Ishmael is in a deep sleep when he is shaken awake to meet with parole. Homicide passes him the letter that says to report in the Adult Parole at 9am. Crossing town they get held up by a school bus that collided with Toyota mini truck that tried to squeeze through when the bus made a wide turn. It’s a minor fender bender but only way out was to drive up on the sidewalk the wrong way and dip thought the side streets and alleyways. This got him in the door at 9:07 and he knew this was a trip back to jail. No way he would be walking out of here. He gave his name at the window, was told to wait on second floor and every bone in his body was telling him to go on the run. He was more curious than scared but thoughts of driving into Mexico and getting an English speaking job in Belize or Cuba filled his mind.
He kept getting up to drink water and no one seemed to be ready to chase him down if he bolted for the parking lot. Before the urge to go on the lamb was uncontrollable… his name was called by a short but ravishingly beautiful Officer with glasses and a warm smile. She says, “I’m not going to dock you for being late because I had a chance to eat a late breakfast but next time we will have problems.” He follows her to little interview room with no windows, a plastic potted plant and inspirational posters on the wall, Jr. College flyers and schedules for domestic violence classes. He is nervous, and hesitant to shake her hand. She says, “You don’t remember me do you?” He honestly has no idea. “…We went to elementary together and used to trade action figures and comic books.” He instantly gets it. They had a crush on each other and used to play fight has Han Solo and Leia from Return of the Jedi.
She gets serious and opens an appointment book. “I am officer Willows, ordinarily this would be a conflict of interest but we are short staffed and I don’t see a problem with us working together if we can keep it professional.” She is beautiful and he keeps thinking of the “Comic Book Mafia” they used to have a little club where they would buy and sell comics which was a highly looked down on by the school. Officer Willows continues, “You will need to have a job and make regular payments to your fines and fees unless you want to be coming back here forever.” Ishmael is confused, “I served my entire sentence, despite being innocent. Why do I have to come to Adult Parole when my case was as a minor?”
Willows says, “I don’t know the specifics of your case, but you got 7 years suspended as an adult, stay away from police contact, and can test clean for drugs and alcohol I can let you off in 3 years. If you pay your fees early I will petition the court to cut you short. But any police contact you will be in prison until you are 30.” He wants to start yelling and kick a chair into the wall but he only grumbles in his head. Willows asks, “Do you have any prospects for employment or school? What are you good at?” Ishmael thinks, he can’t say tattooing, chopping up lowriders or selling weed but those are his first thoughts. He remembers his ambitions as a kid to draw comic books, direct movies or write code for video games so he’s says as much. This gets a big smile and she gives him a business card with an appointment in two weeks. “I need you to do a urinalysis test, are you ready?” Handing him a cup and pointing out the bathroom where some stern Cop is watching you go.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Relieved to be out of the grasp of the system... Mail Man and Homicide decide to cruise around Venice Blvd, Robertson and West Pico for nostalgia. Check out the spots that have changed. Whole strips of houses are gone, replaced by nothing. Empty fields with developer signs. Ishmael wants to check on his brother but doesn’t want to deal with his mom, Homicide goes in and speaks to her. Comes running out with a note covered in blood from the neighbor saying Israel got beat up and shot in the foot with a name of the hospital. They race out of the little side street off Sawtell where the mother lived. They didn’t see two sinister looking Sheriffs in an unmarked car furtively follow them onto the freeway. Pulling up the the Wexler-Day Trauma Center they park diagonally across the ambulance bay and run inside.
The nurses security conscious won’t tell Ishmael any info because he is not the guardian. This causes a guard to step forward and get two pieced by Homicide who seriously startles the security guard with the first punch. Really knocked him out on the balls of his feet. Homicide has that glee in his eye that this is about to get carried away. Ishmael tries to stop him as another nasty combo lands on the guards eyes and chin as he is knocked out on his feet. A final punch to the jaw with a sickening pop sound. Ishmael knew this guy was suffering an internal dislocation of the cheek bone and right orbital. Falling back onto the counter, mouth full of blood and broken teeth, legs involuntarily kicking in slow motion video of Elvis from the 50s. This will be a trip back to jail as an accomplice for sure.
The nurses don’t even panic. They are veterans and get loud and crazy them selves. Big sturdy women who react by taking ear rings and bracelets off to get physically involved. Just as the two Sheriffs in plain clothes rush in the double doors a gunshot goes off down a long hallway clear to the other side of the block. Ishmael makes eye contact with one and notices they are both wearing what looks like beanies but on closer inspection are baklavas with eye holes. He looks at the bulge of a gun belt and ankle holster. They are here to kill him. His instincts about these things refined over years of institutional combat. The Sheriffs run past him to address the gunshots giving time for Homicide and Mail Man to bum rush the doors to the Trauma ward in the chaos. Iggy should be in the ER.
Checking all the closed curtains he sees a lot of old people hooked up to tubes, young guys glaring while handcuffed, hookers with cut up faces and several cholos holding a vigil around a dying compatriot. Thinking they struck out Mail Man turns back to the way they came in and sees unmistakable… his brother Israel sitting with the nurses eating ice cream and having his wound dressed by a hot nurse with a round ass. They don’t say any thing, jump up in a display of joyous homecoming or any thing. Just a shared smirk and subtle handshake. Nurses realize this is his ride and hand over papers to sign with out asking any intrusive questions. The nurse wheels Israel to the door where they have to take back their wheel chair and trade it for crutches. Israel has a grey plastic brace on his foot and a blue cast. Before long they are headed to a diner to catch up.