“No sex?”
“Absolutely no sex. Mostly I just want to talk.”
She shifted in her seat and pulled her coat close to her. “Well . . . I usually don’t do this, but Reuben said you were a nice guy.”
* * *
Karyn, like many women, loved the idea of riding in a convertible. She leaned her head back and screamed the minute we got onto the highway. As the mood flattened out, she pulled out a pack of 100s and looked at me for a light. I took her cigarette and leaned toward the windshield to get it lit. I handed it to her, put the heater on, and rolled up my window. She smoked and smiled.
“Karyn, how did you get into this business?”
“Same as everyone, I guess,” she replied without emotion. “I was in school and I needed money, and I thought, how about stripping?”
“I thought it was a little more than just stripping at Market Street.”
“Some of the girls will do anything in the back room, but it’s really up to the girl. I usually don’t do that stuff, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“No—I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m just curious.”
“Well, there is one guy I give full service on a regular basis.” She giggled. “But I kind of like him. And I didn’t give him full service the first time he came in, only after he kept asking for me.”
“Who’s the lucky guy?” Like I didn’t know the answer.
“Conrad.” She was gushing. “He says he’s crazy about me, but a lot of guys say that. You know, it’s not so bad, really. You give enough hand jobs and it’s just like another massage. But clients say crazy shit just to try to get more out of you.”
“I bet.”
“They’re the same as we are, really,” she said, flicking her cigarette out of the car. “You should hear what some of the girls say to guys, just to get them to give them more money.”
I could imagine, but I was too busy thinking about what I was going to say to Conrad to keep him from killing us both.
21
We came in through the garage and went upstairs. Karyn asked for the bathroom and I grabbed my .45 and stuffed it down the back of my pants. I called out, “I can’t believe you just happened to be in the neighborhood!”
“What?” Karyn yelled through the door, and I ignored her. It was ridiculous that I was trying to keep up appearances—my cover was going to be blown in the next few minutes. I made sure the front door wasn’t locked and made myself comfortable on the couch. When Karyn came out I asked her to do a little private dance for me. She moved close, played at kissing me, rubbed my knee, pulled away, and lost a piece of clothing. She seemed to be in her comfort zone and I tried to drag the moment out. She was down to her bra and panties before curiosity got to her.
“So what did you want that was so special? You could see this at the Cinema.”
“Just give me another minute,” I said. “I like this.”
She moved her hips and bit her index finger.
They weren’t trying to be sneaky. I heard Alan’s beat-up jalopy pull up outside, and I heard both car doors slam.
“Come here,” I said to Karyn. “Come sit on my lap.” I pulled the .45 out of my pants as she tittered and parked her moneymaker. I held her close, but not too close. I heard footsteps climbing up my stairs. I imagined Conrad barging in, killing me in my own house. I nuzzled my nose into Karyn’s neck and waited. The screen door creaked.
I spoke: “Come on in, Conrad, I’ve been expecting you.” I held the gun next to Karyn’s exposed midriff. Conrad sauntered in, unarmed.
“How ya doin’, Itchy?” Then he saw his girl on my lap and stopped cold.
“Conrad?” Karyn was confused. “What are you doing here?”
“You see what I see?” I said, moving my eyes to my .45. He held his hands out.
“Itchy, now—”
“What? What is it?” Karyn looked down and saw the gun. I heard her lungs expand.
“Don’t scream, Karyn,” I cautioned. “I don’t want to hurt you but I can’t say what might happen if I get startled.”
“Karyn, baby, don’t move,” Conrad said in the calmest, most concerned voice I’d heard from him. “Itchy is an old friend of mine, we’re just going to have a little chat. Be calm.”
“I’m scared, Connie.”
“Don’t be scared, just . . . just keep your mouth shut.”
She settled down, and Conrad showed me his palms.
“Well,” I said, “we’re all nice and comfortable.”
“I just thought I’d drop by.” Conrad had found his balls, the slither coming back into his voice.
“If I’d known you were coming I’d have made a pot of coffee.”
“Looks to me like you knew I was coming. Did he know, Al?”
Al appeared next to Conrad, brandishing his Colt. “I dunno,” he muttered.
“Alan, nice of you to join us.”
“Drop it, Itchy,” Conrad rasped. “Drop the fucking gun already.”
“No thanks, it makes me feel more comfortable. I don’t like Al standing in an open doorway with a gun, though. Neighbors could be bad for all of us. Shut the door behind you, Al.”
Al didn’t move. Conrad cocked his head at him, and Al shut the door. They were both still standing in the vestibule.
“You fellas want to come in and have a seat?”
“We’re fine right here,” Conrad sneered.
“Let me guess,” I said, “you don’t want the guys watching the surveillance cameras to know that you’re here.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? That’s funny—see, Karyn, honey, I should give you a little background. Conrad here works for some guys who have my house wired with cameras. That little dance you were doing for me earlier? It’s all on tape.”
She furrowed her brow. “I don’t like that.”
“I don’t like it either, darling. But Conrad seems to have forgotten that the place is wired for sound too. They might not be able to see you, Connie, but they can hear us.”
“No,” he spat. “There’s no sound in this room. Just your office.”
I hadn’t had that long to investigate and couldn’t be sure. “You’re bluffing.”
“Believe what you want. Al, you think you can shoot him without hitting Karyn?”
I didn’t let Al answer. “Forget it, Connie. I flinch, Karyn bleeds. Can’t we just talk?” He didn’t answer but he didn’t argue. “Help me out with this one, Connie. You and Al come over here to scare me off. You don’t kill me. I track you down, and you tell me that I killed Susan Dalton, when we both know I didn’t. And now you’re back and Al’s still holding a gun on me. What gives?”
“Itchy.” Conrad was getting testy, but leaned against the wall casually, glancing out the window. “Put the fucking gun on the table. We both know you’re not gonna kill her.”
“You’re probably right.” I nudged the nose of the gun against Karyn’s hip, toying with the strap of her panties.
“Stop it,” she giggled, “that’s cold!”
“But I might just put one in her leg and see how much that turns you on.”
“You’re the one who’s bluffing.”
“The Dalton lady and I had a bit of a thing going,” I said. “Someone killed her. Maybe you. It would only be fair balance if something happened to your girl.”
He thought it over. He didn’t like it much. “I didn’t kill Ms. Dalton.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“What did she tell you about Ashley?”
“Mmm, that name isn’t ringing any bells.”
“Shoot him, Al.”
“Al, don’t be stupid. Conrad, Susan Dalton didn’t know a damn thing about Ashley. She knew less than her brother, and he knew nothing.”
“Who hired you to find Ashley?”
“She’s dead, don’t you know?”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. Who hired you to find Ashley?”
&nb
sp; “You must be kidding. You don’t even know who hired me? Is that why you came here tonight?”
Conrad’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Charlie left town, asshole.” I wanted to groan; I had bet on Charlie to play it cool. “So you must have got to her. How much you know decides whether or not I let you live.”
“I can’t see how you’re in a position to make demands. I wouldn’t have known about Charlie if you hadn’t told me they had my fingerprints on guns.”
Conrad worked his jaw. “I might have . . . overstepped my bounds a little.”
“Who’s setting me up?”
“I can’t help you, Itchy.”
“Who’s setting me up? Who wired my house, who’s framing me for murder?”
“Who hired you to find Ashley?”
“I can’t help you, Connie.”
“Shoot him, Al.”
Al didn’t move.
“Shoot him.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Conrad.” Al’s voice seemed to be coming from far away.
“Just fucking—who’s paying you here?” Conrad demanded.
“Guess you don’t pay him enough,” I offered.
“Al, what’s your goddamn problem? Itchy, what’d you do to my muscle? Al, just kill him.”
Al lowered his gun a little and looked at Conrad, eyes soft, like a little boy. “I told you, Conrad, I’m not killin’ nobody.”
Karyn shifted her weight on my lap. “I have to pee,” she whispered.
“Just a little while longer,” I said. “We’re almost done.”
“Al,” Conrad snarled, “give me your gun and go wait in the car.”
Al passed him the Colt. “Sorry, Mr. Crane,” he said.
“Don’t worry about a thing.”
Al opened the door, squeezing his large body past Conrad in the tiny foyer, and went out.
Conrad raised the Colt. “Itchy motherfucking Crane, tell me who fucking hired you before I put you out of your misery.”
“Fuck you,” I said. “You won’t risk hurting the girl. Now tell me who’s setting me up, and why.”
“Can’t do it.” He shook his head vehemently. “I love you, Karyn, but you don’t understand what they’ll do to me if Itchy fucks this up.”
“You . . . love me?” Karyn was melting, misunderstanding the severity of the moment.
“You know the people you’re working for will kill you for nothing. And if you kill me, they’ll know,” I said. His eyes were on Karyn and I hoped he was softening. “Tell me who’s setting me up, take the girl, and disappear. I got no beef with you, Conrad.”
“Can’t do it. Tell me who hired you.”
“Who are you working for?”
“Who hired you? Was it McCaffrey?”
“We gonna keep this up all night?”
“Do you even know about McCaffrey and the girl?”
“Who’s McCaffrey?”
“Itchy, you’re dead no matter what, you stupid fuck, don’t you fucking get that?”
“And I’m betting so are you.”
It was an impasse. We bored eyes into each other, a true cowboy showdown. The girl didn’t breathe. Conrad forced air out of his nostrils with a clenched mouth. He lowered the Colt a half-inch and shook his head. “I—” he said, and there was a pop and a faint squish and he flinched. The Colt slowly dropped to his side, and he gave me a lackluster grin. “Fucking. You fucking—” He raised the Colt back up with a monumental effort, and then I heard that faint squish again and I saw a flash of blood speckle the wall behind him. Conrad fell, Colt first, and began bleeding all over my hardwoods.
Karyn’s scream split the entire neighborhood in half. She ran to him and I had to bodily pick her up and carry her out of the room, thrashing.
“You want to get shot?” I asked her, and I threw her into the bathroom and locked the door. I ran back into the front room, ducked down below the windows and checked Conrad’s carotid. He was fading fast, but he still had a pulse.
I needed to see. I ran outside, keeping low, and saw a car speeding up the street. I started to run after it but only made it a few steps before I tripped over Al, lying in a heap on the side of the road. He was holding his head, which was bleeding, though he didn’t appear to have been shot.
“Al, what the fuck?”
He looked up at me with glassy eyes and said, “He hit me.” Then he passed out.
I whipped out my cell phone and called information and asked to be directed to an ambulance—I didn’t want 911 sending the cops over right away.
I went back inside. Conrad was gone; the second shot had hit him in the neck and he’d bled out. I shut the front door and took Al’s Colt out of Conrad’s dead hand. I wiped it down good—Al didn’t need this heat—and put it back in Conrad’s hand, pressing his fingertips all over it. I searched his body and found his wallet—Conrad Johanssen, with an address in Noe Valley. There was nothing else of interest—just an ATM and a Blockbuster card.
I waited for the cavalry.
22
“Well, isn’t it nice to see Mr. Crane again, Berrera?” Willits asked when they came in. Berrera grunted.
“Wish I could say the same,” I remarked. “Investigating a South City incident? A little out of your jurisdiction—surprised you seem so chipper.”
“Yeah,” Berrera growled, “I love being woken up and dragged down to the station to see an unlicensed dick who’s been holding out on us.”
“We asked South San Francisco’s finest to keep an eye on you,” Willits added. “Give us a call if you came up on their radar.”
I had a couple things working in my favor. The ambulance had come before any of my neighbors noticed the Samoan bleeding in front of my house. They decreed him stable and sped him off. By then my neighbors were sticking their heads through their curtains—likely calling 911—and I knew I’d never get Karyn into a cab unnoticed. I got her dressed and slipped her a couple of Valiums to calm her down, and managed to talk some sense into her before the cops showed up. She was upset about Conrad, but sufficiently concerned about her own hide to realize that it was better to pretend she didn’t know him. In fact, she suggested it. She was worried about a prostitution charge and didn’t need anything heavier. We got our stories straight and she left me feeling confident that she’d keep her mouth shut and play along. She was tougher than I’d given her credit for.
The South City cops taped up my house with yellow crime scene banners and drew a chalk outline on my hardwood floor. It was a circus. Karyn and I were both taken into custody, then quickly transferred to downtown SF for grilling. The nice thing about sitting in an interrogation room for two hours waiting for your favorite cops to get out of bed is that you have plenty of time to figure out how much to give them.
“Willits, you’re gay, aren’t you?” For some reason I felt like getting on his bad side.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I was just wondering. I mean, are you the kind of guy who became a cop so that you can stay in the closet for the rest of your life, or are you the sort who likes to wear your uniform to the Castro Street Fair and, you know, work it.”
“That’s enough,” Berrera said, cutting Willits off before he had a chance to respond. “You fuck a chick, she winds up dead, you tell us you know nothing. Now some guy just happens to get shot right in your goddamn doorway, and you’re hiding out with a known prostitute. What the hell’s going on?”
“Wow, Berrera, that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you speak in a row.”
“Itchy,” Willits said, “what are you working?”
“Willits, if you think you’re gonna score some brownie points by using my nickname as a term of endearment, you’re dead fucking wrong. That name was pegged to me as an insult. I don’t particularly like it.”
“Crane.” Berrera was getting impatient. “What the hell are you working?”
“I’m not a private investigator, I’ll remind you. I’m an information broker.”
“So what kind of information do you have on all these deaths that keep happening around you?” Willits just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“I told you, I don’t have the foggiest. It’s a simple missing person case—”
“I thought you weren’t a PI,” Willits interjected.
“Sorry, a missing person inquiry, and the family won’t release the last name, so I honestly don’t have any more to tell you than the last time I was in here. I thought I had a lead with Dalton, I was wrong, he got dead, I don’t know why. I liked his sister, she got dead, I’m not happy about that but I still don’t know why.”
“So what about Conrad Johanssen?”
“The dead guy? He stormed into my house, told me he didn’t like my business, and offered to take me for a ride.”
“A ride where?” Willits asked.
“You know, I kind of forgot to ask. His invitation was of the firearm variety, and I’m more accustomed to pretty paper with fancy calligraphy.”
“The Colt found at the scene.”
“Yes.”
“But the Colt isn’t registered to Johanssen,” Willits said, “it’s registered to an Alan Punihaole.” Al, you dope, you registered your gun? “You know him?”
“Nope.”
“Because we can’t seem to find him, and we were hoping you could help.”
“Well, if he registered his gun he’s probably in the book.”
“We had a radio car stop by. He’s not home. Owes back rent too.”
“Tough break.”
“Crane, he’s got quite a rap sheet.”
“So?”
“So he might be involved.”
“Ah,” Berrera made a noise like air escaping a corpse, “it’s mostly petty shit. Johanssen could have taken the gun off him.”
I was ready to leave. “It sounds like you guys have all kinds of theories you need to look into. Are we done?”
Berrera gave Willits a look. Willits turned to me.
“No, Crane, we’re not done. We’re not happy about being rousted out of bed and brought down here, and we’re never happy about a murder—in or out of our jurisdiction. We want to know what you’re working, exactly what you’re into, and everything you know about the Daltons, about Johanssen, all of it. Or we can charge you with solicitation.”
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