“What wrong? You don’t feel well?” Mei Rose inquired, unhappy that I hadn’t been listening. “Or maybe it’s the food.” She immediately motioned for the waitress to bring something else.
“No, the porridge is fine,” I assured her and proceeded to eat.
“Then what the problem? You let me know. I can always help.”
There’d obviously be no peace until I told the woman something.
“Remember Eric from dinner last night?”
“Of course I remember. What you think? That because I’m old, I’m senile?” Mei Rose responded, clearly insulted.
Oy veh.
“Well his fifteen-year-old daughter recently ran away.”
I drew the line at telling her that it felt as if my own past had come back to haunt me. Ever since last night I’d found myself staring at every young girl that passed by, wondering if I’d seen her face on a poster as a runaway.
“That no good. Too many problems are entering the house,” Mei Rose declared, and seemed to shiver. “There must be bad chi coming from Su Lin Fong across the street. We’ll have to stop at a shop on Grant and buy small octagonal mirrors to hang in the front windows. That will send the bad chi flying back to the Fong house, where it belongs.”
Mei Rose was still huffing and puffing about the nerve of Su Lin Fong sending bad chi our way when her cell phone rang, playing a poor rendition of the William Tell overture.
I finished my porridge while she conversed at breakneck speed in Cantonese, sounding as if she’d taken an Evelyn Wood course on rapid-fire speaking. Then Mei Rose hung up and shook her head.
“That my niece. She always need help with something. What can I do?” she asked, with a put-upon shrug. “I have to go see her right away. But don’t worry. I’ll buy mirrors and hang them up later. I think some feng shui might help, too. Everything in your place is facing the wrong way. But that’s okay. I take care of that, also. Meanwhile, you carry all the groceries home for me.”
I felt like a pack mule as she loaded me up, adding her own bags to those I was already hauling. It’s no wonder fast food restaurants have become increasingly popular. Who has time for this sort of thing? To hell with eating healthy. The stress from shopping was just about to kill me. I fumed all the way home, vowing to spend the rest of my life eating nothing but prepared and frozen foods. To make matters worse, no one was there to help carry all the bags upstairs.
I crammed everything into my refrigerator, not in the mood to enter Mei Rose’s place and deal with Tony Baloney.
Speaking of having to deal with things, I then placed a quick call to my boss.
“All clear on the western front?” Brad Thomas asked, by way of his usual greeting.
“Everything’s fine,” I responded. “Just thought I’d fill you in on a few details. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but John Harmon’s Jeep was found on a remote dirt road up in Mendocino yesterday.”
“That’s it? Just his vehicle?”
“Yeah. There was no sign of foul play, according to the police. But then, who knows how well they searched? I have to tell you, I find it troubling that they don’t seem to be taking the fact that he’s missing very seriously.”
“For all you know, they have information that they don’t want to give out.”
“Such as?” I questioned, unwilling to let him off the hook.
“Such as, it could be the guy’s up to his ears in debt and has decided to lay low for a while. Or maybe he’s got another woman on the side.”
How interesting. Thomas had come up with the same exact reasons as to why Harmon might have disappeared as had Santou. It was enough to make me suspicious about the way a man’s mind worked.
“I want you to steer clear of whatever’s going on. Let the police handle it. Harmon’s not your problem.”
“I have no intention of getting involved,” I assured Thomas. Not when I had my net set for a big-league butterfly poacher by the name of Horus. “Oh by the way, I’d like to take a few days personal leave.”
“This better not have anything to do with Harmon,” he again warned. “Nor are you to play vigilante queen by taking off and trying to tackle some other wildlife case on your own.”
Jeez, what was Thomas, anyway? A mind reader?
“Of course not. It has nothing to do with either of those things,” I replied in an indignant tone. “A friend’s daughter has run away and he’s asked me to help search for her.”
“Why, Porter, you should have told me that you’d gotten a P.I. license and were moonlighting on the side. I’d have referred some cases your way,” Thomas caustically retorted. “Don’t you think that’s best left to the police as well? Or are you trying to do the job of both the SFPD and the Mendocino County Sheriff’s Office, as well as your own?”
“Look, I just want to give my friend some moral support. Anything wrong with that?” I questioned, hoping to avoid a fight.
“No, I suppose not,” Thomas reluctantly responded. “There shouldn’t be a problem, just as long as it’s only for a few days and that’s all you’re doing. Besides, it’ll give Dan Weymer a chance to handle some of your caseload.”
I inwardly groaned, well aware that this was a dig. Weymer was more than just a rookie agent who’d been assigned to our office; he was already nipping away at my heels. Part of the “whatever” generation, he was fast becoming a favorite of Brad Thomas for being more than willing to toe the line. It was no secret that Weymer’s goal was upward mobility; the sooner he could fast-track it to the next level, the better. The result was that he had little interest in doing fieldwork and even less in ruffling anyone’s feathers, particularly when it came to protecting embattled wildlife. Rather, his focus was one of “What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll return as soon as I can,” I said and hung up, more convinced than ever that I was being put on the back-burner.
However, I had little time to sink into a funk as Terri and Eric walked through the door.
“How are you feeling this morning?” I asked Terri’s houseguest.
“My head’s better, thanks. Now it’s my back that’s killing me. That couch upstairs has more lumps in it than a middle-aged queen with cellulite.”
“Hey, watch the slurs. I’m feeling very fragile these days.” Terri sniffed.
“Oh, please. You know that’s not what I meant. How could I? You look absolutely fabulous.”
Terri brightened considerably. “For that you get a gourmet breakfast. After all, we’re going to need our energy today.”
He proceeded to whip up a feast of French toast smothered in a mango and raisin compote, as I pulled out a city map and showed it to Eric. By the time breakfast was through, we’d decided exactly where to begin our search: the Tenderloin district.
“Are you coming along?” I asked Terri, unsure if there was something else he had to do.
“Of course I’m coming. As I recall, Eric asked both of us for help,” he chided, letting me know he had no intention of being left behind. Terri glanced at Eric, who nodded at him reassuringly. “While you may be more familiar with San Francisco, I probably have better insight when it comes to the mindset of runaways.”
“You’re probably right,” I concurred, wisely keeping my mouth shut.
Terri was clearly more interested in Eric than I might have imagined. We cleaned up the dishes and then headed downstairs.
“Watch out for the white mop lying outside by the door. He may look harmless, but the pooch has the soul of Genghis Khan,” I warned.
True to form, Tony Baloney growled and lunged for our legs as we hurried past. Emitting a couple of yaps to clear his throat, the mutt circled around and around before settling back down, fully satisfied that he’d protected his territory.
We walked toward Washington Square, turning at Mario’s Bohemian Cigar Store, a closet-sized café with the best focaccia sandwiches in town. Its outdoor tables were already filled to capacity hosting bohemian wannabes busy arguing politics, intellectual
wannabes armed with horn-rimmed glasses and poetry, and artist wannabes furiously drawing away on their sketch pads. Come to think of it, I was also a wannabe. I wanted a jolt of Mario’s super-strength industrial caffeine more than anything else in the world. I needed a second wind after my crack-of-dawn shopping excursion with Mei Rose. A couple of shots of espresso and I was raring to go.
We strolled down Columbus until we came to the infamous Condor Club, the first topless bar in America. This was where Carol Doda had descended from the ceiling on a grand piano, displaying her silicon splendors. Two years later, the club also went bottomless, causing a flurry of imitators to spring up along the Strip. The Condor stayed open until the early eighties, when a dancer and her security guard were caught in flagrante on top of that same grand piano. It wasn’t the act itself that caused a problem, but the hydraulic elevating mechanism which became jammed. The piano unexpectedly rose to the ceiling, killing the security guard and pinning the dancer beneath him for hours. The club closed soon after and eventually reopened as a sports bar. Now there was only an historical bronze plaque outside to recall its former glory days.
“Just think. This is where it all began.” Terri sighed nostalgically. “Who would have guessed that expanding a pair of boobs with silicon from thirty-four to forty-four inches would ever set off such a craze? God bless you, Carol Doda.” He kissed his fingertips, and gave the plaque a pat.
We opted to save time by cutting over to Powell, and hopped on a cable car with a group of giddy tourists. Shades of Hitchcock’s Vertigo took over as we climbed up, up, up before plummeting down, down, down toward Market Street. My heart soared with the rancorous clanging of its bell as the car rattled along like a mechanical toy on steel wheels. Standing on the bottom step, I clung to a pole and threw back my head, hoping to catch a whiff of distant sea breeze. We got off at the final stop and took a short walk west, drawing closer to our destination.
The downtown surroundings slowly deteriorated, going from dingy to shabby to downright decrepit, as we entered the Tenderloin. A seedy, drug-infested pit, the district was filled with porn shops, massage parlors, and a dilapidated homeless shelter. Hotel rooms were rented by the hour, serving a “professional” clientele who constantly used the same soiled sheets. Walking the streets were drunks, hookers, and runaways, along with their exploiters.
“What has Lily gone and gotten herself into?” Eric muttered under his breath. “Half of me hopes that I find her here, while the other half doesn’t.”
I couldn’t say that I much blamed him. The Tenderloin boasts the highest rate of rape in the city, and is a dangerous place for a woman of any age. I could only imagine what a teenage girl living on its streets would have to endure.
We headed into the first shop, where Eric pulled out Lily’s photograph and showed it around. Though a look of shock passed over each face, there wasn’t a hint of recognition.
“Sorry, but we don’t know her” was the standard response heard over and over from every store owner, as well as those people who we questioned on the street.
Runaway girls? They’re a dime a dozen in this area. Just look around and take your pick.
We knocked on locked doors behind which senior citizens had barricaded themselves, too poor to move anywhere else and too frightened to step outside.
“Trust me. I’d remember that face. I haven’t seen it before. Now please go away,” each implored.
By the end of the day, Lily’s photo bore multiple sets of indifferent greasy fingerprints, and Eric’s spirit had hit rock bottom. We’d met with little success, other than to see what we were up against, and the odds weren’t encouraging. We decided to pack it in and head back to North Beach until tomorrow morning.
“You know the hardest thing? Imagining that Lily might be out here somewhere. She could be hurting right now, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it,” Eric said, his frustration building. “That’s why I hate to see the sun go down. I try to stay busy during the day. It’s the nighttime that kills me. All I’m left with then are my thoughts and fears. It’s gotten so that I can’t stand being alone anymore.”
“Then you won’t be,” Terri said, slipping his arm through Eric’s. “That’s what friends are for. Don’t worry about the couch. You can sleep on the bed and I’ll borrow a futon from Mei Rose.”
“I can’t let you do that,” Eric demurred.
But Terri firmly insisted. “Oh yes, you can and will. At least until we find Lily. Isn’t that right, Rach?”
“Absolutely,” I agreed, knowing how helpless Eric must feel. Because of that, I also made a suggestion. “Maybe it’s time to check in with the San Francisco police.”
Eric swiftly dismissed the idea out of hand. “Ellen’s parents already did that. Besides, whatever for? Do you really think the cops out here are going to be any different from those in New Orleans when it comes to runaways?”
I didn’t respond. What was the point, when we both already knew the answer?
“All they’re going to do is advise me to be patient and wait. And I swear, if I hear that once more I’m going to scream. I don’t care what anyone says. I know in my heart that something has happened to Lily. I never realized what it was like to be a father before, but now I know that we’re truly connected. Can you understand that, Rachel?”
I nodded, wondering what my sister might look like today, and if she ever regretted having run away.
“I can’t sit around wasting time until Lily is found dead somewhere and her name is splattered across a newspaper.”
Eric was right. That’s when the police would finally kick in and try to track down her killer.
His chest heaved in a silent sob, making his shoulders bob up and down. That simple movement was enough to cement my determination.
“It’s all right, Eric. We’ll look until we find her,” I promised.
I only hoped that I could keep my word.
Ten
We arrived home to quite a sight. A number of small octagonal mirrors had been hung in every window of the house. They reflected the sunset in a crazy patchwork of light.
“Lordy, Lordy. What’s this all about? Did Mei Rose finally lose her mind and sell the place to a bunch of carnies while we were out?” Terri questioned, shading his eyes from the blinding glare.
I put on my sunglasses, wondering what Su Lin Fong across the street must be thinking right about now. “It’s just this little superstitious thing she has going on at the moment.”
“What? More with the chi? Like the tree standing in the middle of the hallway isn’t enough?” Terri retorted, with a shake of his head.
We headed upstairs, where I could already smell the delicious aroma of a Chinese meal. Opening the door, we found Santou sitting at the table digging into a plateful of steamed fish, white rice, and Chinese broccoli.
“Sorry to start eating without you, but I didn’t know when you’d all be home.”
“I just hope there’s more of that for the rest of us,” Terri said, taking a deep whiff.
“There is, though no thanks to Rachel. I had to charm Mei Rose into leaving the remainder of the food in the fridge. She’s pretty mad at you, chère. From what I understand, you were supposed to help her with the cooking tonight.”
I tried my best to fight the onslaught of guilt, but it was like a tidal wave pulling me under.
“What? You mean it’s not enough that I was dragged out of bed at daybreak, and had to schlep all the groceries home like a mule? I’m then expected to rush back after work in order to wash, chop, and prepare an entire meal?”
“Uh-huh,” Jake grunted, sticking a forkful of fish in his mouth.
Damn. I hate when I feel like a slug. I’d have turned back around and gone out to eat, if only my stomach hadn’t protested.
“Okay, I’ll apologize to her later,” I agreed, hungrily eyeing the food.
“Oh, I think you’re gonna have to do a whole lot better than that,” Santou said, with a grin.
“Fine. I’ll spend my next free weekend slogging away in the kitchen, pretending to be the Chinese version of Julia Child,” I retorted, having no intention of doing any such thing.
“Oh for chrissakes, Rach. Just tell her to give up the ghost already. Now lets zap the food and eat,” Terri said, heading for the microwave.
I had to admit, the meal was delicious. I just didn’t want to spend the rest of my life cooking.
“So, how’d it go today? Any luck?” Jake asked, as we finished dinner and piled the dishes in the sink.
“Not unless you consider being dissed by a bunch of lowlife pimps in the Tenderloin to be an uplifting experience,” Eric glumly reported.
“We seemed to hit a dead end with everyone,” I conceded.
“Maybe you just need to go about this differently.”
“What? Leave it to the police, like hundreds of thousands of other parents, while I sit back and let the years roll by? No thanks,” Eric sharply retorted.
“Okay, handle it your way. But why don’t you tell me a little about your daughter?” Santou suggested.
Eric slowly nodded and pulled out Lily’s photo, his fingers gently caressing the image as if it contained a hidden message in Braille.
“She’s not a big girl, but small-boned with delicate features like her mother. Her skin is the color of fine porcelain where it isn’t scarred.” Eric’s eyes crinkled, as if picturing her in his mind, and his lips parted in a smile. “When Lily was younger, she liked to say that her eyes were brown as chocolate pudding.”
“Where are some of her favorite places to go?” Santou questioned, so seamlessly that one would scarcely realize they were being interrogated.
“To the local ice-cream store. The flavor she loves best is Rocky Road. She’s also crazy about videos and movies. I bet she must have watched the film Cinderella a hundred times while growing up. Lily liked to pretend she had a fairy godmother who was going to change her into a princess.”
“What about TV? Does she watch much of that?” Jake casually inquired.
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