Mason Serrano was 23 and lived with his mother and sister in a small house on the edge of Jamaica Village. It was a one-story, poured-concrete structure with cream stucco siding, a pitched roof, and a patchy lawn surrounded by a chain-link fence.
A pit bull chained to a stake guarded the yard.
As we stepped to the gate, the dog found the end of the chain, snapping and growling. The canine was definitely an effective deterrent against knock-and-talks. I suspected that was the purpose.
I dug into my pocket and tossed a doggy treat over the fence. I kept them on hand for Buddy, and for situations like this. It wasn't the first time we'd encountered an ornery pit bull.
Chompers crunched on the doggy treat and didn't seem to mind at all when we stepped into the yard.
I tossed another one to the ground to keep him occupied, then continued up the walkway to the front porch. I put a heavy fist against the door.
The sound of a TV filtered down the foyer.
I figured someone was home.
Footsteps approached a few moments later, and the peephole flickered as someone peered out. "Who is it?"
"Coconut County," I said, flashing my badge to the lens.
The deadbolt unlatched, and a young woman pulled open the door. She was gorgeous, with wavy raven hair that danced past her shoulders. She had dark, smoldering eyes, full lips, and smooth skin. She had all the right curves.
"We’re looking for Mason. Is he around?”
She looked at me with cautious eyes. "What kind of trouble is he in?"
"No trouble. We just need to ask him a few questions.”
She knew better. "Questions mean he's in trouble.”
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I don't have to tell you shit.”
"I'm guessing you're his sister, Nova."
Her alluring eyes narrowed at me. "Looks like you've done your homework. Now I know he's in trouble."
This wouldn’t be the first time Mason had run afoul of the law. That was certain.
"He runs with a gang?" I asked, knowing the answer.
She huffed like it was a silly question.
"According to our records, he has several known gang affiliations.”
"Then why did you ask?"
"I'd like to hear it firsthand.”
"I'm going to ask you again. What did he do?"
The pit bull made his way up to the porch and sat beside me. He looked up with those sad eyes, licking his lips.
I reached a hand down and petted his head. I had a new friend. "Who's your brother hanging out with these days? According to our records, he got arrested with a guy named Shane Phillips a few years ago for shoplifting. Is he still hanging around that bad influence?"
The tension in her jaw told me everything I needed to know.
"Do you know a guy named Ethan Rexrode?”
