In a Bind

by D. D. VanDyke

  Allsop threw up his hands. “And if I won the lottery I could retire, but I don’t see how I make either thing actually happen.”

  “Damn.”

  “Look, Cal,” Allsop said with a shake of his forefinger, a favorite mannerism. “We’re putting together the hard evidence. You know, real police work. That’s what’s gonna solve this case, not poking around like a dime-store gumshoe. All your theories aren’t worth a damn until you eliminate some suspects, so that’s my advice. Do what I taught you. Rank-order your list and then cross them off one by one until you find one that fits. Call me when you do. Maybe by then we’ll have something solid.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that.” I’d hoped to get more of that “something solid” from him to work with by now, but lab results took time, what with the backlog of cases and general underfunding. “In the meantime, I think I’ll keep poking around. You know, like a dime-store gumshoe. Dollar stores anymore, though.”

  Allsop shrugged as he stood, sliding the check toward me. “Suit yourself. Thanks for breakfast.”

  “What, no, ‘Hey, Cal, do you really want to go back to Granger’s Ford where someone took a shot at you?’”

  “You’re a big girl. My looking out for you ended when you turned your back on the force.”

  I pulled out my money clip and peeled off sixty bucks, a hell of a price for a two-person breakfast, and dropped it on the table. I couldn’t even expense it if the two grand ran out. I didn’t see Frank’s estate paying me off. “Say something nice at my funeral, then.”

  Allsop snorted and turned to go. “Later, Cal.”

  “Later, Jay.”

  I’d almost term that a friendly exchange, at least by comparison to some of our interactions before, and decided to call it a win. I could have asked him to drop me off but the half-mile walk would help keep me in shape.

  When I got back to my office, Mickey was in and working. “What’s up, Boss?” he asked as I came down the stairs.

  “Had breakfast with Allsop.”

  “Nothing for me?”

  I dropped a twenty on his desk. “That’s all you’re getting today. We’re working for scale now that Frank’s dead. I’ve almost burned up the two grand in expenses and new tires even after the insurance. You got a problem with that?”

  Mickey turned to look at me, apparently torn between his desire to get paid and the knowledge that complaining about it would make him look like an insensitive ass. “As long as you feed me, I’m fine,” he eventually said.

  “That I can do.” I filled him in on everything I knew and set him to work on digging for Frank’s financials, not at all confident Brody’s legwork would turn anything up. Along with the list of other areas of interest – background on the Conrads, the bikers, Sheriff Bartlett and Deputy Davis, the dead guy in the quarry, Frank’s stolen car – Mickey wouldn’t run out of work. All of that was long-shot territory, though.

  I spent the rest of the morning catching up on some necessary paperwork having nothing to do with the case, hoping Allsop would call or the computer research would pay off. My mind drifted into fantasies about making enough money to hire an office manager, at least part-time, to handle the billing, the messages, the taxes, the city and county and state paperwork for my sidelines, each with its own unique requirements. Gone were the old days of some mook calling himself a P. I. doing everything by the seat of his pants.

  By noon I’d gotten most of the crap off my desk and felt restless. “Anything yet?” I called down the stairs.

  “Still working on the banks. There’s only a couple million people living around here with accounts, you know, and even more from elsewhere.”

  “Keep at it.” The race was on: Mickey’s computer search and hacking skills against Brody’s old-fashioned talking to receptionists and managers about an account holder of unusual, easy-to-remember physical type.

  My money was on Mickey.

  Turned out I was wrong.

  Just as I was about to leave the office for the sake of doing something, anything rather than sit and stare at my walls, Tanner Brody called. “Hey, Cal.”

  “Hey, Tanner. You got something?”

  “I got a headache and a scratchy throat from a hundred fifty phone calls, that’s what I got.”

  “Come on, cough it up.”

  “How about we meet for lunch. I could use the break.”

  I stared at the phone in my hand for a moment and shook my head silently. “Okay. The Department’s turn to buy, though. Allsop ate up today’s expense budget at breakfast.”

  Brody laughed. “Yeah, he was gloating about that all morning. Sure, I’ll spring for a burger.”

  “Burger Joint it is.” Inside a three-story flat-top tucked between an Irish pub and a pizza place on Valencia, the diner was a local fave in the classic fifties malt-shop style.

  “Fifteen minutes?”

  “On my way.” I hung up, told Mickey where I was going and made sure my cell was on and charged. Okay, legs, I said to them, another nice walk. I loved to drive, but not in the City’s annoying traffic and expensive parking.

  Brody was there before me. Cops never have parking problems, even if all they’re doing is eating lunch. That was a perk I’d never see again. He stood as I approached, a more gentlemanly act than I usually expect from a Gen-Xer, which tipped me off. When younger men act this way, they’re likely not thinking about business.

  It never rains but it pours.

  I put on my no-nonsense attitude and slid into the booth and grabbed a menu from the holder, looking down at it. When I lifted my face I saw him stare. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” He rubbed at the dark soul patch below his lip and winked.

  “Gotta be something or you would have told me over the phone.”

  “A guy can’t just ask a girl to lunch?”

  I massaged my forehead with my fingertips. “Thanks for the interest, Tanner, but now isn’t a good time for me.”

  Brody shrugged good-naturedly. “Okay. It’s cool.” He pulled out a flip notebook and leafed through it until he found the page he wanted. “Simons Bank. It’s a high-end Netherlands Antilles firm with branches in major cities, catering to clients who want discretion. Lots of discretion. The one here is in the Financial District on Commercial Street. No front; it’s tucked inside a professional building among a hundred service companies. Four ways in and a dozen ways out of the place.”

  “Hiding in plain sight among other firms catering to the wealthy. But Frank wasn’t wealthy…was he?”

  “Don’t know yet. Allsop is working on a warrant. All I know is, he makes deposits into the after-hours drop most Sundays. Got that from a building security guard.” He ran his fingers through his longish hair.

  “Dammit.” I waved at a waitress and we ordered our food. “Did he visit during business hours? Say, to make withdrawals?”

  “Funny you should ask that. Another guard saw him go into Simons Monday at about three fifteen and leave five minutes later. Any idea why?”

  “He came by my office in the early evening to pay my retainer. In cash. I figured he’d hit the local Wells Fargo, not some fancy exclusive place.”

  Brody sat back, sticking a toothpick in his mouth and chewing. “The only reason to have a bank like that is to hide money. As long as deposits don’t approach the ten-kay dollar limit the IRS won’t notice, and banks like this one don’t volunteer information.”

  “Money he got where?”

  “I was hoping you’d know.”

  “I have a theory, but no solid evidence.”

  “Shoot.”

  I sat back. “Frank didn’t have a lot of inhibitions, but he had a good heart. He was an underpaid nice guy and an outsider in small-town life. To feel normal, he hung out with other oddballs in a place full of people far freakier than he was.”

  “Castro.”

  “Yeah. You can find anything there. In drag, or even as himself, he’d hardly raise eyebrows, but being a little person isn’t like dre
ssing up. People can’t choose to be that way, so maybe he becomes a commodity in demand – for performances and parties at first. He said he made a few bucks on the side as Biggie Smallie.”

  Brody pulled the toothpick out and waved it at me. “What if he made more than he was letting on?”

  “And what if he made it in a less legitimate way? If people will pay money to toss a dwarf, I bet a certain subset of the population will pay a lot more than that for a roll in the hay with one.”

  “That’s twisted.”

  I shrugged. “Lots more twisted goes on in the Castro, young detective. If you’d paid your dues in Vice, you’d know.”

  “Glad I didn’t, then,” he replied with a smile. “I was on Bunco down in L.A. before I moved up here to take this job.”

  “Homicide is a plum. How’d you get it?”

  Brody looked away. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  I could see there was more to it than that, but he didn’t want to discuss it so I let it go. We were saved from further awkwardness when the waitress brought our burgers.

  When we’d finished the food, I said, “Thanks for the tipoff. I’m going to head back to Granger’s Ford and see what I can dig up. Call me if you get any more details, will you? And Tanner…no need to tell Jay you’re talking to me if you don’t want to.”

  Brody’s lips quirked up. “Gotcha.”

  “And thanks for lunch.” I got up, picking up my Diet Coke to drain it. “Bye.”

  “Bye, Cal.”

  I walked out and into the breezy Mission District streets, thinking there’s something about a date-that’s-not-a-date that warms the cockles of my heart. I don’t know if other women feel this way, but for me, it was nice to have someone normal show interest – and by “normal” I meant intelligent, interesting, possessed of a sense of humor and a steady job – who was also self-confident enough to back off when I asked him to.

  I suppose technically Thomas fit that profile, except for the backing off part. Of course, I hadn’t actually asked him to. Oh, hell, what was I going to do? Was last night a one-time thing? I had the feeling the Englishman wouldn’t think so, which meant eventually he would show up expecting another round of slap and tickle. What would I do then? Frankly, I didn’t know and I didn’t want to think about it right now.

  And starting a relationship with my former partner’s partner seemed like asking for trouble. Brody would blab too many details or Allsop would be pissed off about it. If Brody didn’t tell him we were seeing each other he’d find out eventually and feel betrayed all over again, because partners shared everything. At least, that’s the way Allsop saw the world. Old school.

  No, I said to myself. I’m not going there. I decided Brody would have to stay at arm’s length, at least until he and Jay weren’t partners anymore.

  Didn’t mean he couldn’t buy me lunch now and again.

  Get off me, you damned hope-monkey.

  Chapter 14

  On the way to my office I filled Mickey in on the Simons Bank connection.

  “That’s a tough one, Boss,” he said. “Banks are hard enough as it is, but an offshore place like that…”

  “Are you saying you can’t do it?”

  “I’m saying doing it increases the risk of getting noticed. A lot. Cyber Crimes division of the FBI loves to get people like me in trouble, even if all we do is look. Did you know it’s a federal offense to even publicize the specifics of a vulnerability in banking software? Dumbest thing ever. How are they going to find out if it’s illegal to tell anyone?”

  “You could report it directly to the FBI.”

  “And the next day the whole hacker community would shut me out for working with the feds.”

  “So why not work for the feds? Really. I bet they’d welcome a guy like you.”

  “Can you see me wearing a suit and punching a clock?”

  I laughed. “I guess not. What about someplace like Google? I hear they’re pretty liberal about schedules and everything in their cafeteria is free.”

  “I applied. Got an interview, even.”

  “And?”

  “They declined to hire me.”

  “Did you shower that morning?”

  Mickey paused. “Uh…I kinda forgot.”

  No point in busting his balls. “Their loss. Get to work on Simons. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

  “Roger dodger, Boss.”

  As I snapped my phone shut I spotted the flash of a scarf and heels as they slipped around a building. Plenty of people walked here and there in the Mission District, but something about this woman had caught my eye. Or was it Thomas in drag again? I tried to line up the image of him dressed as a woman with what I’d seen, but couldn’t be sure.

  I raced to the corner, but the person was nowhere in sight.

  When I walked into my office I found Mickey hard at work, a good sign. It meant the challenge had caught his interest. “How long before you have something?”

  “I’ll call you,” he said distractedly.

  “Fine. I’m going out to Granger’s Ford again.”

  “Okay, bye,” he mumbled.

  There was one thing I should do before leaving, something I’d been putting off for a while. I scrolled through my rolodex until I found the card I wanted and dialed the number.

  “Ron Corwin,” I heard him say.

  “Afternoon, little brother.”

  “Cal? Wow, good to hear from you!” By which he meant: why has it been months since you called? He’d left messages with Mom and on my answering machine, but with my mother unwilling to pass on my cell number and me so busy…

  All right, those were just excuses.

  “How’s the Bureau treating you?” Shameful envy welled up in me. What I wouldn’t give to be an FBI agent…

  “Keeping me busy. You?”

  “Busy too.”

  Silence. Then, “So how’s Mom?”

  “Same as always. I think she still can’t understand why we both wanted to be cops.”

  “Rebelling against our upbringing?” Ron laughed. “You know she refuses to give me your cell number?”

  “I know. Here.” I recited it to him. “Now you have it. Call me any time.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  More silence.

  We used to be close. Then Dad had died and I’d buried myself in school and, eventually, work. The fights with Mom over money and her lifestyle hadn’t helped. She and I had become strangers for a while, and a young Ron had caught the fallout. Things were better now, but there was a big empty gap in his childhood where memories of me should have been and I regretted it.

  I wished I could say so. I wanted to, but…not over the phone, with three thousand miles of America between us.

  “Hey, Ron, I got a case.”

  “Yeah?”

  I gave him a rundown and let common interests bridge the gulf between us, a little. “Any chance you could see if the Bureau has a couple of undercovers out here working the MC circuit as nomads?”

  “Bikers? That’s a long shot, but I’ll try to find out.”

  I knew what he meant. Not only was the FBI one of many agencies working against organized crime – ATF was actually more likely, or DEA – but there was no guarantee he would even be allowed to know. Undercover identities are close-hold.

  “Also see what you can come up with on Jerry and Carol Conrad, Kerry Lindquist, and Sheriff Bartlett of Mariposa County.”

  “Sure, Cal. Anything for you.”

  That about broke my heart. “Listen, Ron…I know it’s been a while, but –”

  “Sorry, Cal, my boss is calling. Gotta run. Love you!” The call went dead.

  Damn. I should push for him to come home for one of the major holidays and we could have the heart-to-heart I’d been putting off. Yeah, that’s what I’d do. Sighing, I grabbed my keys and headed for Granger’s Ford.

  I thought about phoning Davis as I drove, but decided to wait and see if the detectives or Mickey came up with anything
more. Besides, there might be some value in showing up unannounced. I was pretty sure Davis was clean, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t tip someone off inadvertently.

  “You’re missing something,” Dad’s voice said from my right.

  “Some skin and a piece of my right ear?”

  “Something to do with the case.”

  “I know that. I just don’t know what I don’t know.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Sure. Why not?” I glanced over. He looked the same as always, staring straight out the windshield.

  “Frank lied to you.”

  “Looks like he lied to everyone.”

  “Doesn’t that make you angry?”

  I shrugged. “Someone got a lot angrier than I am. Frank paid the price. Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind.”

  “You’re saying he deserved to die?”

  “No…” I rubbed my face. “I’m saying when you play with fire, you get burned.”

  “You know something about that.”

  “I do.” I thought about fire, and Thomas. “But sometimes the risk is worth it.”

  “You’re flirting with disaster, Cally.”

  “I thought we were going to talk about the case.”

  “Maybe we are. You’re driving toward a place where somebody wants to kill you, in order to find justice for a client that’s not paying you.”

  “You want me to give up?” I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Dad hadn’t been the type to surrender. Then again, I wasn’t really talking to Dad.

  “I want you to be smart. Let the cops handle this. You’re not one of them anymore.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Truth hurts.”

  “Lies hurt more, as you so recently implied.”

  He didn’t speak, and when I checked, he’d gone, leaving only my inner debate. Did I really need to keep pursuing this personally? I really ought to give everything I had to Brody so he and Allsop could work the murder, and then wash my hands of it. I had a couple of callback messages on my machine that probably meant real cases with actual money to be earned. Why couldn’t I let this go?

  Then again, I had a third option.

  Thomas.

  I could meet with him and tell him everything. I knew Kerry was dirty and was pretty sure about Jerry Conrad. The nomads that had tried to pull me over must have wanted to harm me and bikers had almost certainly been involved in the death of the bicycle thief at the quarry. A few bullets in their heads and justice would be served, right?