Streeter Box Set

by Michael Stone

  “Mr. Nathan, I see you still dress like one of Farrakhan’s bodyguards,” Laurie said when he got to her booth. “You are definitely the most anal-retentive-looking black man I’ve ever met.” She smiled and thrust her hand out for him to shake.

  Terry might dress a little uptight, but Laurie was kidding about the rest. With his rich, wood-colored skin and large, dark eyes, she thought he was handsome. There was an intensity to him that she admired. He always knew the score and what the righteous move was. Ever his own man, even if she couldn’t figure him out. Like his being a registered Republican or his partnering with Brian.

  “And what do we have here?” He studied her face as he took her hand. “A poor man’s Madonna. A middle-aged poor man, that is.”

  “Touché,” she said as he sat down. She looked at him and he returned the stare. “Enough chitchat and idle flattery, Terry. Let’s get you a drink and then tell me the latest on Field Marshal Cullen.”

  He nodded. A waitress who barely looked old enough to drink legally herself appeared and asked for their order.

  “I’ll have another ‘see-through’ ”—Laurie pointed to her martini glass—“and my friend here will have a…a what?” She looked at Terry.

  “Rémy, room temperature. In a large snifter, please.” He looked calmly at them.

  The waitress nodded, smiled with a poise well beyond her years, and left.

  “I’ll tell you all about him in a minute, Laurie,” Terry said. “First off, how’ve you been? We talk on the phone, but I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I can’t complain. Life’s been more than tolerable for me all these months. And you?”

  Terry nodded. “Been good myself.” The waitress rematerialized with their drinks, set these on the table, and again silently disappeared. “Speaking of Cullen, I’ve got to ask you something,” Terry continued. “You’re one special woman, Laurie. You’re smart—master’s degree in library sciences—and you’re holding up nicely in the physical department, too. So tell me, how did you ever end up with a loose cannon like him? I’m not trying to pick a fight, but it doesn’t make sense. He have a ton of money I don’t know about or is he some big stud? What the hell’s the draw?”

  She flicked her cigarette in the general direction of the ashtray and shrugged like she was tired. “Don’t forget, you ended up with him, too, my man. And you’re no fool, either. Two years at Stanford and you ended up with him, too.”

  “I didn’t have to sleep with him all those years. Besides, putting it back on me like that doesn’t answer the question.”

  Her face softened and she looked beyond Terry. “True. How did I end up with Brian Patrick Cullen? I know he has all the sensitivity of a caveman on a steroid binge and he’s not the most gorgeous thing. As far as his sexual prowess, forget it. But when I first met him, he had a terrific sense of humor and a nice, slow cockiness. His face didn’t have all that anger it has now. And he had a way of making me feel safe. You know, protected. The man was so sure of himself. He’d take on the world for me. It was very appealing, and even though he wasn’t the greatest lover, he made up for it with a ton of enthusiasm. He adored me.” She glanced back at him. “How either of us got hooked up with Mr. Cullen isn’t the point. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

  “You remember that Kevin Swallow business I told you about. The car bomber. Well, Brian believes you might use that as an excuse to try and hurt him. Everyone’s focused on Swallow, so you could see this as a free pass. I told him that’s nonsense, but he thinks you’re the only one around who really wants him to go down.”

  Laurie shook her head and grimaced. “That man is so delusional. Like he matters enough for me to want to hurt him. And what does he mean, I’m the only one? You know damned well we could fill half the convention center with people who’d like to see Cullen get horsewhipped.”

  Terry Nathan shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “There’s no talking to him about it. My personal opinion is that he likes to think you still care enough about him to try something.”

  “Care enough? Good God, we must have been quite a pair. Talk about your basic dysfunctional couple.” Laurie shook her head again. “He’s got to know that Kevin Swallow’s his real problem. I’m totally out of it.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s got you on his mind and he won’t listen to much else on the topic.”

  “I’ll say this once and that’s it.” She leaned forward as she spoke. “I have no interest in hurting him. You tell Lard Ass there not to flatter himself on that score.”

  Terry nodded and finished his Rémy with one short gulp. He put down the snifter and adjusted his glasses. “All I know is Cullen’s obsessing on you more than he’s done in quite a while.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Sure. But he’s thinking about you, and when that Irishman gets to thinking about something for too long and too hard, he can come up with almost anything. I just wanted you to know that you’ll be hearing from him soon. He told me he plans to have a chat with you and let you know his thoughts on the subject. I think he sees this threat as a reason to get back in touch with you.”

  She motioned to the waitress and waved her hand over the table to indicate they’d like another round. Then she looked back at Terry. “You don’t have to warn me how his mind works. Or I should say, how it doesn’t work. If you’re his friend you’ll keep him on a short leash. Swallow’s probably coming after him, and Brian stomping around making stupid accusations won’t help matters.”

  To Terry, having Brian on a short leash definitely was one fine idea. “I hear you.”

  She studied him for a while without saying anything. Finally, she spoke. “I know you told me that Brian’s not afraid of Swallow and he’s acting all macho about it. But this really is getting serious. Look at Watts and Gagliano. It sounds like Brian’s turn could be coming up. I have a friend who’s a police dispatcher, so I called her after you told me they’d contacted Brian last week. I was curious. She said everyone there’s talking about it.” Laurie watched as the waitress set another round on their table. “That lawyer Swallow’s after is sure taking it serious. My friend said Irwin’s even hired herself a skip tracer to look for him. Some guy named Streeter.

  “You know how the cops like to gossip. Apparently, Irwin wasn’t too popular with them, and they see it as a slap in the face that she hired him. This is getting to be a fairly high-profile case with the media. I saw in the papers today that they’re finally linking the Watts and Gagliano attacks to the threats to Irwin.”

  Terry considered that. “Streeter. The name rings a bell. He’s a bounty hunter working out of Lower Downtown. I think he did a skip trace or two for us a long time ago. I never met him personally.” He paused. “Might be a good idea if I gave Mr. Streeter a call. Me and him could compare notes and swap information, seeing as how we’re all after the same thing.”

  Laurie shifted in her seat. “That’s probably not a bad idea. The worst he can do is tell you to get lost. But I’d suggest you talk to him by yourself. Let Brian keep playing with his stupid little theories. Don’t even tell him about it. Not yet, at least.”

  “You got that right. I’ll keep our boy on that short leash you mentioned. Let’s just let him fixate on you for a while longer.”

  They’d been talking on the phone for a few minutes when Streeter glanced at his watch. It was almost ten-thirty on Wednesday night. He didn’t recognize the voice, but he had heard of Terry Nathan before. Brian Cullen’s partner.

  “It could be there’s information we can exchange that’d be to our mutual benefit here,” Terry was telling him. “We have a common interest in finding Mr. Swallow. How about meeting me at the clubhouse at City Park tomorrow? You know the place?”

  “Sure do,” Streeter responded. “Best barbecue in the state. I’ll be sort of near there in the afternoon, anyhow.”

  “Fine,” Terry said. “Four o’clock sound okay?”

  Streeter remembered doing a few skip traces for Culle
n maybe five years earlier. Although he’d never met Terry, if he was as gruff as Cullen, he’d be a pain in the ass. Still, Streeter could put up with a jerk if it got him any information on Kevin. Besides, Nathan sounded okay. Sure of himself but not cocky. Very unlike Brian Cullen.

  “I’ll be there.”

  THIRTEEN

  City Park is one of Denver’s few real parks. Other grassy areas may lay claim to the title. The yuppified Washington Park, for instance, is a wide, figure-eight bike path where lumpy white people in spandex outfits walk their silly dogs. It has a couple of stagnant, goose-shit ponds, a boathouse, a community building, and tennis courts. Cheesman Park in Capitol Hill is basically an open-air gay spa where puzzled seniors waddle around a running track made from what appears to be hardened Play-Doh. Most of the rest of the city’s so-called parks are little more than glorified picnic areas with softball diamonds, ranging in size from a couple of acres to an overblown living room.

  But City Park, on the near North Side, lives shamelessly up to its full name. It’s a true park boasting the full jangle of urban life: drive-by shootings, awkward racial tensions, idle city maintenance crews, and dismal ethnic festivals. It also has a golf course—nicknamed the Nairobi Country Club by mean-spirited WASPs—a zoo, a lake, running paths, European-looking statuary, numerous ball courts, a high-tech museum, gardens, and bike paths. It’s the largest and most feared park in town. In short, it’s the only one worth visiting. It’s located in a fairly high-crime area that’s being nervously integrated from three sides by adventurous white couples and sentimental gays. All of them have a keen eye for turn-of-the-century houses made affordable by their proximity to minority neighborhoods.

  Terry was leaning against a low fence next to the practice green in front of the clubhouse when Streeter got there. It was twelve minutes to four. Usually the bounty hunter arrived first, a habit Frank had taught him. Get the lay of the land and avoid surprises. But here was Terry Blue Nathan, relaxed and watching people putting like he’d been hanging out in the warm autumn sun all afternoon. Streeter took an immediate liking to the man. He seemed alert yet detached, like there was a lot going on under the surface. In his forties but still with an athletic build. Short-sleeved white shirt, pleated pants, and expensive shoes. Probably Allen Edmonds. Black-on-burgundy saddle shoes, rich-looking and soft as a puppy. Streeter always looked to the footwear to see what a man thought of himself. Terry was understated, unique, and he knew the score.

  “Have you been here long?” he asked Nathan.

  Terry straightened up a bit, studied Streeter, and then put out his hand to be shaken. “A while,” was all he said.

  “Let’s sit outside and watch these clowns knock themselves out while we talk.” Streeter nodded to the practice green. “I had such a lousy long game I finally gave up. Do you play?”

  “No. Can’t see paying good money to chase a little white ball around all day. Who needs the frustration? Besides, where I grew up there wasn’t much grass. Only golf I ever saw was on the tube.”

  “Where was that?”

  “Back east.” He paused. “D.C.”

  They took a table in the shade and Streeter went inside to grab a couple of Miller Genuine Drafts. He came back with the beers and they watched the putting for several minutes in silence. Three young men were practicing wordlessly on the green. The soft tap of their clubs on the balls was interrupted by the growing rush-hour traffic on nearby York Street. Terry spoke first.

  “I don’t need a golf lesson and I suppose you have other things to do with yourself today, too. You having any luck finding Kevin Swallow?”

  Streeter shrugged. “Some. I bet your pal Brian wouldn’t mind getting his hands on him. Cullen’s got to be on Kevin’s short list, maybe even next. Does he have police protection?”

  Terry shook his head and grinned. “No. Brian’s not much for that kind of thing. Personally, I believe he’d rather get himself blown up than spend too much time with the police. I guess they’re keeping an eye on him from time to time, but no one’s assigned to stay with him. I wish they were. Swallow sounds like one serious motherfucker.”

  “As a human being, he’s a total waste of groceries.” Streeter sat up. “But he’s not the kind of guy to give up. I only met Cullen a couple of times. He sure seemed to have enough of that Irish bravado, but he better watch his ass pretty close on this one. It’s going to take more than swagger to deal with old Kevin.”

  Terry took a drink from his beer and flashed a grin. “Yeah, bravado’s one name you can call it, I guess. Let’s just say, if Brian were to enter a popularity contest, he’d get maybe one vote. His own.”

  Neither man spoke for a moment. Finally, Terry straightened in his chair and leaned in to the table. He looked closely at Streeter. “It seems that we both got a real interest in finding Swallow. Tell you what, why don’t we pool our resources and work together? I hear a lot of good things about you, and from your end, it could be that a man like me’d be helpful. Two heads are better than one, like they say.”

  Streeter took a slow pull off his beer and looked out past the putting green for a moment. Then he turned back to Terry. “You, me, and your partner?”

  “Forget Cullen. He don’t know from Shinola on this whole mess. He’s off on some personal tangent and right now he’s too much of a hothead for us. I’m talking just you and me. Look, I’m not saying we should go to the prom together. Just keep each other posted and watch each other’s backside. This is going to be one rough, ugly job and you know it.”

  Streeter grinned. He sensed Terry had the balls and the brains to make it worthwhile. Plus, he’d come in handy immediately. “Sounds like a plan, Mr. Terry Blue Nathan. One thing jumps out at me right now where I might like to have someone come along. You ever pack anything besides a lunch?”

  “Got me a .38 that I carry from time to time, if the situation calls for it.”

  “Keep it handy. I have a line on where Swallow might be staying. Up near Evergreen. My information’s flimsy as hell but it’s worth a ride in the country. How’s your schedule look for the next couple of days?”

  “Not so busy I can’t shake free.”

  Streeter drained his beer. “Then let’s check out Evergreen. I’ll give you a call tomorrow to nail down the details. Be ready to move first thing Saturday morning.”

  Terry nodded and they shook hands on it. They finished their beers, and then Streeter headed home. When he got back to the church, he went straight to Frank’s office. The bondsman was just getting off the phone as he walked in.

  “How’d it go with Cullen’s partner?” he asked Streeter.

  “Pretty well. He wants to team up with me looking for Swallow.”

  Frank frowned deeply. “Jesus, I don’t know. That Cullen’s not too easy to take, from what I hear. You sure you want to deal with him?”

  “I’m not going to. Terry Nathan and I are pulling together for now and Brian Cullen’s out of the picture. Even Terry doesn’t want him working with us. Besides, I got a good feeling about Nathan and I don’t mind having someone covering my butt.”

  “That sounds better.”

  Streeter glanced around. “Have you seen Carol today?”

  “I saw her and the uniform go upstairs a while ago. But then they came down right after that. She said they were going over to her office and they wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours.”

  “I’m heading up to my place,” Streeter said. “See you later.”

  When he got to the loft, he looked around his room. Carol’s suitcases were sitting in the corner and she’d put most of her clothes in a drawer he had cleared for her. The room smelled faintly like her new scent. He’d never had a woman live in the loft, so it seemed strange with Carol’s clothes in his closet. Then he thought of how she was acting toward him lately. Like she was giving the signals of someone on the make. What the hell was she up to? Sarcastic, but never over the top with it. Always the hint of flirtation. He was getting mixed messages, a
nd he was surprised at how it intrigued him. There had been a strong chemical bond between them, even though it had faded years ago.

  Then he focused on Linda Parnell. He hadn’t seen her in about a week, but he thought of her often. Missed her, too. Her dark hair flowing at the driving range. Their moments in her car. Linda hadn’t worn perfume. Just a fresh scent of her, the taste of her mouth. She seemed so much more up front than Carol. Not really predictable, but genuine.

  He glanced around his room once more, not sure what he was looking for.

  FOURTEEN

  Officer Barrows hated the shift change. He didn’t know why he was taken off four to midnight, but orders were orders. Jeff couldn’t stand working midnight to eight under any circumstances, much less now. It meant that he’d see Carol for only a few minutes before she turned in at night and then briefly again when she came out in the morning. If that. Like now, Saturday morning. He’d check out the garage and the church grounds, and wait for his replacement. The next cop probably would arrive before Carol came down. She stayed up in the loft longer on weekends. And Barrows couldn’t just hang around after his shift like a lovesick schoolboy, even though that’s how he’d been feeling lately.

  He’d spent most of the last eight hours reading magazines and drinking coffee in front of the door leading from the first-floor hallway to the loft. Snoozed off maybe twice, but just for a few minutes. He’d only seen Carol once the night before. Right after he went on duty she came down the stairs to put her gym bag in her car and grab her briefcase. On top of that, she was bitchy. Complained about work and how tired she was. She barely said good night on the way back upstairs. He chalked it up to being that time of the month and tried not to take it personally.