Neil Knight Private Dick

Lieutenant Fatass

"I don't see as we have much of a choice Sue Ellen" said Cotton after Vinnie had departed their home.

"Maybe" she replied. "But I don't cotton to no Coke Camels telling me what I do and do not need to do so I can continue breathin."

"And I apologize in advance to referencing your name in that way" she added.

"Apology accepted."

The Lopers had arrived at 20510 Regal Oaks Dr, Yorba Linda about 45 minutes before, with the Spradley's receiving Vinnie Fuentes and his street soldiers into their home. Their request to meet had initially been denied by Sue Ellen, but that decision was soon overturned by Cotton after he had completed a little research into who this Fuentes character was.

It seemed the proper protocol was to accept an invitation to meet with the leader of the Lopers gang. To do otherwise might invite the kind of trouble money couldn't buy one out of, even if one had the kind of money the Spradley's had.

The drive from 1250 East MacFadden Avenue, Cornerstone Village in Santa Ana, the Lopers headquarters, had taken a little over thirty minutes as the group obeyed all traffic rules in an effort to attract as little attention a caravan of four large, black, steel reinforced, window tinted Escalades could possibly avoid.

Attention was drawn though, soon after the convoy passed by the security cameras outside of the Friendly Village of Anaheim mobile home park on East La Palma Avenue in Yorba Linda. These security video cameras, mounted next to traffic lights, fed directly into the Orange County Sheriff's office. The vehicle license scanning technology built into the software immediately alerted the systems monitor that the passing vehicles were registered to Victor Fuentes, which then set in motion a protocol developed to monitor gang related activities.

The phone rang in the office of Helen Wilson-Watson.

"Wilson-Watson" she spoke into the receiver.

"The Gang Activity Protocol in Yorba Linda and Anaheim Hills has been initiated Sheriff. Four vehicles registered to the Lopers have been spotted headed east on East La Palma Avenue."

"East? Then why the hell have you included Anaheim Hills in the protocol? La Palma's north of the 91. I don't need those idiots in Anaheim getting involved."

"Yes Ma'am" shot back the voice. "I'll cancel the notification to Anaheim."

"Fine" replied the Sheriff. "Now keep me apprised of their movements" she said as she hung up the phone and returned to the girl-on-girl action she had paused on her desktop computer screen. For the moment the mood had been ruined.

A second part of the protocol was to alert the Chief of Police Services at the sub-station in Arroyo Park.

"Hot damn" chortled Rip as the protocol alert sounded in the station, "Some Chili Shitter action."

As he hoisted himself out of his chair, he heard the all-too-familiar sucking sound of his pants releasing from the wooden seat. Just then he realized it had been hours since he'd returned from lunch at the Taboo Gentlemen's Club in Anaheim, and the limits of his incontinence underwear had been tested and had once again failed.

He reached into his bottom drawer, pulled out a fresh pair of pants and Depends, and headed to his private bathroom, his glee somewhat mollified. He swore next time he'd try Costco's brand.

With the necessary parties alerted, all that was left was to monitor the movements of the Lopers. No other actions were required. At least that's what the protocol directed.

As the procession moved through the Yorba Linda neighborhoods, slowly ascending toward the Spradley abode, other residents who were at home on an early Friday afternoon took notice from behind their curtains, fences or walls. Not only took notice but telephoned the police sub-station in Arroyo Park to register their concerns.

They knew Rip Goldstone was a man of action.

And he knew the good people of Yorba Linda would expect to see his police SUV crawling through their neighborhoods soon to set their families minds at ease. He barely had time to wipe himself down, slip into dry undergarments and pull on a pressed pair of blue slacks. The unspoken challenges of being a guardian of justice.

The New Year's resolution to which both Dee Dee and Leilani had agreed, and the only one they had been able to keep, was to work half days on Fridays and then retreat to their home on Cassia Lane where they would retire to their pool with a cool beverage. Leilani happened to be at the kitchen window as the Escalade caravan pulled past their home, swung left onto Regal Oaks Drive, turned around in the cul-de-sac at the end of the street, and parked outside in a line outside 20510. The Spradleys home.

Suddenly Double Dee was at her side.

"Isn't that the.."he began.

"...the folks who ratted us out to the fat slob cop? she completed his sentence. "The people who think celebrations should be quiet and reserved? Yes, that's them. The Spradleys."

"Looks like a funeral procession" she continued.

The driver of the first car exited the vehicle and opened the passenger door directly behind him, and someone in black jeans, a wife beater, gold chains and a LA Dodgers baseball hat slid out onto the pavement.

And with that Dee Dee froze.

"Holy Shit" he said.

"What?" was his wife's reply.

"That's Lopers."

"That's Vinnie Fuentes."

"Holy Shit" said Leilani. "Whose funeral?"

The troupe left their vehicles as the iron gates at the end of the Spradley's driveway swung inward, and walked on patterned stones toward the estate, now out of view of Dee Dee and Leilani.

Moments later, with the two still transfixed at their window, a black and white SUV passed slowly by their home, curling and coming to a rest at the intersection of Cassia Lane and Regal Oaks.

"Holy Shit" said Dee Dee.

"Lieutenant Fatass" whispered Leilani.