“That's why I'm here,” replied Edgar. “I need your expertise in a touchy matter.”
“I'm all ears,” said Miller. “Care to step into my office?”
With this he gestured to the doors of the Condor Club, allowing Edgar to enter first. Inside, Edgar paid the entrance fee for them both and they went in search of a drink.
* * * *
Back on Eldon Court, Jack was growing restless. It seemed as if he was consulting the clock on the wall every five minutes, and it was barely moving. He should have been at his yoga studio but decided he was too nervous with Edgar in San Francisco, so he got one of his employees to cover for him instead. After a couple of hours of pacing the floor, Jack decided it might be a good idea to take the dog for a walk. That, he reasoned, would at least kill some time and get his mind off of Edgar and whatever he was up to. So what that Edgar told him to lock himself in the house? He was an adult and could handle himself. Grateful that the rain had stopped, Jack attached the leather leash to Ollie's collar and the two stepped out onto the porch. A quick glance up and down Eldon Court told him that he was alone and he stepped down off of the porch and onto the empty sidewalk.
As he walked, Jack admired the handsome Victorians that lined their street, such beautiful, sturdy old houses. It was amazing that anyone would want to demolish the old gems, not to mention the well-manicured lawns and the sturdy old trees that lined Eldon Court. Jack considered a stand of Cypress in the distance and a thought occurred to him: if the residents of Eldon Court were unable to beat Danvers Converse through normal channels, why not pursue a more unorthodox route? Surely some organization would be opposed to the developers cutting down these magnificent trees and, hell, if the street's residents were lucky, maybe their street was the winter nesting ground for some endangered species! Jack smiled at his own cleverness. Okay, the endangered species, he realized, was probably pushing it. . . or was he? Jack started making a mental list: he would go online and research endangered species. . . maybe call the Sierra Club. . . god, he needed a pen and paper!
“Come on Ollie,” said Jack, tugging at the confused dachshund's leash. “We're going to go online and do some research.”
Just as he was turning back towards his house, movement in the back yard of Number Two Eldon Court caught his eye. Jack could hear Edgar's earlier admonishment to lock the door and answer it for no one, but curiosity got the best of him and he found himself veering from the sidewalk and onto the grass toward the backyard. As he got closer, he heard a familiar sound, although at first he couldn't quite place it. Then it occurred to him, the “hiss, chink” sound he was hearing was the sound of a shovel digging into earth and, as he peered around the shrubbery, his suspicions were confirmed. Standing in his back yard, shirtless and in flimsy-looking shorts, was Parker St. John, looking sweaty and gorgeous. In his hand was the shovel Jack had heard and Parker was standing in the midst of multiple holes, as if he had been digging all morning and looking for something. Jack didn't want to imagine what or who he was looking for but felt glued to the spot out of fear and, well, Parker was just so damned mesmerizing, especially with his shirt off, thickly furred chest on easy display. He stood there for a moment longer, finally reminding himself of his terrific idea to save their homes. As he turned to make a silent retreat, Ollie let out a single bark.
Shit, thought Jack.
Parker looked up from the hole he was standing over, unsure of where the barking had originated. He wiped his brow with the back of his forearm and stepped forward.
“Who's there?” he demanded.
To Jack's horror, Ollie let out another bark leaving Jack no alternative other than to play along.
“You're in big trouble when we get home,” he mumbled to the dog.
Then he dropped the leash and, as if on cue, Ollie darted into Parker's back yard. Jack waited a beat and then darted after him, feigning fatigue.
“Ollie!” he cried. “Come here, you bad. . .”
Jack stopped in his tracks, pretending to see Parker for the first time that day.
“Oh, Parker,” he said. “I'm so sorry. . . Ollie was chasing a squirrel and got away. . .”
“I didn't see any squirrel come this way,” replied Parker, obviously in a foul mood.
“Oh, well,” said Jack, snatching up Ollie. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
“Jack,” said Parker, calling after his neighbor, “don't you want to know why I'm digging up my back yard?”
“Not particularly, no,” replied Jack.
“Not even a bit?”
Jack narrowed his eyes at Parker.
“I'm assuming you lost something,” he said, pointedly. “But it's really none of my business.”
“No,” replied Parker, “it isn't your business.”
“Like I said,” replied Jack, “I'm sorry to have bothered you.”
With Ollie in his arms, he turned to go, but was stopped by Parker's voice.
“Where's Edgar?” he asked. “Off doing some more snooping?”
The question caused Jack's face to redden, but he didn't reply.
“Since you're all alone,” said Parker, winking insidiously, “why don't we make a fun afternoon of it?”
Parker may have been physically beautiful but this was enough for Jack.
“You may have fucked everyone else on this street into the sad state it's currently in,” he said, his voice steady and low, “but I happen to love my partner and we're going to get rid of you if it's the last thing we ever do.”
Parker, who was obviously not accustomed to having his advances spurned, looked truly shocked. Taking advantage of having the upper hand for the first time since being detected, Jack turned and marched back to his house.
Once inside, he locked the door.
* * * *
Edgar followed Miller into a cavernous room, which was dark save for the flashing lights just at the foot of a stage punctuated by brass poles. These reminded Edgar of the brass railings he had seen on his drive over, except he knew that these had a far different use than the ones in the front of apartment buildings. Wall sconces, positioned here and there on mirrored walls provided the only other light in the room. As soon as they were seated a twenty-something brunette with a pierced septum approached them carrying a tray.
“What can I get you?” she asked, smiling.
“Scotch,” replied Miller. “Neat.”
He looked their server up and down like an old dog sniffing out a ham bone, but his face remained expressionless.
“And you?” she asked Edgar.
“A draught,” he replied. Then, as soon as the server was gone, “I have to drive back to Wonderland.”
Miller acted as if he hadn't heard or didn't care.
“What is it you wanted to see me about, Edgar?”
“I need your help getting some information on someone,” replied Edgar, “hopefully information that will get rid of him for good.”
“I'm listening.”
“This person claims to own the land where my home and the homes of our neighbors are built,” said Edgar. “He wants to force us out so that he can re-develop the land for a business venture.”
“And what makes you think that I can help?” asked Miller, his voice emotionless.
Just then the server reappeared carrying their drinks, which she placed on the table in front of them. Edgar passed her a twenty.
“Keep the change,” he said.
As soon as the server was gone he turned back to Miller.
“You were always a good source when I worked at the Chronicle,” he said. “Considering this guy's been around for a while and no doubt involved in all kinds of illegal activities, I figured you were the right guy to call.”
Miller gave Edgar a sideways glance that suggested a punch in the nose for the ‘illegal activities’ crack, but took a sip of his scotch, instead.
“What's this fellow's name?”
“Danvers Converse,” replied Edgar.
Edgar to
ok a sip of his beer and was surprised to hear Miller laughing a real, hearty laugh. It was the first time, to Edgar's recollection, that he had ever seen Miller laugh.
“What's so damn funny?” he asked.
“Danvers Converse?”
“Yes,” replied Edgar, “why?”
“Edgar,” said Miller, “Danvers Converse is one screwed up motherfucker. Do you know how many people he's made disappear? And I'm just talking about California. God knows how many people in Nevada. . .”
“Surely there's got to be some way to get to this guy,” argued Edgar.
“Have you thought about killing him?” asked Miller.
Edgar glanced nervously around the bar, which was beginning to fill up. He suspected that the next show was about to begin.
“One of my neighbors already had that idea,” replied Edgar, his voice low, “and that didn't go so well.”
“Really?” asked Miller, taking another sip of scotch. “What happened?”
“He got into a scuffle with another neighbor and the gun went off, killing him and badly injuring the neighbor.”
Miller's shoulders made a little jerk and he exhaled sharply, as if amused.
“Too bad,” he said.
“Yes,” replied Edgar, hotly, “it was.”
Their conversation was interrupted by pounding dance music. Edgar looked up to see three young women, in varying states of undress and suspect ages, take the stage. Miller seemed hypnotized by their gyrations and surprised Edgar when he spoke.
“So, you want me to get rid of him?”
“What?” asked Edgar, “No, Miller, that's not what I'm asking. . .what I need is to find any information regarding that land and who really owns it.”
Edgar looked back at the stage, his hands sweaty from the uncomfortable conversation. One of the dancers was feigning licking another dancer's exposed nipples. Edgar cleared his throat and took another sip of beer.
“There is a young man who lives on my street who claims to be the rightful heir to the property in question,” he continued. “Unfortunately, he is in cahoots with Converse.”
“And what is this young man's name?” asked Miller, his eyes still glued to the stage.
“Parker St. John,” replied Edgar. “He claims that George Saunders is his father.”
“George Saunders, the old loon up on Lombard?” asked Miller, another sidelong glance at Edgar.
“Yes,” replied Edgar. “I tried talking to him but he's out of his mind.”
Miller took another sip.
“Sounds like something a paternity test could settle,” he offered.
“I doubt we could force that issue,” replied Edgar, stonily. Since when had Miller become so goddamned pragmatic? He was out of ideas; that's why he was here. Miller was a man of action.
Both men were silent as the music continued to blare from the speakers, propelling the dancers on the stage as they twirled and gyrated against the brass poles. Finally, it was Edgar who again spoke.
“Please, Miller,” he said, “you're my last hope. Are you going to help me or not?”
“And why would I do that?” asked Miller. “I'm too old to get shot by some psycho.”
“I'll pay you well for anything you can come up with,” Edgar replied, “just like the old days.”
Miller gave another sidelong glance and shook his head, smiling. His eyes were either misty or glassy from the scotch, Edgar couldn't tell which.
“The old days are gone, Edgar,” he said, “dead and buried.”
Edgar didn't reply and looked back at the action on the stage. More breasts greeted him. This time it was Miller who spoke first.
“I'll call you if I find anything,” he said. “Good seeing you, Edgar.”
He held his hand out and Edgar shook it, suddenly comprehending that this was his cue to exit.
“Good seeing you, Miller.”
Edgar stepped out onto busy Columbus Street, momentarily blinded by the sun but grateful to be in relatively fresh air once again. Nearby, a barker called to passersby, attempting to lure them inside for the lurid show. The sound of his voice was jarring and all Edgar wanted was to be somewhere quiet, so he crossed the street in search of a quiet drink at Tosca.
* * * *
Edgar's meeting with Miller hadn't taken nearly as long as he had imagined, so he found himself back on the road to Wonderland earlier than expected. He had even managed to stop at a little shop in Chinatown to buy something for Jack, a bundle of rice paper that he liked to use as stationery and a couple of silk pillows for the spare bedroom. Of course, the irony of having bought something for their house when it was uncertain whether or not they would be staying in the house was not lost on Edgar, but he bought the pillows anyway. They would make Jack happy, and that's all that mattered.
Although it wasn't quite fall, Edgar could feel it in the air. . . could smell it, could feel it. . . and although it was not quite five o'clock when he pulled the car back onto Eldon Court, the sun was already beginning its quick descent toward the horizon, where the Pacific seemed to drop off the end of the earth.
Edgar pulled the car into the driveway and parked. He could see the lamp on in the bay window overlooking the front porch and, as he pulled the shopping bag from the hatch back, saw Jack's face appear in the window. Edgar gave a little wave and, by the time he was on the porch, Jack had joined him, their dog Ollie at his feet.
“Hi, handsome,” he said, throwing his arms around Edgar's neck and kissing him on the lips.
“Hi,” laughed Edgar, reciprocating. “I need to drive into the city more often!”
“How was the city?” asked Jack.
“Wonderful, as usual,” replied Edgar, “but I found myself wishing you were there, too.”
“And your meeting?”
“Fine, I think,” replied Edgar. “But, first, I brought you something.”
He offered the shopping bags to Jack, who took them and sat in the wicker loveseat nearby. He pulled out the pillows first.
“These will be great. . .”
“In the spare room,” said Edgar. “That's what I thought.”
Jack pulled out the bundle of rice paper and smiled.
“Thanks,” he said, “I was running low on this.”
“You're welcome,” replied Edgar. He sat down beside Jack on the loveseat. “How was your day?”
“Interesting,” replied Jack.
“What do you mean ‘interesting'?” asked Edgar. “Did you see something?”
“I did,” replied Jack.
Edgar stared at his partner, hoping for an explanation.
“Well, what?” he finally asked.
“You've got to promise not to be mad,” said Jack.
“Why?” asked Edgar, his brow furrowed.
“Well, I took Ollie out for a walk. . .”
“Jack,” interrupted Edgar, “I'm not mad at you for leaving the house. . . I just said that you should lock the doors when you're here alone.”
“Well,” continued Jack, “anyway, we were walking up the street and I heard this noise. . .”
“What kind of noise?” asked Edgar.
“That's what I'm trying to tell you,” replied Jack. “It was like a digging noise, so I went to look, and there are holes all over the back yard of Number Two.”
“Wait,” said Edgar, “you went into the back yard of that house? What if somebody had seen you?”
“Well, I had to grab Ollie,” said Jack, “he got away and, besides, Parker saw me.”
“What did he say?” asked Edgar.
“He told me to mind my own business,” replied Jack. He decided not to mention the indecent proposal, knowing that Edgar was already unhappy with his story, anyway.
Edgar was silent for a moment and then looked back at his partner.
“Did he happen to mention what he was doing?” asked Edgar.
Jack shook his head.
Of course not, thought Edgar. Why would he tell us what he's up to?
<
br /> “Could you see anything in or around the holes?” asked Edgar. “I mean, was he digging up something or burying something?”
“I don't know,” replied Jack. “I didn't see anything, but it felt creepy and I couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't looking for bones or something. . .”
Edgar nodded and placed a hand on Jack's leg.
“I'm just glad you're okay,” he said.
Jack stood up, gathering his gifts as he did.
“Dinner should be about ready,” he said, “if you want to go and get cleaned up beforehand.”
“Good idea,” agreed Edgar.
He held the door open to allow Jack and Ollie to enter and followed. As Jack disappeared into the kitchen, Edgar headed up the stairs to wash up. As he passed his study on the way to the bathroom, the sight of his manuscript on his desk stopped him in his tracks. He walked into the study and turned on the desk lamp and, with trembling hands, picked up the manuscript and read aloud the first two words:
Fool's Gold
Jack, who had just pulled a cheese souffle from the oven, nearly jumped at the sight of his partner standing suddenly in the door.
“That was fast,” he said. “What's wrong?”
“Jack,” said Edgar, “I think I might know what's buried here and why Converse wants the land so badly.”
“Why?”
“Gold,” replied Edgar.
“Gold?”
“Think about it,” said Edgar, “this area was settled during the Gold Rush. . . it would certainly go a long way in explaining why Converse wants the land so badly and could explain why Parker was digging in the back yard today. . .”
Jack slowly nodded, taking it all in.
“By the way,” continued Edgar, “he was shirtless, wasn't he?”
“Hmm?”
“Parker,” pressed Edgar, “he was shirtless. Furry bastard.”
“Oh,” replied Jack, blushing a little, “yeah, I guess he was.”
“Bitch,” teased Edgar. “No wonder you were in his backyard.”
* * * *
As they dined on cheese souffle and a salad, a bottle of Pinot Grigio opened between them, Jack and Edgar continued their discussion of the possibility of buried treasure.
“You don't suppose there's treasure buried on our property, do you?” asked Jack.
Desperate Enemies 3 Page 6
