“Caballo, your secrets are safe with us. We have no current interest in your organization’s activities. But we won’t leave here until you tell us what Johnnie talked to you about.”
“Man...” he grunted. “Fuckin’ shit, dammit, that...okay...okay...let up...let up...okay.”
Marsh let his hands linger for a few more seconds before pulling away, but remained poised behind the chair.
Caballo grabbed his shoulders and tried to rub out the hurt. “Jesus and Mary!” he grunted, shaking his head. He looked like he was trying not to cry.
“Tell me. And it had better be the truth because I’ll know if it’s not.”
He closed his eyes for a few seconds, shaking his head as if he could not believe what was happening. He opened his eyes and stared at me for a long time before saying, “You guys don’t know who you’re messing with.”
Marsh smiled. I kept a straight face and said nothing.
“You’re making me violate a core principle, man,” Caballo said.
A moral dilemma, to be sure, for a paragon like him. Once again I said, “Just between us. Like I said. Whatever you tell me.”
He nodded, scowled, then told us what we wanted to know.
It wasn’t easy listening, but after hearing him out, I felt like there might be the slightest glimmer of light at the end of the dark tunnel we’d been stumbling through.
Twenty-Nine
Alexandra arrived on a red eye, and I was waiting at American’s baggage claim for her at 7 a.m.
She grumbled about the fact that they’d forced her to check her carry-on luggage and complained about how the rack used to measure acceptable size seemed to get smaller every time she flew. She said the food, what there was of it, sucked, too.
She was tired and grumpy. And cute. Very cute.
I nodded sympathetically but couldn’t take my eyes off her face. If we weren’t walking through a major airport, I wouldn’t have taken my hands off her body either.
I knew I should end it with her. She was different than any other woman I’d ever been close to, but that didn’t make me different. I was the same old bastard. It was only a matter of time until she recognized it.
I knew it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. With me, these things never do.
On the ride back to her place, she told me about her trip and the progress of the case she was working on. It was a nasty piece of business involving the international sex trade with tentacles spreading from Kazakhstan to Thailand to the American heartland. She’d interviewed social workers and activists and, most importantly, gotten a lead involving a mysterious man who was working for immigration services and was supposedly the ringleader of the whole dark operation. But the name she had didn’t link up with anyone she could find, at least not yet. She’d put out a bunch of feelers to her network worldwide and was waiting impatiently for someone to provide the next clue.
I told her how Frankie and Johnnie’s case was just about as frustrating as hers, although, with Caballo’s information, there was at least a semi-clear path forward.
She told me to be careful, that I was involved with powerful people and that when powerful people were threatened, things could get ugly.
I didn’t have to tell her that I did ugly pretty well and that Marsh fit ugly like a velvet glove. Still, I took her point.
I reminded her about the street fair Meiying had invited her to later in the day. She promised she’d be there, but she was exhausted, and by the time we got home, I reluctantly tucked her into bed and kissed her goodnight.
I met Marsh back at his North Beach office off Columbus Avenue, the heart of the Italian-Chinese nexus of the city.
His office overlooked Washington Square Park, which fronted Saint Peter and Paul’s church where I’d been baptized—and where Marilyn Monroe married Joe DiMaggio, mere feet from where the priest splashed holy water all over my face.
You draw the parallels.
Marsh sat in his high-backed leather recliner, and I lounged on a cushiony couch nearby.
His office was minimalist in decor. White walls with pristine white carpet. Black and white photos of martial artists, some of them Marsh himself, flying through the air with the greatest of ease.
“So who do we pay a visit to first?” Marsh raised an eyebrow.
“Has to be Davis.”
“I agree. I don’t even want to think about our approach to Poe.”
“He’s next, though. Doubt there’s any way around it.”
Marsh sighed. “Not if you insist on seeing this case to the end.”
I gave him a look.
He nodded. He knew me better than anyone, and my sorry tendency toward dogged persistence was a personality defect he’d given up trying to change.
“Still, let’s see what Davis tells us before we rattle Poe’s cage.”
“Let’s start thinking of an approach.
Marsh pursed his lips. “Okay. But, you know, even if you survive the initial encounter, your life expectancy might be significantly shortened if we cross Poe the wrong way.”
“I’d say both of us,” I responded with as cheerful a voice as I could manage.
“As long as we’ve got that straight.”
I left Marsh to finalize details of our impending visit with the President of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors and headed back to my boat to check up on Frankie and Meiying and Alexandra, who were all supposed to be together at a street festival at Fisherman’s Wharf later in the day.
It was 2 p.m., and I thought Alexandra wouldn’t join the ladies until at least 4 p.m., so I stopped at a library to use the computers for research about San Francisco city government. When that was finished, I had a quick meal of veal piccata and Swiss chard at the 622 Club.
By the time I made it down to the festival, it was after 4:30 p.m. I found them, sticky-faced with cotton candy, in front of Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum.
I got my face a little sticky, too, and then we wandered around for a couple of hours watching street performers—jugglers, face-painters, aerialists, jokesters, singers, dancers, and other assorted minstrels—and getting a big kick out of Frankie’s wide-eyed appreciation of it all. At one point, she actually drew a little crowd herself, performing amazing feats on that skateboard of hers.
Finally, Meiying tired and invited us all back to her boat for dinner, promising that Dao would prepare us something special.
I told the women to go ahead, that I needed to stop by my houseboat for a change of shoes and a shower.
It was past twilight when I stepped on the gangplank from the pier to my boat. The sky was moonless and dark.
I smelled barbecue chicken and coffee wafting over from my neighbors’ boats.
My mind was occupied with riddles involving Frankie and Johnnie, and Davis and Poe, and the Blue Notes. And also, in the background, my strong but conflicted feelings about what I should do with Alexandra. How long I could let it go on intensifying, how unfair that was to her and...
And that’s why I was not as attuned to my surroundings as I usually am.
The first intimations of something not quite right hit me as I placed a foot on the stairs leading down to the cabin. But it was too late by then.
At the sounds of something moving swiftly behind me, I turned, bringing up my arm, but a moment later, I shuddered, my head smashed, ringing, the shimmering lights of surrounding boats extinguished, my legs collapsing.
I tumbled, end over end, into oblivion.
Thirty
The first thing I became aware of as I regained consciousness was that I was being French kissed.
This did not seem, at first, entirely unpleasant, but soon the feeling was spoiled by my realization that I was being tongued by a cat.
I recoiled, grabbed Red with shaky hands, and moved him away. He meowed in irritation or satisfaction, I was too groggy to tell which.
The French kissing diverted my attention from Barry Manilow.
His voice sailing along in the night
air, singing about writing the songs that make the whole world sing.
For a long time, until I actually read the lyrics, I thought that Barry was being just a tad arrogant.
My perspective was hazy, but with a little time, I was able to verify that I was lying on the floor of my cabin. I sat up and grabbed the back of my head. It hurt like the dickens. There was a concussion-worthy lump there on the right side. I winced, groaned, snarled a little, maybe, and looked up into Scooter’s eyes.
Behind him, Vince paced nervously. Next to him Del stood strong and stoic.
Two other men lurked in the shadows near the stairwell.
I rubbed my bump, glared, and remained quiet.
“You shouldna’ gone to Caballo’s Grandmama’s house, man. That wasn’t a nice thing to do,” Del said.
“Not smart neither,” Scooter added. “First you come crashing into our clubhouse, you and that maniac friend of yours, and then you make a disturbance at Grandmama’s house. Ain’t you got no consideration for nothing, man?”
“You forgot something else.”
Scooter gave me a questioning look. “Did you tell him about our little talk, Vince?”
Vince stopped pacing and gave me a look of disbelief. He actually blushed.
I continued. “Vince and I had a nice, long talk about how you two had a side business with Johnnie, cutting your boss Caballo out of the action. Does he know what you two bad boys have been up to?”
Scooter leaned forward and slapped me hard across the face. My head rocked to the side, my headache trebled in pain. I believe I growled, trying not to cry out.
“What’s he talking about, Vince?” Del asked, furrowing that Neanderthal brow.
Scooter turned and flashed a dirty look at Vince, who looked away sheepishly. “Nuthin’,” he said. “Asshole’s a liar. Caballo knows everything.”
I decided not to pursue the point at that very moment because I didn’t think my brain could take anymore jostling.
Del nodded. I knew that Caballo knew all about what Scooter and Vince had been up to. I also knew Scooter and Vince didn’t know about Johnnie’s visit to their boss, so it provided a little leverage, or, I hoped it might.
I gritted my teeth and looked at Scooter. I wasn’t restrained in any way, which was a mistake on the boys’ part, but I had to consider there were five of them, and they were armed.
I had to keep them talking until I gathered my wits and strength.
“What’s the plan, guys?” I asked as politely as I could manage.
The answer to my question surprised the holy heck out of me.
“Where’s the computer?” Del asked.
“What are you talking about?” It wasn’t hard to project befuddlement.
“Johnnie’s laptop computer. We want it.”
I studied Del’s face, which was impassive, then Scooter’s smirk.
“Johnnie’s computer,” I repeated, stalling for time. “Now what would you guys...what would Caballo want with that?”
“None of your fucking ass business,” Scooter said, leaning in toward me again. He curled his hand into a fist and raised it. I bounced on my butt back as far as I could get and feinted with my head. He grinned at me.
“Just give it to us and you’ll only get a beating,” Del said. “Otherwise, things might get a little unpleasant. Trust me, man, got some guys here who love to wreak havoc.”
Wreak havoc?
My god, they were children.
My head still hurt like hell, but the world around me was now sharper, crisper, the sights and sounds real again. I scanned my enemies and my houseboat for options. None immediately presented themselves.
“I don’t have Johnnie’s laptop.”
“Don’t lie to us, man. We know you do. We know you took it from her house. Leonard told us.”
I guess it wasn’t a shock that Leonard and the Blue Notes’s paths had crossed, but how closely had he been working with them? And how closely with Johnnie?
“Leonard’s dead,” I said.
No one burst into tears at the news.
“Did you kill him?” I asked.
“We’re wasting time,” Del said, moving toward me while calling out to the men behind him, “Zack, Marco.”
I scrambled on the floor toward the corner of the room, raising my hands up. “Hold on, boys. Hold on. I didn’t say I didn’t know where it is, just that I don’t have it right here.”
Del stopped a few feet away and glared down at me expectantly.
“Okay if I get up?” I asked.
He nodded. Scooter removed a handgun from inside the leather jacket he was wearing and pointed it at me. One of the men near the door leveled a sawed-off shotgun at me. The other moved his hand inside his jacket. Vince just took a step back and continued to look like he’d rather be anywhere on Earth but right here.
I stumbled to my feet, and my head started swimming. I closed my eyes, opened them, and felt dizzy for a few more seconds before settling down. I was nauseous, and the pain hadn’t eased at all. I put my hand down on one of the breakfast table chairs to steady myself.
I rubbed my sweat-stained forehead with my other hand and mumbled weakly, “Leonard wiped the computer clean. I would guess he told you that. I took it to a computer whiz, but she hasn’t been able to restore the hard drive.”
“Where is it?”
“At her office.”
“The address, man. Are you dense or just acting that way?”
A little of both. I gave them the address.
“So it’s there now? The office is closed, right? You have a key?”
I shrugged. He took a warning step toward me.
“Yeah. We can get in.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Scooter and Vince moved forward and took my arms. I didn’t think the time or situation was right to resist. I let them drag me outside, followed by Del and Zack and Marco.
Thirty-One
I soon found myself in the back of a beat-up Chevy van along with Scooter and Vince and Del, while Zack drove and Marco rode shotgun, literally, next to him.
The seats had been pulled out of the van, and it was just a big empty, ugly, shag carpeted space. I was propped near the right rear hubcap, and the others stationed themselves roughly at the other three wheels.
The van reeked of man sweat and cigarette smoke. Marco calmly smoked while Vince nervously tugged on nicotine-soaked paper.
There wasn’t any chit chat on our fifteen-minute ride up toward North Beach.
They were all the strong, silent type, although I had my doubts about Vince.
We parked near Washington Square Park and were surprised by all the activity. There was a big crowd milling about and lots of couples and families set up on chairs and blankets on the sprawling lawn. A gigantic screen in the middle of the park was playing a movie—Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal looming large.
“For chrissakes, what’s this, Plank?” Del said.
“Looks like it’s Film Night in the Park. Have you seen When Harry Met Sally, Del?”
“Is this some trick, cuz if you’re trying—”
“Yeah. Sure. I set the whole thing up. Planned for your visit, talked the city authorities into the movie. Just so I could get you guys here to see a romantic comedy to warm the cockles of your hearts.”
“Smart guy,” Scooter said and gave me another sharp rap on my skull.
I winced, growled again. I was coming to dislike the boy immensely.
“No funny business,” Del reiterated.
Before we left the safety of the van, he peppered me with questions and warnings about what to expect. He asked me if anyone else would be in the office at this time of night. He asked me where Marsh was. He warned me what would happen if I tried anything or if I signaled anyone in any way as to the reality of the situation. He told me what would happen unless they left with the computer.
I gave him answers and reassured him about my honorable intentions.
They made sure I
saw the automatic pistols that they all carried beneath their coats.
Vince and Marco stayed in the car, and Del, Scooter, and Zack escorted me to the lobby door. I pressed a button, and the security guard let us in. His name was Winston. He was in his fifties, a former horse jockey, small but compact, although he’d gained a few pounds since his riding days at Bay Meadows and Golden Gate Fields.
He smiled when he saw me but gave my friends the once over good.
I reassured him. “These are friends of my younger brother, Dave. We were out tonight, and I promised I’d show them the offices. We won’t be long.” I touched his hand tenderly.
I quickly turned away and marched toward the elevator with my compatriots close behind.
Up on the sixth floor, I switched on the overhead lights and led them to Marsh’s office at the back of the building. From there, we looked down on the crowd and the big movie screen. Meg Ryan was about to fake an orgasm in a coffee shop to prove to Billy Crystal that he couldn’t tell the difference between the real thing and the fake one. If you’re of the male persuasion, it is a profoundly disturbing performance on Meg’s part.
I stood there watching until Del said, “Where the hell is the computer?”
“Oh...yes. This is such a good movie, guys. If you haven’t seen it, now’s your chance. It’ll make your hearts break and then soar.”
“Fuckin’ a hole,” Vince sneered.
Unfortunately, he was one of those guys without a romantic bone in his body.
“All right, fellas. So I think she was working on it in the conference room over there.” I pointed with my thumb back toward the middle of the web of offices.
“Then why the fuck did you bring us here?” Del asked.
“Look at that view down there. I mean, I know you guys mean business, but there’s always time to appreciate beauty, natural and man-made, no?”
Scooter took another swing at me, but I ducked in time. I pivoted, reacting instinctively, but I heard the click of a bullet sliding into Zack’s automatic pistol and instead paused and placed both my feet back down. Del and Zack both had their guns pointed at me.
Stray Cat Blues Page 17