by Eden Sharp
I snuggled back down under the covers. I still felt sleepy despite the caffeine and didn’t much feel like getting up.
‘What we talked about in the meeting. That they’re looking to identify Charlie’s associates.’
‘You’re spending a lot of time with him.’
The drowsiness had gone. I now felt wide awake and irritable.
‘I have a lot of guilt.’
‘Are you sure that’s all it is?’
I didn’t want to take the pressure I was feeling about the situation out on Knox but it currently felt like he was adding to it.
‘Yes I am. He was my boyfriend when I was sixteen. Now he’s not.’
‘I like him. I didn’t want to,’ he said.
I hadn’t expected that. They couldn’t have been more different from each other, but both were decent in their own way. I started to feel more charitable. Less like I was being interrogated.
‘He’s a cool guy,’ I said.
There was a protracted silence. Maybe he was looking to open up another thread of conversation or prolong the call, I couldn’t tell. ‘I’ve got a few things I need to catch up with,’ I said.
‘Like what?’
My mood began to disintegrate again.
‘Like life Knox. Domestics. Dirty laundry. Personal downtime.’
‘What’s happening between now and Tuesday?’ he asked. Maybe a little defeated.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I’ll call you then.’ I ended the call and dropped my cell back on to the nightstand. Knox had annoyed me and I hated myself for feeling that way. It rang again. I snatched it back up.
‘Yes?’
‘Hi. You okay?’
Lucy. One half of a favorite couple of mine. She worked for a street outreach project. Her girlfriend, Ollie, owned a body shop and often loaned out cars to me for surveillance work.
‘Sorry, yes. How are you?’
‘I’ve found Chrissie.’
My throat went tight.
‘She’s okay. We’re south west of Market near Sixth. She’s in withdrawal and not had a customer yet.’
Sunday morning and guys were looking for hookers. No doubt while some of their families were at church. I knew as soon as she got some interest she’d be off to score. I hoped she looked in bad enough shape that the johns would think twice though I doubted it.
‘I’m on my way now.’
It took me longer than it should to exit the underground lot because of a couple of removal trucks the valets were guiding round a tight spot. In my impatience I hadn’t left enough clearance and one came perilously close to scratching the side of my car. I backed up a little cursing, pent up with nervous energy and hoped I wasn’t going to be too late.
19
John Knox
Knox threw his cell phone on to the passenger seat. He had been sitting in the garage forecourt across the street from McGlynn’s building for a while but if he hung about too long someone from the business may come over and check him out. Apart from there, First Street was too busy to park and the valets were on any car directly outside the Randall’s entrance ramp, keeping the area clear.
He berated himself for not biting the bullet and calling in on her in person. Maybe he was afraid of what he might find. Maybe he didn’t want to risk being caught out in a rental vehicle she wouldn’t recognize.
He snatched his cell back up and typed in a message, Turn 30 on the 11th. This Thursday. Me, you, Jeff, Mike, birthday drinks at Hep 7pm. He added, If you feel like it? then immediately hit the back space key to delete the addition. His finger hovered above the send button but he changed his mind and threw the phone back on to the seat next to him.
What was with the indecision? He hated feeling he was on the edge of things once again. Maybe she was just sorting out dirty laundry. It was feasible enough. He should probably head home and do the same.
He was toying with the idea of going in to the garage’s store to get a soda before leaving when he spotted McGlynn’s Nismo exiting the Randall Building’s ramp and turning right, away from the Bay Bridge. Knox turned over the ignition and pulled out into the flow suddenly considering for a moment that she may be heading for his apartment, but she took a right, crossed over Howard and looked to be making for Market. He kept a three-car gap, despite the rental, like she’d taught him to do and wondered just how far she was keeping him out of the loop.
South of Market, in a sketchy section known by locals as a hotspot for car crime, theft and assault from panhandlers and pimps, McGlynn slowed to a halt causing several cars behind her to signal they needed to pull out around her. He held back a distance waiting while a dark blue Chevy Impala tried to muscle its way round the two others in front of it. McGlynn reversed into what must have been the only available space in a packed street.
The Chevy didn’t move as the vehicles ahead of it pulled off and he realized why it must have been hanging back. McGlynn ran out in front of it, sprinting across the pavement between oncoming traffic and up on to the opposing sidewalk before disappearing. The Chevy pulled away screeching, apparently more than happy to be on the move again.
Up ahead, the opportunity to turn back around presented itself and he found he wasn’t alone in making a right, turning and then taking a left and easing back around the junction on the same side McGlynn’s car was parked. Like a weird case of déjà vu on opposite day, he was sitting behind the Chevy once again, holding back next to where McGlynn had left the Nismo, which he now saw was in a restricted zone.
The Chevy was stationary, not moving forward with the flow. He strained to see what the hold-up was. He could see the lane in front of it was clear. Instead its two occupants were craning their heads in the direction that McGlynn had disappeared. Some other guys similarly hanging out on a Sunday, sitting in a car interested in what McGlynn was up to. Knox followed their gaze to see if he could locate her in the crowd but couldn’t. The Chevy took off. Neither, apparently, could the tail.
He drove back around the block, alone this time, taking another pass to see if he could spot where she was at. The second time around he noticed the spot where the Nismo had been was vacant. He toured the surrounding streets to try and pick up the trail again, but it had gone cold. Neither McGlynn nor the Chevy and its occupants were around.
He pulled over and parked next to a store a few streets away. Should he call her and confront her or just get on and do what Paul Harding had asked him to? He opted to fulfill the mission he’d been tasked with. Harding trusted her surely? Or was he too, concerned about just which way McGlynn would play it?
He picked up his cell, retrieved the message he’d typed in earlier and hit send. Despite the meet on Tuesday he might not get the chance to ask her even then, the way she was so keen to skip out with Lau. He’d give her the heads-up, so she could keep her plans free and hopefully make it.
Surely, she wouldn’t be the only one out of the small circle of people he knew in San Francisco to miss it? It was his birthday. Of course she’d come. Maybe after a few drinks and they were both loosened up they’d be able to be straight with one another.
Angela McGlynn
Predictably Chrissie was in a prime location for prostitution but when I spotted her the traffic was heavy and it was difficult to pull the car around to her side of the street. I ditched it temporarily in a no parking zone and hoped I wouldn’t get a ticket from a passing cop. By the time I’d almost negotiated both lanes on foot she’d been shown interest by a john and was leaning in his passenger window repping her wares and the associated price tags.
I didn’t know what kind of guy was good with getting with a strung-out girl in need of a bath and a meal, but I guessed the type that didn’t care much about the social well-being of the women he was perusing. More the kind of person with the view that everything was on the table and fair game, who viewed all things in purely transactional terms and was blinkered to the human misery-shaped vessel for his own ten-minute high.
I was thirty yards away
coming up on her shoulder and praying she wouldn’t turn at the last minute and bolt, but she must have sealed the deal because she climbed inside his vehicle. He managed to pull away as a spot opened up in the flow and I was left standing on the sidewalk estranged from my car by tourist and early bird traffic.
I cursed the fact I hadn’t managed to note his tag. What I did notice however was an Impala blocking the farside lane while the driver and passenger scanned the area in my general direction. I kept a group of hipsters, probably out for breakfast, between me and the Chevy and stayed in tandem with the group until it took off.
I jaywalked back between lanes noticing the john’s car had also dissolved into the exiting stream. I had a good idea where he was headed and hoped I was right. I waited a few seconds and then caught my own break and made for a derelict lot which was the nearest quiet spot, isolated enough from routine patrols and in the general direction of travel.
The lot was faced by a row of old buildings for which it would only be a matter of time before they were snapped up and developed despite the neighborhood. Their faded grandeur would most likely appeal to an investor looking to make bank and the project would kickstart yet another phase of gentrification.
Completely surrounded by tall wooden hoardings, ready to advertise its potential up-and-coming use, it was perfect for all types of activities requiring privacy. One section was missing, no doubt to allow works vehicles access, but this had only been barred by a chain. It had long been detached and was now ground into and half embedded in the dirt from a variety of unauthorized traffic.
The guy had turned a circle facing outward towards the entrance and with his trunk backed up against the siding. He appeared to be alone in the car though it was clear from the reclined angle of his seat and relaxed, head back demeanor, just where Chrissie was in relation.
I pulled an arc parking sideways on to the front of his vehicle boxing him into his spot. He reacted quickly enough and by the time I’d exited my car, snapped a photo of his plates with my cell and marched up to his side, Chrissie was also upright and sitting to attention and shaking her head.
I went in fast with the demands and authority hoping he’d catch my request through the couple of inch gap at the top of his window.
‘License and registration and no sudden moves.’
For a moment he looked like he was buying it but then the doubt set in.
‘You a cop?’
‘No. I’m better than a cop because I’m not going to arrest you.’
‘Then how ‘bout you move your pretty car outta my way before I plough it into next Tuesday?’
Wrong. Frickin’. Move. Now I was pissed.
I drew my SIG fast and aimed for his head.
‘You so much as scratch that car and I will shoot you.’
I kept my eyes on him and redirected my requests.
‘Get out Chrissie.’
She didn’t move.
I abandoned the idea of getting his address from his license. Still covering him with my right I used my left hand to extract my cell and snapped a picture of his face through the glass. I threw a brief glance at the image to make sure it was legible.
‘Chrissie, now,’ I said.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she said.
‘You see his face each time when you’re doing these guys? Get out the car.’
She stayed where she was ramping up the danger to all of us and not least my beautiful Nismo.
I tried to keep calm. ‘You need to heal,’ I said, trying to appeal to her any which way that worked.
‘You’re the one that needs help Angela,’ she said.
I could feel the anger rising in me. I turned to the guy.
‘Unlock the car and get her out now.’
The guy popped the lock. ‘Get outta here. Go deal with your shit,’ he said in her general direction.
‘Hey I didn’t even get paid,’ she said.
Jesus Christ. I’d had enough. ‘Make the wrong move and I will out you to your wife, your kids, your employer, whatever,’ I said. I holstered the SIG and tore round to the passenger side, pulled open the door and dragged Chrissie out by her arm.
She was barely away from the vehicle before she was swinging at me with her left. One connected with my right cheek.
‘Why don’t you just go ahead and shoot me?’ she screamed.
I held her at arm’s length, pulling her towards the Nismo which I needed to move out of harm’s way, dancing backwards trying to avoid an onslaught of kicks she was aiming at my shins. A couple hit their target hard enough to make bruises, but it was no less than I probably deserved. I considered having to punch her to shock into compliance and into my car. She kind of went limp as I opened the passenger door and, almost dealing with a dead weight, I dumped her into the seat. Her fists were still flailing at my face as I strapped her in.
‘I’ll just take off when you go around to your side,’ she hissed.
‘I get the feeling I could outrun a woman in your current physical condition,’ I said. Harsh but I couldn’t help myself.
By the time I’d slid into my side, cranked the engine and reversed my pride and joy out of harm’s way she was crying.
I sat and watched her john leave, half expected some kind of defiance but a combination of my threat and the images I had must have done the trick in convincing him to leave without further drama.
Chrissie sat sobbing beside me. ‘I’m sorry about your stuff,’ she said.
I shook my head. ‘It’s okay. It’s okay.’
She’d calmed down some a couple of minutes after leaving the lot.
‘Where we going? I’m gonna need a hit real soon.’
I could hear the barely concealed panic forming in her voice.
‘You know everything on the street’s cut with Fentanyl, right?’
‘I like it,’ she said. ‘It helps.’
‘You know how many junkies EMTs are having to bring back with save shots every day?’
‘Maybe I don’t wanna be brought back,’ she said.
That was my cut off point. I hit the brakes and she lurched forward as we came to a sudden stop. I shot my arm out across her body, but the seat belt did its job anyway. It was more reflexive on my part than necessary.
‘Alright, here’s the deal,’ I said. ‘If the next hit doesn’t kill you, your pimp’s going to so here are your choices. I check you into five-star rehab right now or I’ll lock you in a cage in an abandoned warehouse with two buckets for company for as long as it takes. Take your pick Chrissie, you’re doing this.’
‘Rehab then.’
She sounded like a little girl. The little girl I once knew.
‘You check out before your time is up and I’ll find you and it’ll be door number two, got it?’
She nodded.
The clinic in North Beach overlooked the bay and I hoped the serene view and professionalism the place was renowned for would do the job. I paid the bill upfront in full for the whole works and prayed she stayed long enough to make it worth my while. No promises, no refunds. The money, while not insignificant, meant less than Chrissie’s pledges. I told her she better not let me down, but I’d had enough experience of drug abusers to know that old friends were low down on the list of their priorities.
I drove away without looking in the rear-view mirror. For sanity’s sake I couldn’t keep questioning whether I’d done enough to pay her what I owed her.
20
In Mission Bay, the people I’d seen blocking the road with banners a few days ago were still out in force but fewer in number and were now hanging out on the sidewalk at the edge of the street. I pulled over. Maybe it was a selfish impulse because I needed some fresh air and a distraction. Maybe people only do anything good to feel better about themselves.
A young woman wearing a sports top and cropped pants sat on a low wall kicking back at it with grimy sneakers.
‘Hi I’m Angela,’ I said.
She gave me a bright but tire
d-looking smile. ‘Iris.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Many problems with housing.’
‘Can you talk to me? Maybe I can help.’
‘You a reporter?’
‘Maybe I could help get your story out there.’
She nodded looking off into the distance rather than at me, a sense of defeat in her face.
‘We are being forced to move from our home. We live here for thirteen years.’
‘How many of you live here?’ I asked.
‘In my family, myself, my mother and my two brothers. But there are many families like ours here.’ She pointed to the building behind.
A modest two-bedroom apartment in a not-so-great neighborhood already cost two thousand dollars a month in the Bay Area now. Less than that could get you a four-bedroom house with land in other parts of the country.
‘What will you do?’ I asked.
‘All my family is here, my mother and brother’s jobs. My school is close, but I don’t know where we will move.’
I nodded. The region had one of the highest rates of homelessness in the country. On top of this the local news was full of stories about mobile home parks and complexes housing vulnerable residents facing increasing threats of closure. The city was targeting higher incomes as part of its long-term plans to accommodate a swelling population due to the rise in tech employment.
‘How old are you?’ I asked.
‘Fifteen-years-old.’
She looked older.
A guy approached. They shared the same features. Curly hair, dark eyes, long eyelashes. I guessed he was one of her brothers. Iris spoke to him briefly in Spanish.
‘We’re upset because it took so long to find this apartment in the first place,’ he said.
He introduced himself as Saul. He told me he worked as a roofer.
‘The landlord using the Ellis Act and claiming he wants to shut his business down?’ I asked.
He nodded, a disgruntled laugh escaping his lips. ‘These people are speculators so why should they be called landlords? They tear down a two hundred and sixteen unit building and then suddenly it’s six hundred units and the rent goes up thousands of dollars. It’s the only way they can do it. A landlord can only raise the rent by five percent per year by law. Thousands of dollars more and thousands of evictions across the city. We put applications in everywhere, but nothing is affordable.’
