The Crooked Street

by Brian Freeman

  That meant Denny had known something was wrong before he was killed. He’d already realized that he was being hunted.

  And so was Mr. Jin.

  Frost heard a noise behind him and spun around. He saw one door, mostly closed, leading toward what he assumed was Mr. Jin’s bedroom. He tried to remember if the angle on the door was the same as when he’d entered the apartment, but he couldn’t be sure. He crossed the room and nudged the door with his shoe. The only light was from the side window overlooking the roof of the next building, which was enough for him to make out a platform bed barely a foot high. The bed was neatly made with white linen. He felt for a light switch on the wall, but when he flicked it up, nothing happened. The bedroom stayed dark.

  He took two more steps into the center of the room.

  Without warning, a hard kick from behind him swept both of his feet off the ground. He dropped like a stone, landing on his back. He was dizzied for only a second, but that was enough for someone to land on top of him and put the steel point of a knife to his throat.

  Frost squinted. In the shadows, he recognized the face looming over him. It was the Asian teenager he’d met on the Roughing It. The boy who’d been looking for his father and who’d dumped him in the bay.

  “You,” the boy exclaimed, recognizing him, too.

  “It’s Fox, right?” Frost said.

  “Yeah, that’s me, so what? What are you doing here?”

  “I’m a cop, remember?”

  “You think I trust you because you’re a cop? Think again. The last people I’m going to trust are cops.”

  “Okay, but I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Fox pushed the knife until it was almost breaking skin. “No, you bet you’re not. One move and I cut you bad.”

  “Is Mr. Jin your father?” Frost asked from the floor. Fox’s knee leaned into his chest and made it hard to breathe. “Because I’m looking for him, too, just like you. How about the two of us work together?”

  “How about you tell me what you want with my father?” Fox asked.

  “I want to keep him safe,” Frost said, “and I want to keep you safe, too.”

  “I do fine on my own,” the boy replied.

  “I can see that, but I’m not the enemy, Fox. Let me up, and let’s talk, okay?”

  Fox shrugged. He pulled away the knife, rolled off Frost, and was back on his feet with an effortless, graceful jump. Frost rubbed the skin on his throat and got up more slowly. His head hurt, the way it had the last time he’d met this boy. Fox prodded him toward the living room with the knife, and Frost backed up into the light.

  The boy was dressed as he had been the last time, all in black, including a tight long-sleeved T-shirt. His face still had a made-up plastic glow that was more like a girl than a boy. His wild hair sprouted like a shaggy black mane from his head. He had full, feminine lips that bent into a sly smile as he stared at Frost, who was twisting his neck to work out the spasms of pain.

  “Last time we met, you were all wet,” Fox joked.

  “I remember.”

  “You flopped around in the water like a fish on the line,” the boy added with a laugh.

  “Yes, I did.”

  Fox secured the knife in a long zippered pocket on his calf. “So what do you want, anyway? What are you doing here?”

  “I told you, I’m trying to find Mr. Jin,” Frost said. “When did you last see him?”

  “Tuesday. He headed off on a job for Denny Clark. He must have come back to the apartment sometime after that because his old suitcase is gone now. But he hasn’t been back since then.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Him not telling me where he’s going? No, he does that a lot. He’s busy. There’s always a catering job somewhere. He lives his life, I live mine, and that’s okay for both of us. But him being away so long and not coming home? Yeah, that’s odd.”

  “Did he tell you anything about the job on Tuesday?”

  “No.”

  Frost slipped the page of green notepaper out of his pocket. “Mr. Jin wrote down a name on his notepad. Fawn. Did he mention her to you?”

  “No. Who is she?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Does Mr. Jin have a cell phone? Do you have any way to reach him?”

  Fox shook his head. “He’s old school. He doesn’t believe in things like that. He doesn’t use credit cards, either. Everything in cash.”

  “What about your mother? Is she in the picture?”

  “She lives in Hong Kong.”

  “So where have you been staying since Mr. Jin left?” Frost asked. “Here?”

  “I come and go. I sleep here mostly.” Fox gestured at the window. “I use the roof next door to get to the balcony. I don’t want anyone to see me. People are watching the building. I think they’re looking for Mr. Jin, too.”

  Frost went to the apartment door and poked his head outside. The hallway was empty now. He turned back to Fox. “Why don’t you come with me? You can stay at my place if you’d like.”

  “No way.” The boy planted his feet stubbornly on the floor. “I need to be here when Mr. Jin gets back.”

  “It’s not safe,” Frost insisted. “For you or for him. If there are people who are after your father, they may get it in their heads that you know where he is. Or they may figure they can put pressure on him by abducting you and using you as leverage. Either way, you’re in danger staying here.”

  “You think I can’t protect myself? You’re wrong.”

  “I’m the last guy who’s going to underestimate you, Fox. But right now, I’m more concerned with the best way to keep your father safe. And that’s for you to be nowhere near this apartment.”

  Fox seemed to acquiesce, but Frost remembered what had happened the last time he misjudged this boy. Another smile came and went on Fox’s face, as if he remembered, too. He put his hands up in surrender. Frost led the boy out of the apartment, and they headed back down the hallway. All the people, all the noise, all the activity had disappeared, which made Frost nervous. It was now cemetery quiet. At the end of the corridor, he led them down the empty stairwell toward the ground floor. At the bottom, he held up a hand to make the boy wait as he checked the street.

  “My car’s at the other end of the alley on Jackson,” Frost said.

  They went outside. It was dark and midevening. He kept a hand on Fox’s shoulder as they walked past Mr. Jin’s restaurant. People pushed and shoved on the sidewalk, jostling them. They turned into the alley, where the brick walls rose on both sides. On either end of the narrow passageway were bright lights, but in between, the closed, barred doorways of the shops were dark. On the ground, a homeless man banged a copper cup. Legs dangled from the fire escapes overhead, and cigarette smoke drifted in the air. In the doorway of a ginseng store, an old man shot himself up with heroin.

  There were faces looking out from all the shadows.

  “You feel the eyes?” Fox said.

  “I do.”

  “Around here, everybody sees everything,” the boy told him.

  They emerged from the alley into a chaos of music and neon. He heard the pound of drums—thump, thump, thump—and the chant of songs. The sweet smells of a bakery leached onto the street. His Suburban was steps away. He kept his head down and guided the boy to the passenger door and put him inside. As he went around to the other side, he spotted a charcoal-gray BMW parked outside a shuttered Chinese theater. He locked the doors as he got inside the SUV and kept an eye on his side mirror as he started up the Suburban and merged into the traffic.

  Behind them, the BMW eased away from the curb and followed.

  It was the same vehicle that had tailed him earlier. The headlights were bright in the mirror. Fox watched Frost’s eyes, and then the boy lowered the passenger window and craned his body outside like a dog to spy on the car behind them.

  “Get back inside!” Frost snapped, grabbing Fox by the belt and dragging him back from the window.

  The boy slid onto the
seat again, but he left the window open. “I’ve seen that car before,” Fox said.

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “Lombard’s people,” the boy replied.

  Frost swung his head sharply. “You know about Lombard?”

  “I know you keep your mouth shut about him if you want to stay alive,” Fox said. “Everybody knows, but nobody talks about him, unless you want to find a snake on your wall.”

  “You’ve seen the snakes?”

  “Sure. The snakes follow the bodies. It’s a warning. Don’t mess with Lombard’s business, or you’re next.”

  “Is Lombard a group? A person? Fox, you need to tell me everything you know.”

  The boy shook his head. “If you’re going after Lombard, forget it, man. I don’t want any part of it.”

  “I think Lombard’s looking for your father,” Frost told him. “That’s who’s watching the building. That’s why I need to find him before anyone else does. Something happened on Tuesday night, and Mr. Jin knows what it is. They want to make sure he doesn’t tell anybody.”

  Fox said nothing, but the boy was agitated now, and he squirmed like a caged animal.

  “Do you have any idea at all where Mr. Jin might be?” Frost asked again. “Any favorite hangouts? Any place I can look?”

  “He never goes anywhere. He’s either cooking or he’s in the apartment.”

  Frost frowned in frustration. He glanced back and saw the BMW hugging the bumper of his SUV. He turned on Kearny, and the other car followed. He accelerated through two lights but didn’t lose it. The next red light stopped him at Broadway, and the BMW’s headlights taunted him in the mirror.

  Frost was tired of the game. He threw the SUV into park. He slid his gun out of its holster and opened the door of the Suburban. As he got out, tires screeched behind him. The driver of the BMW reversed wildly and spun into a three-point turn, denting a car parked on the street. Frost ran after it, but the BMW sped off in the opposite direction, fishtailing as it escaped. He watched the car turn three blocks away and vanish in the darkness.

  He went back to his truck. The light was green. He accelerated through the intersection into a left turn where Kearny dead-ended up the hill in front of him.

  “Stop,” Fox said.

  Frost pulled over to the curb. “What is it?”

  “Don’t you see, man? You can’t protect me. They pegged us as soon as we left the building. If I’m with you, they’ll find me.”

  “It’s too dangerous for you to be alone.”

  “I’m better off on my own,” the boy insisted. “I know how to hide.”

  “Fox, wait,” Frost protested, but he was too late.

  The boy reached a hand through the open window to the roof of the truck. With the speed of a snake, he slithered through the small opening until his feet were on the door frame. He launched himself into a gymnastic backflip and landed smoothly on the sidewalk in the halo of the streetlight.

  Fox’s mouth broke into a little smirk at Frost’s shocked expression.

  “If you find Mr. Jin, call me,” the boy told him, rattling off the number of a cell phone. “Got it? Don’t try to track me down. I’m never in the same place for long.”

  He sprinted up the steps of Kearny Street. Frost shouted after him and bolted from the SUV, leaving the driver’s door open. He began to lay chase, but the boy was a cheetah, whipping up the hill and disappearing around the next corner. Frost didn’t have any hope of catching him.

  He returned to the SUV, got inside, and slammed the door. He didn’t go anywhere. He sat there, alone, and his frustration seethed. Every lead was slipping away. He was in a race, and Lombard was winning.

  17

  The escort who called herself Fawn lived in Presidio Heights, two blocks from the red dome of the Jewish synagogue. The area was like a quiet suburb inside the city, with neatly maintained homes and a lineup of mature trees dotting the sidewalk. San Francisco was too pricey for most young families, but if you could afford it, this was a neighborhood for toddlers and golden retrievers. Fawn’s house was a two-story Victorian with a fresh coat of yellow paint and neat window boxes filled with pink flowers on the terraced wall beside the front steps.

  Frost wondered if the yuppie neighbors knew what she did for a living.

  He rang the front doorbell in the darkness and waited. There was a security camera mounted above the door frame, and as he watched it, the lights of the camera came to life and illuminated him. A woman’s cool voice crackled through an intercom speaker.

  “Yes? May I help you?”

  Frost held up his badge toward the camera. “My name is Frost Easton with the San Francisco police. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “About what?”

  “About Fawn,” he said. After a pause, he added, “And no, I’m not from vice.”

  “I don’t have anything to say,” the woman replied.

  “Are you Zara Anand?”

  “No, I’m her sister. I still don’t have anything to say.”

  Frost sighed. “Look, I can run my questions past your neighbors, but I don’t think you or your sister want me doing that.”

  There was a long stretch of silence from inside. Then the front door opened in front of him. A small and attractive Indian woman with thick, long black hair studied him from behind the chain on the door. Her dark eyes were smart and suspicious.

  “Let me see that badge again,” she said.

  Frost held it up, and she reviewed it carefully. When she was satisfied, she undid the chain and let him come inside. The house had a faintly sweet smell of honey. She led him from the foyer into a living room that faced the street, and she sat in a comfortable armchair with a glass of white wine and an open laptop beside her. Her hand, with slim fingers and long gold-painted nails, waved him to a sofa by the window. Their furniture was ornate and made of cherrywood, and the sofa had a geometric design on brown fabric. The wallpaper was a deep burgundy color.

  “My name is Prisha Anand,” she said. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “Your sister is Zara, is that right?” Frost asked. “But in her work, she uses the name Fawn?”

  Prisha took a sip of wine. Her movements were slow and precise, as if she thought through everything in advance before she did anything. She had arching eyebrows that were carefully plucked, a sloping nose, and a jaw that tapered to a sharp V. She wore a scoop-neck yellow blouse that emphasized her long neck, loose black slacks, and open sandals. Her toes matched her gold fingernails.

  “Yes. Zara calls herself Fawn.”

  “The two of you live here together?”

  “That’s right.”

  “It’s a beautiful place,” Frost said.

  “In other words, how do two young women in their twenties afford it? Is that what you really want to know? I’m an in-house lawyer at Zelyx, and I was there for the IPO. But Zara is an equal breadwinner in the household, and if you know her as Fawn, then I’m sure you know why.”

  “I don’t know her at all,” Frost replied, “but her name has come up in one of my investigations.”

  “You said you don’t work in vice. So where do you work?”

  “Homicide,” Frost said.

  Worry fell like a curtain across Prisha’s face. “Is Zara all right?”

  “I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me where to find her.”

  “I have no idea. She left for one of her—engagements—last Tuesday, and I haven’t seen or heard from her since then. Doing what she does, she’s often gone for days or weeks at a time. Men fly her around the world. Africa. The Middle East. South America. It’s a glamorous lifestyle in its way, although it’s not what I would choose for her.”

  “Have you tried to contact her?” Frost asked. “I’ve left messages on her cell phone, but I haven’t gotten a reply.”

  “That’s not unusual. Her phone is often turned off for long periods of time. I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”

  Frost didn
’t answer. “Do you know anything about this most recent engagement on Tuesday?”

  Prisha shook her head. “No. If you think tech companies are stringent about confidentiality, you should see my sister’s business. I never know who she’s meeting or where or how long she’ll be gone. If I had to guess, though, she was heading off on a boat.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She made a joke about bringing Dramamine along. She’s very susceptible to seasickness.” Prisha studied his face and added, “Judging from your expression, I gather that comports with what you think she was doing.”

  Frost nodded. “Did she say anything else?”

  “No, as I told you, she doesn’t give me details about her work. But I could tell she wasn’t happy about this job. She was nervous and anxious before she left. I didn’t bother asking why. I knew I wouldn’t get anything out of her. It usually means she’s meeting someone who makes her uncomfortable. There are always men like that.”

  “How does she find her clients?” Frost asked.

  “I’m better off not knowing the specifics,” Prisha replied. “Zara walls off that part of her world. Given that what she’s doing is technically illegal, I think she wants to protect me, since I’m a lawyer. But rich men have networks, especially in Silicon Valley. They know how to find what they want.”

  “Have you ever met a man named Denny Clark?” Frost asked. “Or did your sister ever mention that name?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What about an Asian chef named Mr. Jin?”

  Prisha looked puzzled. “Mr. Jin? Well, yes, we both know him, although I don’t know why that’s important. Zara and I are rather fanatical about dim sum. We’ve eaten at his restaurant in Chinatown many times. He’s catered a few Zelyx parties, too, where I brought my sister along as my guest.”

  “So Mr. Jin knows her personally?”

  “Oh yes. Needless to say, Zara and I aren’t shy. If we like what someone does, we make a point of introducing ourselves. We’ve chatted with Mr. Jin on several occasions.”

  “Would he also know Zara as Fawn?” Frost asked.

  Prisha frowned. The question unsettled her. “I don’t see how. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to have those habits. Anyway, as successful as he is, Mr. Jin wouldn’t be in the financial league necessary to afford my sister. So he would have no occasion to meet her outside the restaurant unless he—”