TURBO DETECTIVE STORIES
FROM EAST LOS ANGELES
DURING THE 1970s
Saving the Family Ranch
The Missing Mural
Rival Gangs
A Botanist Gone Missing
The Missing Muralist
The Family Farm is Under Attack
Keeping Olvera Street Original
The Missing Teacher
Run Run Run Run Runaway
Neon City’s Ghost
Malicious Computer Code
High-Speed Rail Incidents
THE MISSING MELODY
Human Trafficking
The case of the Missing Daughter
The case of the Missing Punk Rocker
The Missing Artifact
Vandals on the Loose
Finding Pablo
The Vanishing Daughter
The Tagger
Turbo Got in Over His Head
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FROM EAST LOS ANGELES DURING THE 1970s by Robert Nerbovig
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The hot California sun baked the cracked asphalt of the East L.A. streets. Turbo wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped out of his powder blue Chevy Corvette Convertible, which had been completely restored, after competing on the local drag strips, Irwindale and Pomona raceway. Turbo a devoted car enthusiast, bought the corvette and completely restored it. It has a 500 Cu. Inch Moroso motor, 4” bubble hood, 2” dropped front end, new interior, new paint, Goodyear 60 tires, American Mags, and a 3000 RPM stall-speed on the torque converter. Despite the 1970s being in full swing, the “barrios” hadn’t changed much since the 50s. Lowriders cruised the boulevards, hydraulics hitching up the rear wheels. As Chicano rap and funk rhythms filled the air, creating a unique soundscape that resonated with the people on the street. The tantalizing aroma filled the air from the street vendors and the open windows of shops selling tamales and raspadas. If you listened closely, you could almost hear the melancholy notes of oldies drifting up from backyard barbecues. Turbo is about 5'8" with a muscular and athletic build, his ruggedly handsome face features striking brown eyes and a strong jawline, his hair is naturally dark brown, and is typically styled in a short, cropped cut. Turbo will often sport a light stubble or well-groomed beard. As he stepped out of his car he straightened his leather jacket, his eyes sweeping across the familiar landscape. This was his turf - he knew where every pothole was, and how every graffiti tag held a story. Those sleazy joints masquerading as respectable businesses, couldn’t fool him. As a private eye in this gritty part of town, he encountered all sorts: from the Gangbangers, hustlers, and those housewives that were getting a little too friendly with the milkman. He checked his surroundings once more before lighting up a lucky Strike. This was another day of solving cases and keeping the city's seedy underbelly in check. A slow smile crept across Turbo's face, let the fun begin he murmured as he flicked away the match. Let the fun begin. Each case was different, a microcosm of the simmering tensions of East LA. Turbo navigated a world of suspicion, petty crime, and misplaced dreams. His office became a confessional booth, a stage for the city's hidden stories. By the end of the month, the tamales had been replaced by a dented coffee pot, this change is a concession to the endless nights spent tailing philandering husbands, tracking down stolen guitars, and searching for a runaway daughter. Saving the Family Ranch A new client appeared at the door, Cat Cordero he was a grizzled old man with a weathered face and wearing a worn old black cowboy hat. Like a story reminiscent of the old West, he sat down, and his story began to unfold like a forgotten Western. His ranch, the heart of his family for generations, was under threat from Blake Morgan a Developer, known for seeking inexpensive land, and posed a threat to the ranch that had been the heart of his family for generations, nestled in a valley untouched by the city's sprawl, was under threat from a ruthless developer with a taste for cheap land. Turbo looked at the man, another victim of a city constantly pushing its boundaries, and a weary sigh escaped his lips. He knew what he had to do. The grizzled rancher, Cat Cordero he was a grizzled old man with a weathered face and wearing a worn old black cowboy hat. Like a story reminiscent of the old West, he sat down, and his story began to unfold, Cat, sat across from Turbo, his weathered face etched with worry. His ranch, the heart of his family for generations, was under threat from Blake Morgan a Developer, known for seeking inexpensive land, and posed a threat to the ranch that had been the heart of his family for generations, nestled in a valley untouched by the city's sprawl. Turbo looked at the man, another victim of a city constantly pushing its boundaries, and a weary sigh escaped his lips. He knew what he had to do. Morgan, a man with a shark-like grin and a reputation for dirty tactics, offered a pittance for the land, a sum that barely covered the property taxes. The days seemed to stretch endlessly, the heat causing the asphalt to shimmer like a mirage. This case was different. It wasn't about stolen goods or missing persons. It was about a fight for a way of life, a battle against the relentless tide of progress that threatened to swallow whole the quiet dignity of Mr. Cordero's ranch. A flicker of something akin to nostalgia flickered in Turbo's eyes, Turbo understood the rancher's attachment to the land, the deep-rooted connection transcending mere ownership. The days seemed to stretch endlessly, the heat causing the asphalt to shimmer like a mirage. Turbo, ever the resourceful investigator, dug into Morgan's past, He discovered a trail of broken promises and dubious land deals, a pattern of exploiting legal loopholes and intimidating landowners. The rancher, despite his calloused hands and quiet demeanor, possessed a fierce determination to protect his heritage. A breakthrough came from an unlikely source - a disgruntled ex-employee of Morgan's, a woman named Velia who felt cheated out of her fair share in a previous land deal. Velia, fueled by a desire for revenge and a sense of justice, shared incriminating documents that exposed Morgan's plan to exploit a hidden mineral deposit on the Cordero ranch. Armed with this information, Turbo and Cat Cordero approached the local environmental commission. They presented a compelling case, highlighting the ecological significance of the untouched valley and the potential damage Morgan's development plans could wreak. The rancher's passionate plea, combined with Velia's damning evidence, swayed the commission. An injunction was placed on the development, putting a temporary halt to Morgan's bulldozers. Cat Cordero, with a grateful nod and a calloused hand extended in thanks, bid Turbo farewell. The victory felt significant, a small win against the forces of unchecked greed. Yet, Turbo knew the fight wasn't over. Morgan, a man with a vindictive streak, wouldn't go down easily. The Missing Mural A new client, a nervous young woman named Margaret, walked into Turbo's office. Her story, a tale of a missing mural and a threatened cultural center in the heart of East LA, felt like a familiar echo. The mural, a vibrant tapestry depicting the history of the Latino community, was more than just art; it was a symbol of their resilience and identity. A wealthy developer, with plans for a luxury condo complex, intended to demolish the cultural center, erasing the mural and a vital piece of the community's soul. Turbo looked at Margaret, her eyes burning with a fierce pride, and a familiar weariness settled over him. But then, a spark of determination ignited in his own eyes. The city may never truly rest, but neither would he. He was Turbo, and this was his city. And as long as there were shadows threatening to engulf the light, he would be there, a solitary figure in a worn fedora, ready to face them, one case at a time. Smoke tendrils rose from a crumpled pack of cigarettes on the desk, beside a faded flyer depicting the missing mural – a vibrant explosion of colors depicting generations of Latino families weaving through the city's history. Margaret, the young woman who'd brought the case, sat across from him, her fire tempered by anxiety. "They say it's progress, Mr. Turbo," she said, her voice laced with anger and despair. "But what progress is it that erases our stories?" Turbo, the lines on his face etched deeper by the relentless parade of East LA's struggles, understood. This wasn't just about bricks and mortar. This was a fight for identity, for a community's right to its own narrative. Following a trail of rumors and whispers, Turbo found himself in the polished office of the developer, a man named Parker Thorne. Thorne, with his manicured nails and condescending smile, embodied everything the community feared. He saw the cultural center and the mural as mere inconveniences, disposable relics of a bygone era. The investigation took a detour when a local artist named Mondo, known for his graffiti murals depicting the city's soul, came to Turbo with a tip. He'd overheard a conversation at a swanky bar about a "relocation project." Apparently, Thorne wasn't just planning to demolish the cultural center; he intended to "salvage" the mural – a euphemism that sent shivers down Turbo's spine. He connected the dots – Thorne planned to dismantle the mural, break it into pieces, and sell them off at a premium to wealthy art collectors, erasing its significance in the process. With time running out and fueled by a righteous anger, Turbo devised a plan. He enlisted Mondo and a ragtag crew of local artists, their brushes and spray cans their weapons. He rallied the community, their voices rising in a chorus of protest. Social media, a new and powerful tool, amplified their cause. The day of Thorne's demolition crew arrival dawned tense. Yet, instead of a bulldozer, a sea of protestors greeted them. Local journalists, alerted by the social media frenzy, documented the spectacle. The cameras flashed, capturing the anger and the unity of the community. The police, caught in the crossfire, were forced to delay the demolition. The fight extended to the city council chambers, a battle fought with words and passionate pleas. Margaret, her voice trembling but strong, spoke of the mural's significance, of the stories it held, the history it documented. Mondo, with a poet's eloquence, spoke of art as a heartbeat of a community. Against the odds, public pressure swayed the council. A preservation order was passed, a temporary victory for the cultural center and the mural. A tired but triumphant Margaret offered Turbo a warm embrace, a silent acknowledgement of their shared fight. The community, energized by their success, rallied around the cultural center, organizing fundraising events and volunteering their time to refurbish the building. Rival Gangs A new client walked in, a young man named Bobby, his eyes filled with a desperate hope. His brother, Georgie, a talented musician who'd helped Turbo in a previous case, had gone missing after a run-in with a notorious gang leader. Turbo, with a sigh that mirrored the city's perpetual churn, accepted the case. He knew what he had to do. As he looked out his window, the relentless sunshine glinted off the vibrant colors of the saved mural, a testament to the community's spirit. It was a small victory, a fleeting moment of peace, before the city's relentless rhythm pulled him back into the fray. He was Turbo, and this was his city. And as long as the shadows lurked, he would be there, a solitary figure in a worn fedora, ready to face them, one case, one fight for justice, at a time. The air hung heavy with the smell of desperation and simmering tension. Inside Turbo's office, the air conditioner wheezed its last, offering little respite from the relentless sun. Bobby, the young man seeking his brother, Georgie, sat across from him, worry etched on his youthful face. Bobby, the talented musician who'd helped in the case against the veterans' home drug ring, had vanished without a trace after a heated confrontation with Eddie "El Serpiente" Ramirez, leader of the notorious Calle Serpiente gang. This was different. This wasn't a missing person or a petty theft. This was a tangled web of gang loyalty, territorial disputes, and a power struggle that threatened to erupt into violence. Turbo felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He knew the dangers of delving into the underbelly of gang warfare, but Bobby's desperation mirrored the city's own yearning for a semblance of peace. With a heavy sigh, Turbo accepted the case. The following days were a blur of dead ends and cryptic warnings. Turbo revisited the scene of the argument, a dingy bar frequented by lowlifes and fringe gang members. He spent nights trawling the city's underbelly, a lone wolf amidst a pack of snarling predators. He talked to anyone who knew Georgie - fellow musicians, barflies, even a disillusioned ex-gang member who confided in a whispered conversation over greasy diner coffee. Each interaction chipped away at Turbo's optimism, revealing a city fractured by violence, fueled by a desperate search for power and respect. August arrived, bringing with it the annual Calle Serpiente block party, a dubious celebration of the gang's dominance. Turbo, disguised in a worn leather jacket and a baseball cap pulled low, navigated the throng of bodies, a silent observer amidst the cacophony of music and bravado. He spotted El Serpiente, a charismatic but cold-eyed young man radiating a dangerous aura. Every fiber of Turbo's being screamed caution, but he knew this was his only chance to gather information, even if it meant walking into the lion's den. He approached El Serpiente under the guise of seeking a lost friend who, coincidentally, resembled Georgie. The gang leader's eyes narrowed, but something about Turbo's weathered face and quiet demeanor seemed to disarm him. In a tense exchange, El Serpiente admitted to a confrontation with Georgie but denied any knowledge of his whereabouts. A flicker of doubt crossed El Serpiente's face, however, a hint that something more sinister might be at play. A breakthrough came from an unexpected source – a young woman named Cece, an aspiring journalist who frequented the same diner as Turbo. Cece, fueled by a desire for truth and a fierce loyalty to her neighborhood, revealed she'd overheard a conversation between two Calle Serpiente members mentioning a rival gang, Gymtown, and a "debt to be settled." Following this lead, Turbo, with Cece as his reluctant partner, ventured into the heart of Gymtown territory. The streets were tense, every glance a potential threat. They found their target – a wiry man with a scarred face and a menacing glint in his eyes known as "El Diablo." Under the duress of a well-placed threat and a surprising assist from Cece's quick wit, El Diablo revealed a shocking truth: Gymtown had lured Georgie into their territory, mistaking him for a rival gang member. Armed with this information, Turbo, El Serpiente (reluctantly drawn into a precarious alliance), and Cece stormed a derelict warehouse on the city's outskirts, the suspected location of Georgie's captivity. The ensuing confrontation was a blur of adrenaline and violence. Fists flew, gunshots echoed in the cavernous space. Through it all, Turbo pushed forward, a relentless force fueled by a desperate hope. He found Georgie, dazed and injured, but alive. Relief washed over Turbo, a fleeting moment of victory amidst the chaos. El Serpiente, forced to confront the repercussions of his gang's actions, agreed to a truce with Gymtown, a fragile peace brokered by the unlikely alliance. Cece, her journalistic instincts kicking in, captured the entire confrontation on her camera, a story that promised to expose the city's brutal gang wars. The truce brokered by Turbo held, a testament to the precarious balance of power in the city's underworld. Georgie, physically and emotionally scarred, reunited with his teary-eyed brother Bobby. El Serpiente, his charisma dimmed by a newfound vulnerability, offered a curt nod of respect to Turbo in a silent acknowledgement of his role in the events. 
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