“Not much. He’s in surgery now. It could be a long while before they know anything more. Did you finish your sandwich already?”
“No, I gave them away to a couple of hobos who were sitting outside.”
“Hobos ride trains, Aunt Ruth. We call them homeless people here… unless you meant homos, but you don’t sound like you have a cold. And we prefer the term gay, except for the ones who like ‘queer.’ I guess there must be some homeless gay people in San Francisco, come to think of it.” Tim had a way of rambling when he was upset. He forced himself to stop talking and went back to pacing instead.
“Well, whatever you want to call them, there are a couple of hungry and appreciative gentlemen who looked like they’d been down on their luck for some time now.” Ruth knew there was no sense in arguing with Tim when he was like this. She patted the seat of the plastic chair beside hers. “Come and sit down here, honey. Tell me more about your friend Jason. You said that the two of you work together, but you haven’t told me anything about your job. How do you like it? How long have you and Jason worked together?”
“Yeah, we both work at Arts. It’s just around the corner from where I live. I’ll take you by there when we get a chance. It’s my landlords’ place on Castro Street.”
“You haven’t told me about him either.”
“Them,” he corrected. “Arturo and Artie are a couple of great old guys. They met in Vietnam, although they never talk about those days much. They’ve been a couple forever. I also have some job security because they know if I don’t get my paycheck they won’t get their rent check. They live on the top floor of the building on Collingwood, across the hall from Teresa, the lady you met in front of the plant store. Artie was a major drag performer at Finocchio’s up until they closed. I’ve heard it was a famous place in the old days.”
“Of course it was.” Ruth stood and moved around behind her nephew to massage some of the tension out of his shoulders. “Finocchio’s was renowned for its female impersonators for years. I remember going there with a group of friends once, back when I was at Stanford. Maybe I even saw Artie perform there.”
“I don’t know if he was there that long ago,” Tim replied without meaning to be rude.
Ruth paused the backrub and glared at him a moment, but she let the unintended insult pass. “And what about Arturo?”
“He’s the chef. He handles the business end of things like the menus and ordering and payroll and Artie runs the front and deals with the public… not in drag, though. In fact, I’ve never even seen him in full drag. He tends bar with Jason and sometimes he just schmoozes and seats people and visits. He’s much better at schmoozing than at bartending.”
“Tim, I know this might not be the time or place, but… I haven’t had a chance to ask you yet… how are you?
“I’m fine. What do you mean?” But he knew what she meant. She was about to start prying into his personal business, his psychic powers, or whatever her mother had called them. Tim knew he’d inherited something weird from his maternal grandmother and it wasn’t something he’d ever asked for or wanted. He didn’t want to talk about it. Living in San Francisco, he could go for long periods of time without even thinking about it. He should have known his Aunt Ruth would get around to asking, but that didn’t mean he would make it easy for her.
“You know what I mean, honey. I love you and I worry about you. And I know you, Tim. Are you still having those dreams, dear?”
“No!” he lied. And she knew he was lying. It was no use. “Not lately… not often, anyway. I have lots of dreams that don’t mean anything and some nights I sleep straight through and don’t remember any of them. Some nights I have lots of crazy dreams and I don’t know what the hell they mean anyway, so what good are they?”
“I don’t know, honey. I wish I knew a way to help.”
“I know how to help,” Tim said as he broke away from her and stood up again. “I can help myself by smoking a lot of pot and trying not to think about it, okay?”
Ruth took a deep breath. “So… you and your friends all work together at Arts?” She tried to keep the conversation going, rather than have her nephew resume his pacing.
Tim was relieved to have a change of subject. “Everyone calls it Arts, but the sign over the door says, ‘Arts Fine Foods’ or “Fine Arts Foods’ or ‘Foods Arts Fine’ depending on how you look at it and provided that none of the lights are burned out. They also promote local artists with exhibitions on the walls and singers drop in and perform sometimes if they can get along with Viv. Mondays and Tuesdays are her nights off, so they sometimes do Comedy Night. They’ve even tried karaoke.”
“And Viv is…?”
“She was known as ‘Vivacious Vivian and her Nimble 88’s’ back in her hey-day on Polk Street. I guess she’s mellowed out enough in her old age to play music people can eat to. She looks like one of the oldest drag queens in the world, which must be part of her charm—if she has any. When she gets a request she doesn’t know she’ll fake it and I’m sure she makes twice as much in tips as the rest of us put together.”
Sirens sounded as more ambulances pulled up. “There must have been a big accident somewhere,” Tim said with a shiver in spite of the heat. “I don’t want to watch them carrying bodies in here and I can’t take this waiting. We can call later and see how the surgery went. Let’s get out of here.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I should stop by the restaurant and tell them about Jason, anyway. He was scheduled to work tonight, so Artie will have to call someone in or do it alone. I could help out, but I’m not much of a bartender. I’m not even on the schedule this week. I took some vacation days in order to spend time with you. Come on. I can show you where I work right now. Let’s take the #33 bus back to the Castro.”
Riding up Potrero Avenue, Ruth asked, “How could Jason afford to buy that house on a bartender’s pay? Is the restaurant that successful?”
“We all do okay, but not enough to buy real estate in San Francisco. Are you kidding? You’d have to win the Lotto just for a down-payment these days. The house was Karl’s. He was Jason’s lover who died of AIDS several years ago. Karl grew up in that house. When his parents died they left it to him and he and Jason moved back in there together. It’s a duplex, so Jason rents the top half out to some old widowed lady that Karl’s parents have always had as a tenant. I’ve never met her.”
They got off the bus at Walgreens on the corner of 18th and Castro, crossed the intersection both ways, walked up the street to Arts, and pounded on the door. Arturo finally came out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dirty apron. “I’m coming. I’m coming! Hold your horses!” He unlatched the door and shouted, “Holy cow! You look like hell, Tim! What happened? Oh, sorry. I didn’t see the lady.”
“This is my Aunt Ruth I told you about.” Tim had nearly forgotten that Ruth had just arrived that morning and introductions were called for. “Aunt Ruth, I’d like you to meet half of the Arts – this is Arturo. He’s the chef.”
She stepped through the door as Arturo backed out of their way, “Nice to meet you, Arturo.”
Tim looked at himself in the mirror. “Geez! Why didn’t someone tell me I still have blood on my jeans? Arturo, I’ve got bad news. It’s Jason. We went by his place this morning and I found him lying inside the kitchen door with blood all over the place. Someone stabbed him. He’s in surgery now. We just came straight here from General.”
“Mi dios en cielo! Who would do such a thing? Is he going to be all right?”
“I don’t know. He looked pretty bad, Arturo. I thought we’d better come here and let you guys know in person. Where’s Artie?”
“He’s in the office. Jorge! Call Artie out here, will you?” Jorge was Arturo’s nephew who worked in the kitchen and bussed tables. “Jorge! Where the hell did that boy go? He was just sweeping up in the kitchen a few minutes ago. Wait here and I’ll go get Artie.”
Ruth looked around at the place. There were at le
ast a dozen stools at the bar, about fifteen tables of various sizes and another group of stools around the piano up one level in the rear. The largest wall of the restaurant was covered with color photographs of the gay pride parade in simple black frames. On another section of wall near the front cash register smaller black and white portraits were autographed and framed in silver.
It was several minutes before both owners appeared from the back of the place and joined them. Artie was as round as Arturo was tall and Ruth nearly laughed at the difference, but the looks on their faces told her to keep still.
“Tim,” Artie rushed forward and hugged him. “We just called the hospital. You’d better sit down. Jason didn’t make it. He’d lost too much blood. He didn’t pull through the surgery. There was nothing more they could do. I’m so sorry.”
“No, I don’t believe it. I was the one who found him.” Tim’s shoulders fell and he slumped forward across the bar.
Artie moved around to meet Ruth. “You must be Tim’s Aunt Ruth. I’m Artie. Sorry to meet you under such sad circumstances. And you’ve met my partner Arturo. When did you get in, Ruth?”
“I-I just flew in… just this morning… from Minneapolis. I’m pleased to meet you both. I’m so sorry about Jason.”
Artie stepped behind the bar. “We don’t usually drink this early, but under the circumstances I think a stiff cocktail might be in order.”
Tim lifted his head and said, “Good idea, Artie. Thank you.”
When Artie had finished making four Bloody Marys he came around and sat down at the bar on the other side of Ruth. Arturo broke the silence with, “Well, welcome to San Francisco, Ruth… and here’s to Jason… and happier days.” They raised their glasses.
Artie said, “To poor, dear Jason. What a horrible shock! He didn’t have any enemies that I know of. I thought everyone loved Jason… didn’t they?”
“Everyone.” Tim nodded and started to choke up again. As much as the end of his romantic relationship with Jason had hurt, he never could have imagined his murder. ”Jeez, we were just getting to be friends, after all… and now this. I found him! He was still breathing. There was a lot of blood, but I didn’t think he was that bad off. I can’t believe it.”
“Why don’t I walk you home, honey?” Ruth asked her nephew and then turned to Arturo and Artie. “I’m sure I’ll see both of you fellows soon. I’ll be in town for a little while.” Ruth knew that there would be plenty of time for conversation and questions after the initial shock of Jason’s death wore off.
“I haven’t seen that picture of you and mother in years.” Ruth stood in the doorway of Tim’s bedroom as he sat down on the bed to take off his shoes. “I took that picture myself. It was the Fourth of July in Powderhorn Park. You adored your grandmother. I’ll never forget how broken up you were when she died. You were just a boy, of course.”
“I don’t remember any of it. I hardly remember her at all.” Tim tried to act normal, but his voice was that of someone in a trance. “So, yeah, this is my bedroom. It doesn’t get any direct sunlight, but there’s fresh air from the air well and it’s nice and quiet. I guess I didn’t give you the grand tour earlier, not that there’s anything very grand about this place.”
Ruth picked up the framed photograph. “She adored you, too. She never had much time for your cousin Dianne. It wasn’t as if she meant to play favorites, but everyone could tell she was crazy about you; it was so obvious. And you were so much like her. You had her sweet smile and that funny way she used to turn her head to one side when she asked a question. You used to do that when you were a little boy, too.”
“I don’t remember…” Tim didn’t want to remember. He didn’t know why he kept that picture beside his bed, but he’d had it there for years. He didn’t want to think about the things that happened when he was a little boy. He’d managed to block most of them from his memory, but his Aunt Ruth almost seemed to be in a trance of her own as she stared at the picture and kept on speaking about things that happened years ago as if for the first time.
“She used to see things too, you know, and so did you when you were younger. It scared you sometimes and your grandmother tried to comfort you, but then she died before she could really help you understand it, whatever it was, and then they seemed to get even stronger for a while… your dreams, I mean. Your mother, Betty… well… she and I never knew what to say. We were all just glad when we thought you’d outgrown that phase…”
Tim had outgrown that phase to some extent, but it was mostly a matter of learning not to mention what he saw. It only worried people. These days his visions were usually limited to his dreams, but right now he was wide awake… or was he? He could picture Jason running naked on a white sandy beach with perfect blue waves crashing at his feet. It might be San Gregorio, where they had planned to go today. Jason was alone on the beach at first and then he was joined by someone whose face Tim couldn’t see. And soon he was surrounded by some of the most beautiful and exotic men Tim had ever imagined. Jason always loved the male body—his own and others—he reveled in all that was sensual and he treated sex like pure fun. Tim envied him and hoped to learn from him, but now Jason had gone on to another place, the “better place” that people always talked about when someone died, and Tim watched this scene as if from behind glass. He couldn’t touch it. He couldn’t join in. He couldn’t reach that far. Still, he was glad to know that Jason was having the time of his life… or death, in this case.
Ruth heard her own voice blathering on in her head about something. She closed her mouth to make it stop. She didn’t want to be annoying on her first day in Tim’s world. When she set the picture of her mother back down on the bedside table, her nephew was fast asleep. “Well, maybe I’ll go have a little lie down on the couch, myself. I’ve been up since before dawn in Minnesota and it’s been quite a day already.”
Hours later Ruth awoke to see the eerie glow of streetlights on Collingwood Street with a thick fog swirling around them. She heard sounds coming from the kitchen in the back of the apartment so she forced herself to get up and go see how Tim was doing.
“What time is it, Tim? Did you have a good nap? I must have dozed off too.” Her nephew was dressed all in black and rummaging through a kitchen drawer for a flashlight.
“It’s just past 10. You slept for hours. I called out for a pizza and you didn’t even hear the doorbell. Aren’t you hungry? I already ate most of it, but there’s still a couple of slices left in the refrigerator.”
“Maybe later…” Ruth was about to ask whether pizza was a staple in Tim’s diet and suggest that he needed better eating habits, but she didn’t want to put him on the defensive. There’d be plenty of time for that later. “What are you doing, honey? What’s the flashlight for? Did you lose something?”
“I remembered that I have to take care of some business over at Jason’s house. You can come along if you want to help.”
“You can’t just go barging in over there. The police will have strung up that horrid yellow tape all over the place. They might even have it under surveillance. Don’t they say that killers sometimes return to the scene of the crime? They might be watching for him to come back and they could think you were involved.”
“You’ve been reading too many detective stories. Besides, I’m going to use the front door; the murder happened in the back. I know where Jason keeps… kept…a spare key. It’s inside a phony rock in the flower bed. Nobody will see us and I’m sure the cops have better things to do than hang around there all night. Come on... come along! You can be my look-out, but wear something dark, just in case I’m wrong.”
“All right Tim, but this makes me nervous.”
He reached into the hall closet and handed her a navy blue hooded sweatshirt that was much too big, but she pulled it over her head, fluffed up her hair and tucked it back inside. “You don’t need to come anywhere near the house if you don’t want to, Aunt Ruth. Just stand at the end of the driveway and whistle if you see a police car
– really loud!”
“I don’t even know if I can,” she started to say, but Tim was already on his way out the door and not listening. She picked up the big purse she’d used as a carry-on bag and slung it over her shoulder. She dropped her cell phone inside. At least she could call the police if she needed to, but it was the police she was afraid of, come to think of it. Tim was already outside the gate on the sidewalk. “Tim! Wait up. I’m coming.” She pulled the apartment door shut behind her and heard the lock click.
Hancock Street was only two blocks long from Noe Street to Dolores Park at the other end. Ruth paced back and forth on the sidewalk while Tim found the key and went inside Jason’s house. She heard a car’s brakes squeal on the Church Street hill. It frightened her and she was relieved that the car didn’t turn onto Hancock. She walked around Jason’s Thunderbird convertible again and stood in the exact same place she’d been when all this madness started. The dried pools of blood were barely visible now in the shadowy streetlights and Ruth wondered why the police had strung their yellow tape across the back door and left the front unguarded.
She crossed the street and stood in the shadow of a tree. Ruth didn’t know what she would do if anyone drove up and stopped at the house. She tried to practice whistling softly, but she’d never been able to whistle worth a darn in her whole life. Didn’t Tim know that? She would just have to yell, she supposed. A man down the block opened his front door to take his dog out for a walk. Ruth heard the dog barking happily and the man’s voice shushing him, but thankfully, they weren’t headed in her direction either.
Then she looked down and saw something shiny in a cluster of groundcover. It reflected the streetlight enough to arouse her curiosity. She bent to get a closer look and saw a large chef’s knife. It looked brand new and expensive and it was spotless. She rummaged around in her purse for a handkerchief and picked up the knife in it, being careful not to touch it with her fingers. This could be the murder weapon, Ruth thought to herself with a shiver. She lowered the knife into her bag and was glad she’d brought her biggest purse along tonight.
Cold Serial Murder Page 2