Death Notes

pulled out and made a U-turn to head south toward the Riff Club.
    ‘So what changed your mind?’
    ‘Listen, Mitch. This isn’t a good time. I’ll call you later.’
    ‘You never want to talk anymore, Ron.’
    ‘There’s a reason for that, Mitch. We’re not married anymore. We don’t have to talk.’
    He kept chattering like I hadn’t said a word until I finally hung up. That was Mitch - no matter how direct or rude I was, nothing ever blunted his single-minded need to ‘talk.’ When I came up on the Riff Club, there were enough police cars for a John Gotti takedown angle-parked in front of it. In the center was Philly Post’s unmarked sedan.
    I parked down the street and wandered over. There were clusters of uniformed cops dotting the street in front of the club but I knew none of them were going to tell me anything - I needed to find one alone. I looked around and spotted a guy, a civilian, across the street. He seemed to be taking it all in, an eager and curious expression on his face.
    I crossed the street and said, ‘Hey.’
    He smiled and nodded.
    ‘What happened?’ I asked.
    ‘They all just showed up. Five of them at once. They just kept on coming. I think it’s something inside the Riff.’
    ‘What?’
    He shrugged. ‘Dunno. I think they found something.’
    I kept walking down the street and dialed Lucius on my cell phone.
    ‘Yeah?’
    ‘Lucius?’
    ‘He’s busy. Who is this?’
    It was a cop. Great. ‘It’s his sister,’ I lied. ‘Tell him not to forget mom’s birthday.’
    The guy kind of grunted into the phone, then hung up.
    I kept walking and went around the corner to where the alley behind the Riff Club hits the street. My thought was to stroll down the alley and maybe peek inside the back door. But instead of an empty alley, there was a beehive of activity around the dumpsters in the back. And Philly Post was at the center.
    I started toward them like I was just a regular Joe Blow citizen out for an evening stroll, but before I took ten paces, somebody shouted at me. The whole crew of cops turned and looked at me. Post made an ugly face, said something to Johnson, who was standing beside him, then rushed up the alley to meet me.
    ‘Get out of here, Ventana.’
    ‘It’s a free country. What’s down there?’ I craned my neck to see over his shoulders. ‘Is this tied to Match’s murder? Did you find more evidence? What’s in the dumpster?’
    ‘This is a crime scene. You’re interfering with an investigation, Ventana. If you don’t leave - right now - I’ll have one of the guys take you in.’
    ‘Come on, Post. Twenty minutes ago we were conferring. Now I’m public enemy number one? Make up your mind here. It’s more evidence in Match’s case, right?’
    Post turned and beckoned to one of the uniformed cops. As the guy came toward us, Post turned back to me and said, ‘Last chance.’
    The fact that I didn’t immediately bolt seemed to strengthen his resolve against me.
    ‘Officer Ruben, I want you to escort Ms Ventana to her car and make sure she leaves the premises. If she doesn’t, hold her in your car till we’re done here.’
    I said, ‘Come on, Post. You know I’m going to find out anyway. What’s the big intrigue? Give me a break.’
    The beefy guy, who had the thickest mustache and widest shoulders I’d ever seen, looked around thirty years old, twenty-nine of which were probably spent at the gym working out and lifting weights. He nodded, first at Post, then at me. Then he took my elbow and gently steered me toward the mouth of the alley. I knew better than to resist.
    The uniformed cop didn’t say anything until we were past his colleagues loitering in front of the Riff, and had almost reached my car. Then he said, ‘You Cisco Ventana’s daughter? The cat burglar?’
    He gave my father’s name the Spanish pronunciation: Cees- co Ven -tahh- na.
    When I nodded, and said, ‘That’s right,’ he offered me a shy smile.
    ‘My dad used to play pool with yours.’
    ‘Was he a cop?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘That’s great. Where did they play, at that bar off Valencia?’ I kept him talking and reminiscing about his father, then steered the conversation to the scene behind the Riff.
    ‘So what’s back there?’ I asked.
    ‘Tell you the truth, I just got here. The radio call said it was a homicide but I didn’t see any body back there.’
    He glanced over his shoulder.
    ‘No ME truck. I think it’s a probable related incident to the earlier