TURBO AND PABLO DETECTIVE STORIES
FROM EAST LOS ANGELES
DURING THE 1980s
Prologue
The Baseball Player is Out
Attempted Noodle Takeover
The Screenwriter has Vanished
My Sister Has Disappeared
Roberto is Getting a Bum Rap
Miguel’s Cold Case Killing
Maria’s Missing Brother
The Contaminated Building
Sofia Is Missing
Where is My Daughter
Assisting the ATF
Street Artist Gets Lost
The Bus Accident
The Nanobot Data Leak
The Panicked Environmentalists
Affordable Housing in Demand
Turbo and Pablo’s Tales
Teddy Fights for Affordable Housing
Project Utopia
The EPA and its Hidden Secrets
The Campaign Advisors
The Disappearing Programmer
CRISPR Gene Editing for Profit
Turbo and Pablo Hired as Company PI’s
Genetic Engineering Out of Control
The Luddites
The Green Zone
Lily’s Revitalization Project
Hacking into the Human Brain
Turbo and Pablo, Political Advisors
Turbo and Pablo’s Fight for a Better City
Turbo and Pablo Say Goodnight
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FROM EAST LOS ANGELES DURING THE 1980s by Robert Nerbovig
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East Los Angeles, 1980s—an urban jungle where the sun scorched the pavement by day and neon lights bathed the streets in a garish glow by night. It was a city of contrasts, where dreams and despair coexisted in a delicate, often treacherous balance. In this chaotic tapestry, two figures stood out, carving their path amidst the turmoil: Turbo and Pablo, small-time private investigators with a penchant for justice and a flair for the dramatic. Turbo, the silent sentinel, moved through the world with an air of stoic determination. His pride and joy was a meticulously restored 1957 Chevy, a gleaming relic of a bygone era. The car, much like Turbo himself, was solid, reliable, and a beacon of integrity in a world rife with corruption. Turbo’s eyes, always shielded by dark aviators, missed nothing. He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes. Pablo, the former active-duty Marine, in stark contrast, was the voice of the duo—a quick-witted charmer with a knack for reading people and a silver tongue that could talk its way out of almost any situation. Where Turbo provided the muscle and the methodical approach, Pablo brought intuition and a deep understanding of the human psyche. Together, they formed a formidable team, their contrasting styles blending into a seamless partnership that few could rival. Their office, a cramped space above a bakery on Whittier Blvd., was cluttered with case files, old newspapers, and the lingering scent of pan dulce. The sign on the door, though faded and chipped, still read "Turbo & Pablo: Private Investigators"—a name that had become synonymous with hope for the downtrodden and desperate. In a city where the line between right and wrong was often blurred, Turbo and Pablo became the unyielding sentinels of justice. They took on the cases others wouldn’t touch, delving into the dark heart of East LA to rescue the lost, the forgotten, and the betrayed. Their reputation grew with each solved case, their bond strengthening with each danger faced. Theirs was not an easy path. Every day brought new challenges, new adversaries, and new mysteries. Yet, Turbo and Pablo faced it all with unwavering resolve, driven by a shared belief in the possibility of redemption and the pursuit of truth. In the gritty streets of East Los Angeles, amidst the smoky haze of crime and corruption, they stood as beacons of hope, ready to fight for those who could not fight for themselves. This is their story—a tale of courage, loyalty, and the relentless quest for justice in a world that often seemed devoid of it. It is the story of Turbo and Pablo, the guardians of East LA. Cecelia’s Missing Mechanic East Los Angeles, 1984. The summer sun had just begun its descent, casting long shadows over the city streets. Turbo and Pablo were wrapping up another day of investigative work. The office was cluttered but familiar, with papers strewn about, and a coffee pot that never seemed to be full. Turbo sat behind his desk, methodically organizing files. He was a man of precision, each movement deliberate, his thoughts hidden behind a pair of dark aviators. Across from him, Pablo leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk, flipping through a worn-out notebook filled with contacts and leads. The quiet was broken by a soft knock on the door. Pablo straightened up, glancing at Turbo, who gave a barely perceptible nod. "Come in," Pablo called out. The door creaked open to reveal a woman in her mid-thirties, her face etched with worry. She clutched a photograph in one hand and a crumpled note in the other. "Are you Turbo and Pablo?" she asked, her voice tinged with desperation. "We are," Turbo replied, standing up. "How can we help you?" The woman stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "My name is Cecelia," she began, her voice shaking slightly. "My husband, Anthony, has gone missing. He's a mechanic, and he hasn't come home for three days. The police aren't doing anything." Pablo motioned for her to sit. "Tell us everything you know, Cecelia," he said gently. Cecelia handed them the photograph, showing a man in his early forties, smiling broadly in front of a garage. "This is Anthony," she said. "He left for work three days ago and never came back. I found this note in our mailbox the next day." She handed the note to Turbo, who read it silently before passing it to Pablo. The note was short and ominous: "Stay out of it, or you'll regret it." Pablo frowned, his mind already racing. "Do you have any idea who might want to harm your husband?" Cecelia shook her head. "Anthony is a good man. He doesn't have enemies, at least none that I know of. But he did mention something strange a few weeks ago. He said he saw something he shouldn't have at the garage where he works." Turbo and Pablo exchanged a glance. This was their kind of case—murky, dangerous, and right up their alley. "We'll find him," Turbo said with a confidence that seemed to steady Cecelia's nerves. As they gathered more details from Cecelia, Turbo couldn't help but think about the dangerous undercurrents of their city. East LA was a place where secrets festered and danger lurked in every shadow. But it was also a place where people like Turbo and Pablo thrived—those willing to dig deep and fight for the truth. They decided to start at Anthony's workplace, a small garage on Garfield Blvd. Turbo's Chevy roared to life, its powerful engine a comforting sound to both men. The drive was quiet, each man lost in his thoughts, their minds already working through the potential leads and dangers ahead. The garage was a modest building, its sign faded and windows dirty. They parked a block away, choosing to approach on foot. Turbo’s instincts told him to be cautious, and Pablo’s gut feeling agreed. Inside, the garage was dimly lit, the smell of oil and grease hanging heavy in the air. They were met by a burly man in a stained coverall, who eyed them suspiciously. "Can I help you?" he asked his tone less than welcoming. "We're looking for Anthony," Turbo said, his voice steady. "We heard he hasn't been around for a few days." The man’s eyes narrowed. "Anthony? Yeah, he hasn't shown up. Probably just ran off. Happens all the time around here." Pablo stepped forward, his charm on full display. "We just want to make sure he's okay. Any idea where he might have gone?" The man shrugged. "No clue. Now if you don't mind, I've got work to do." They left the garage, and their suspicions only heightened. Something was off, and they knew they were onto something bigger than a simple missing person case. Back in the Chevy, Turbo turned to Pablo. "We need to find out what Anthony saw. Let's start with the people around him." Pablo nodded, already dialing a number in his notebook. "I know a guy who might be able to help." As they drove off into the night, the city seemed to close in around them. Turbo and Pablo were stepping into the unknown, but they were ready. In East Los Angeles, where danger was a constant companion, they knew one thing for sure: they wouldn’t stop until they found Anthony and uncovered the truth. The case of the missing mechanic had just begun, and Turbo and Pablo were prepared to face whatever lay ahead, driven by their unyielding commitment to justice and each other. Pablo’s contact, Manny, was an old friend from their school days who had since become a bartender at one of East LA's seedier establishments. Manny had his ear to the ground and knew the whispers that traveled through the city's underworld. If anyone had information on Anthony or his disappearance, it would be him. They met Manny at Club Intimo, a dive bar tucked away in a forgotten corner of the city. The bar was dimly lit, filled with smoke and the low murmur of conversations. Manny, a wiry man with a quick smile and quicker hands, greeted them warmly. "Turbo, Pablo, long time no see," Manny said, shaking their hands. "What brings you to my humble abode?" Pablo leaned against the bar his demeanor casual but his eyes sharp. "We're looking for information, Manny. A mechanic named Anthony has gone missing, and we think he saw something he shouldn't have." Manny's smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of concern. "Anthony, huh? I heard some rumblings about a mechanic sticking his nose where it didn't belong. Word is, he saw something at the garage—something big." Turbo, ever the observer, noticed Manny’s hesitation. "What did he see, Manny? And who’s behind it?" Manny glanced around, lowering his voice. "There's been talk about a stolen car ring operating out of that garage. They're stripping down high-end cars, selling the parts, and making a fortune. Anthony must have stumbled onto their operation." Pablo nodded, his mind racing. "Any idea who’s running the show?" Manny shrugged. "There's a guy they call El Gato. He's been running things from the shadows, keeping a low profile but making big moves. If Anthony saw something, he's in serious trouble." Turbo and Pablo exchanged a glance. They had heard of El Gato, a ghostly figure in the criminal world with a reputation for ruthlessness. This was no ordinary case. "Thanks, Manny," Turbo said, slipping him a few bills. "Keep your ears open, and let us know if you hear anything else." As they left the bar, Turbo’s mind was already formulating a plan. "We need to find out more about this car ring and El Gato. If Anthony is still alive, he’s in deep." Pablo nodded, pulling out his notebook. "I’ve got a few contacts we can check in with. Let’s see if we can shake the tree a bit." Their next stop was a chop shop on the outskirts of East LA, known for dealing in stolen car parts. Turbo and Pablo approached cautiously, aware that this was enemy territory. The shop was bustling, with mechanics working on various vehicles, some of which looked suspiciously high-end for a place like this. A tall, wiry man with tattoos covering his arms stepped forward, blocking their path. "What do you want?" he growled. "We're looking for information," Pablo said smoothly. "Heard there’s been some high-end cars coming through here. We’re interested in making a deal." The man eyed them suspiciously but didn’t move. "We don’t deal with strangers." Turbo stepped forward, his presence intimidating. "We’re not strangers, and we’re not here to cause trouble. We just want to talk." The man hesitated, then jerked his head toward a door at the back. "Boss is inside. You can talk to him." Inside, they found a makeshift office where a man sat behind a cluttered desk, smoking a cigar. He looked up as they entered, his eyes narrowing. "What do you want?" "We're looking for information about a mechanic named Anthony," Turbo said. "He went missing, and we think it’s tied to your operation." The man leaned back, blowing a smoke ring. "Anthony? Yeah, I know him. Heard he was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong." Pablo’s tone turned icy. "And what about El Gato? Where does he fit into all this?" The man’s expression darkened. "You don’t want to mess with El Gato. He’s dangerous, and if Anthony is mixed up with him, your friend’s as good as dead." Turbo’s jaw tightened. "We’re not leaving without answers. Where is Anthony?" The man sneered. "Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. But I’ll give you a piece of advice—back off while you still can." Turbo and Pablo left the shop, their minds set on their next move. This case was getting more dangerous by the minute, but they were in too deep to back out now. "We need to find El Gato’s base of operations," Turbo said, his voice resolute. "That’s where we’ll find Anthony." Pablo nodded, determination etched on his face. "Let’s check with some of our other contacts. Someone’s bound to know where he’s hiding." Their next lead took them to an underground gambling den, where they met with a low-level informant named Jimmy. Jimmy, a nervous man with a knack for survival, was always willing to trade information for a bit of cash. "El Gato’s got a warehouse down by the docks," Jimmy whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "He’s been laying low, but that’s where he runs his operations. You didn’t hear it from me." Turbo and Pablo thanked Jimmy and headed for the docks, the moon casting eerie shadows on the water. They approached the warehouse cautiously, aware that they were walking into the lion’s den. Inside, they found a labyrinth of crates and machinery, the air thick with the smell of oil and metal. As they moved deeper into the warehouse, they heard voices—angry, panicked voices. Rounding a corner, they saw Anthony tied to a chair, surrounded by thugs. El Gato stood nearby a menacing figure cloaked in darkness. "This ends now," Turbo muttered to Pablo, both men steeling themselves for the confrontation. With a burst of adrenaline, they charged forward, catching the thugs off guard. A fierce fight ensued, fists flying and bodies crashing into crates. Turbo and Pablo fought with everything they had their determination unwavering. Finally, they subdued the thugs and freed Anthony, who was weak but grateful. El Gato, realizing he was outmatched, slipped into the shadows, disappearing into the night. As they helped Anthony to his feet, Turbo and Pablo knew their work was far from over. El Gato was still out there, and they had just scratched the surface of the corruption plaguing their city. But for now, they had won a small victory. They had saved a life and sent a message to the underworld: Turbo and Pablo were here to stay, and they would stop at nothing to bring justice to the streets of East Los Angeles. A Missing Girl in Boyle Heights With the glow of the city lights casting long shadows in their office, Turbo and Pablo took a moment to decompress. Cecelia’s heartfelt gratitude echoed in their minds, a reminder of why they took on these risky cases. Turbo leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting to the framed photograph on the wall—a snapshot of the two of them with their first client, a memory of simpler times. "Think we'll ever get a case that's easy?" Pablo asked, breaking the silence. Turbo smirked. "Not in this line of work." Just then, the phone rang, piercing the quiet. Pablo reached for it, answering with his usual charm. "Turbo and Pablo, how can we help you?" His expression quickly turned serious as he listened. "Alright, we'll be there," he said before hanging up. "We've got another one," Pablo said, grabbing his jacket. "Teenage girl went missing from Boyle Heights. Her mother’s frantic." Turbo nodded, already moving towards the door. "Let's go." The streets of East LA were alive with the sounds of the night—sirens, distant music, and the hum of conversations. Turbo’s Chevy navigated the city streets with ease, its headlights cutting through the darkness. They arrived at a modest home where a distraught woman awaited them on the porch, her face etched with worry. Inside, she handed them a diary belonging to her daughter, Isabella, hoping it would provide some clues. As Turbo flipped through the pages, he noted the mention of a local nightclub. "El Paraiso," he said, showing Pablo. The nightclub was infamous for its shady dealings and unsavory clientele. It was the kind of place where trouble brewed, and innocence got lost. They parked a few blocks away, choosing to approach on foot to avoid drawing attention. Inside, the club was a mixture of flashing lights and loud music. Turbo and Pablo split up, scanning the crowd for any sign of Isabella. Pablo initiated a conversation with the bartender, slipping him a few bills for information. The bartender nodded towards the back room, whispering about a man named Victor who was known for luring young girls. Turbo and Pablo regrouped, their eyes locking in silent agreement. They pushed through the crowd and into the back room, where Victor was surrounded by a few of his goons. Isabella was there too, looking scared but unharmed. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" Victor sneered, but his bravado faltered when Turbo stepped forward, his imposing presence enough to silence any further objections. "We're taking the girl," Turbo said flatly. A brawl erupted, the small room filling with the sounds of fists meeting flesh and furniture crashing. Turbo and Pablo fought with practiced precision, years of street experience guiding their every move. They subdued the goons and grabbed Victor, making sure he wouldn't bother anyone again. Pablo gently took Isabella's hand. "Come on, we're getting you out of here." They left the club, Turbo keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. Back at the mother's home, Isabella's tearful reunion with her mother was another reminder of their impact on people's lives. Turbo and Pablo stood back, giving the family space. As they drove back to their office, the city seemed a little less dark, the night air filled with a sense of accomplishment. Their work was never easy, but it was always worth it. "Think we'll ever get tired of this?" Pablo asked, breaking the silence. Turbo shook his head, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Not a chance." In the heart of East Los Angeles, Turbo and Pablo continued their vigil, their restored 1957 Chevy a symbol of resilience and hope. No matter how tough the cases got, they knew they'd face them together, ready to bring justice to those who needed it most. 
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