. Get a grip! She thought to herself. You've seen dead people before,on cases. What's the difference here?

She didn't want to think of the real difference - that Ralph was still unaccounted for.

"What did she look like, this woman?" Markus asked Cyler, who was becoming more uncomfortable by the moment.

"Uh, white, but not like you or Miss Davidson here. She was real white. Like a ghost... like chalk. And all punked out. With wild hair... red and black and white. Dreads and spikes, ya know?"

"How old...?"

"I don't know."

"Your age?" he asked, still trying to get at least a general description.

Cyler thought about it for a few moments. It was hard to tell. "If I had to guess?"

"If you must."

Cyler gave the officer a dirty look, although it was wasted on the man as he typed. Pam looked at him, wondering exactly went on. Until then, she hadn't noticed the bright red lipstick on his chin, smeared all the way to his ear. She reached over to him, and quickly rubbed the red off. Cyler, embarrassed by the whole situation, looked down at the floor.

"I dunno..."

"Thirty? Thirty five."

"Maybe..."

Pam looked at Cyler, a bit confused. The look she gave Cyler was in the form of a question. "Older than me?" He was too embarrassed to look up and notice

"Thirty five?" Markus repeated, waiting for confirmation.

"I don't know," Cyler added. "Maybe she was... But she was dressed just like the rest of 'em. Maybe she was young, but she looked... real tired."

Finally, Markus looked up at the two sitting across his desk. "It'll be just a few more minutes. Miss Davidson. Now, can you describe the men who attacked you?"

Pam began to describe them, as Markus typed. He responded only with the occassional "Uh, huh..." Finally, Markus swivelled in his chair and grabbed three large black binders filled with photographs. He placed them in front of Pam, and asked her to look through them. He swivelled in his chair once more, and grabbed a thin black book just like the one in front of Pam. This one he handed to Cyler.

"Take look in these, and lemme know if you find them." The officer stood up, and walked towards the coffee machine. Pam opened the first page to find photos of dozens of men on each page. Cyler's pages, fewer in number, were all women. Impatiently, she got up and followed after Markus.

"Officer," she pleaded. "I have to warn you, I am an attorney. So if you have any plans of charging us..."

"Should I?" Markus cut her off, then sympathetically sighed, and decided to give the distraught woman a break. "Look, you know the procedure. We're not charging you. We just need to get all the information, maybe an I.D. or two. After that, you're free to go."

Pam's look of worry did not change.

"What is going on?"

"You understand I am not at liberty to discuss it with you," he responded. "It's an open investigation, and none of the facts are in yet. We don't even have our suspects lined up, yet." Markus pointed to his desk, the books, and Cyler as he slowly turned some pages. But when he realized neither his authority nor his patronizing were working with Pam, he made a deal.

"Look, I will make some calls, and see how your fiancé is doing. Then as soon as we go through all those books, I'll personally drive you to Mercy." Markus walked Pam back to her seat, and tapped on the cover of the top binder. Reluctantly, she opened the top book, once more.

"Mr. Johnson," Markus asked, as he turned again to get his coffee. "When you're through with that, we have some tapes we need you to listen to."

- - -

"We got an anonymous call from some chick. Next thing we know, we're busting the place, and loading body bags in the meat wagon. Whoever did this is looking at eight counts of first degree murder... and who knows how many other charges. This joint was nothing but a breeding ground for some crazy anarchists... but we never had anything on them until we got the tip. "

"Eight?!" Bill repeated after the lieutenant, still surprised by the number. "Wow... eight... Well, listen, three of my guys are missing. An' I can't find them anywhere! So you gotta help me find them."

"When did the FBI get involved in this?" the officer asked Bill, skeptically.

"Well, you can add kidnaping to that list of charges..." Bill said, winging it as he went along. "Interstate kidnaping. Last I checked, that was in our jurisdiction, right? Look, they, uh, may have some leads, you know, so maybe we can help each other out here..." "

The officer was not quite convinced, but too tired to argue with the agent. He got on his walkie talkie, and asked some questions.

"Ok, Maxwell. We've got two kids downtown - a pretty attorney, and some kid she was with."

"Yeah! That's them!"

"And your third guy may be at Mercy General. We sent a few down there bout half an hour ago."

Bill looked worried, knowing without the suit, his partner was just as susceptible to danger as anyone else. And considering just how used Ralph was getting to facing danger while in his suit, Bill worried that he may have done something stupid without it on.

But worrying wasn't going to help Ralph.

"OK, Mac! Thanks!" Bill called back to the officer, as he dashed off again and headed towards his car.

- To Be Continued -