The barrel stared me down. I was never a fan of being on this end of it. With caution, I reached for my badge and displayed it.
He lowered the weapon. “What the fuck do you want?”
I pointed to the Dominator. “That your car?”
Jay Dub’s face wrinkled. “I don’t talk to cops. Get the hell out of here!”
“Just a few simple questions.”
He stepped back inside and locked the door.
The car was in the gated area, and well within range of Chompers. We weren’t going to get a closer look without a warrant. We didn’t have enough probable cause at the moment.
We banged on neighboring doors. My hope was that maybe someone saw Jay Dub coming or going in the GT the night of the murders, but nobody would talk to us.
We drove a few blocks over to the Pine Crest Place apartments. Several brown multi-unit buildings comprised the complex. A few towering palms swayed overhead. Like most of the complexes in this area, landlords stretched out maintenance schedules as much as possible, and the grounds were in need of attention.
Jack drove through the parking lot, and we spotted another black Dominator GT. He found a place to park, and we hopped out and approached the vehicle.
It was an outdoor car and had seen better days. The rear tread was almost bare, and the paint was a little oxidized in spots. The dark-tinted windows had a few bubbles and had a slight purplish cast from an ammonia-based cleaner. There were two bullet holes in the rear quarter panel. I shared a look with JD.
“This may be our car,” he said.
I cupped my hands and peered in through the windows, looking for spent shell casings.
I didn’t see any.
“You fuck with Edwin’s car, he’s gonna kill you,” a kid on a bike said when he pulled up. He couldn’t have been more than 8.
I smiled and said, “Just looking. It’s a nice car.”
The kid eyed me with suspicion. “You a cop?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Ain’t nobody around here dumb enough to touch Edwin’s car.”
I chuckled. “Is he around?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t talk to 5-O.” The kid rode off.
I shared another look with Jack.
A skinny guy approached with an angry face. He wore jeans, a leather bomber jacket, and a backwards red baseball cap. “What do you want with my car?”
“You must be Edwin.”
“Depends who’s asking.”
I flashed my badge.
Edwin was mid-20s and unimpressed with authority. “What do you want?”
“How’d you get the bullet holes?”
“I don’t know. It’s a rough neighborhood. Came outside one day and it was like that.”
I didn’t see any obvious gang tattoos, but his arms and legs were covered. Edwin had priors for possession, simple battery, and shoplifting.
