“Yudi, it’s okay. I liked Roger. That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re a liar, just like everybody else!” He turned and ran away from me into the trees. I felt like a cad.
15
SHOW ME THE WAY TO GO HOME
THE NEXT MORNING I WAS UP with the sun at six. I called Nicole to tell her the drastic change in plans. It was nine o’clock back East, so I knew she’d be just opening the shop. “I’m on my way,” I said. “And I’ve got something for Branco.”
“Did you call him to explain that you’d be delayed?”
“No need to, doll. I’ll be arriving around eight tonight.”
“I’ll be there.”
The next plane out of San Francisco departed at noon that day, which gave me only six hours to drive from Yosemite to the city, return the car, and get to the airport. So much for my tour of romantic San Francisco.
I hauled my bags out to the car, and saw the first omen of a long, bumpy ride home: It had snowed during the night. As I approached my rented clunker, though, I saw that it had been magically cleaned off. On the trunk lid sat the culprit with a suitcase on either side of him.
“Hi!” said Yudi. He waved energetically, as though we’d arranged to meet like this. He’d clearly recovered from last night’s disappointment. Yudi had what you’d call a resilient personality.
“You look like you’re going somewhere,” I said.
He nodded quickly. “San Francisco airport.”
“Funny, that’s exactly where I’m going.”
“I know. That’s why I cleaned off the car.”
“How did you know?”
“Easy. I called the airline. I knew you’d take the first plane to Boston out of San Francisco, so I just got up early to wait here for you.”
“But why the bags?”
He jumped off the trunk and faced me directly. “I’ve never been to Boston.”
“Wait a minute, pal! You’re going to Boston?”
“Why not? I don’t need a visa or anything, do I?”
I shook my head, more in irritation than in response.
Yudi said, “What’s wrong?”
“There’s too much for me to do when I get back. I can’t be your host.”
“I’ll find someplace to stay.”
“You have money?”
Yudi nodded. “Roger always had cash for emergencies—for me, too. I won’t bother you, except for one dinner. You owe me for taking you to the slide last night.”
He was right. Besides, there was no law prohibiting him from visiting Boston, so once again I surrendered, and told him to get in the car. Then I discovered that I felt strangely happy to have him with me.
When I returned the cabin keys to the campsite office, the woman at the desk told me that snow chains were required to drive in the valley. I explained that I was leaving Yosemite anyway.
“You still have to put them on,” she said. “It’s the law.”
I said okay but had no intention of doing it. Through all the Boston winters I’ve endured, I’ve never needed chains. I wasn’t about to start now.
Yudi and I began the long drive out of the valley. We saw small drifts of snow gathering here and there, but nothing worth worrying about. After another ten minutes or so, when the wind and snow picked up a little, Yudi said, “I think you’d better put the chains on.”
I answered sharply, “I know about snow, and this stuff does not require chains.” But soon after the ascent out of the valley, we crossed the snow line, and the roads became an unplowed, slippery mess. The car began to respond sluggishly to my steering directions, then it ignored them altogether. Finally, it moved sideways into the oncoming lane and refused to climb forward any farther. I stopped the unroadworthy vessel before it completely blocked the way.
Yudi said, “I told you to put chains on back there.”
“Thanks, Yudi. You were right. I was wrong.”
I opened the trunk, hoping there’d be chains in there. All I found was a pile of rusted links in a plastic bucket. I showed them to Yudi. “Are these chains?”
He nodded bleakly. The wind blasted a gust of cold, wet snow onto us. Forty-five precious minutes later, we were both streaked with orange and black stains, and soaked with sweat and melted snow. Not one car had passed in either direction during that time, but at least we’d got the chains mounted securely on the back tires. We were about to get in the car when Yudi said, “Maybe we should change.”
“Where?”
“Here, I guess.”
He was right. We’d be miserable if not sick after riding for four hours in cold, wet, dirty clothes. So up on the mountainside, amidst the snow-laden trees and rocks, we stripped. His smooth brown body contrasted appealingly against the white snow and the red car. He turned his back toward me as if to hide his privates, not realizing he was showing me the side I prefer. We put on dry clothes and continued on our way. On the other side of the mountain, the road was miraculously clear and dry, but Yudi explained that it wasn’t unusual. I pulled into the first gas station and had the chains removed from the tires. While the mechanic worked, Yudi and I drank coffee and chewed on stale pastry, both from vending machines. Somehow, sipping the bitter brew together, I didn’t mind it.
We arrived in the city and I returned the rented car. We took a shuttle bus to the airport and got there only twenty minutes before the plane was to depart. I’d hoped the flight would be delayed, as they usually are. It wasn’t.
At the airline counter we got in separate lines, since I already had a ticket. When my turn came, everything went smooth and easy. I even got a seat on the aisle and charmed the agent into reserving the seat next to me for Yudi, who was still buying his ticket with another agent. Everything was going hunky-dory. We’d make the flight!
Then two large men wearing ill-fitting dark suits were suddenly pushing behind me at the counter.
One of them said clearly, “Mr. Kraycher?”
“Possibly,” I answered. “Whom do you want?”
“Come with us.”
“Huh? Who are you?”
They both flashed badges. Unlike the people in movies, I read what the badges said. The two guys were federal airport police. Damn! “What about my flight?” I asked.
“We’ll see you get back to Boston.”
They grabbed me, one at each arm. One of them already had my carry-on bag in his other hand. Branco’s souvenir, the climber’s chock, was in that bag. The men pulled me away from the counter. I saw Yudi coming toward me. I shook my head no to warn him. He caught my cue and walked by as though he didn’t know who I was. Then I said loudly, so he could hear me, “What about Nicole? Nicole is meeting me in Boston. Nicole! She won’t know what happened to me!”
The two men dragged me roughly away from the crowd waiting in line. I turned back and saw Yudi standing with his two suitcases, totally bewildered. I shouted, “Snips Salon! Snips, on Newbury Street!” So what if the shop gained undeserved notoriety? I was desperate.
One of the men yanked at my arm and said, “Keep quiet!”
They took me through an unmarked door to a small room. Inside was a pale green vinyl sofa, two nubbly orange chairs, and a Formica-topped table with an electric coffee maker. The coffee smelled burnt.
I tried to speak boldly. “Care to tell me what this is all about?” But my voice quivered in fright.
“We got orders to take you back to Boston.”
I realized what had happened and tried to explain, perhaps a bit too breezily. “That’s Lieutenant Branco, I’m sure. He’s a friend. He wanted me back there by this morning, and I was delayed, but as you both can see—”
“Save your breath, buddy. We don’t know and we don’t care.”
Next thing I knew, one guy handcuffed my right hand to his left. First thought: What if I have to pee? Fortunately, I’m left-handed, so at least the cop wouldn’t have his hands in my nether regions. Of the two clods, the one hooked onto me smelled worse, like cigar smoke and frie
d food.
“Don’t I get a call or something?” I asked.
“Plenty of time for that in Boston.”
“But—”
“Hey, mister, I don’t know what the hell you did. All’s I know is I got a job to do, and you’re the goods I’m taking to Boston.”
Meanwhile the other guy was going through my carry-on bag. He found the climber’s chock, protected in plastic wrap and carefully wrapped in a gauzy cotton shirt I’d intended to wear to a white sandy beach somewhere in California. He examined the chock through the plastic wrap. “Don’t touch that!” I screamed. He was about to unwrap the plastic, and I lost all self-control. “It’s evidence! There may be fingerprints on it, so keep your bloody mitts off!” .
I guess my words were a little too strong for him, because he looked as though I’d just insulted his masculinity. He put the chock back in my bag and walked over to me, clomping his heavy feet on the scuffed linoleum.
“You fuckin’ faggot!” he said. He grabbed me by my jacket and spit in my face. The glob hit me right on the lips. My left leg twitched instinctively. The muscles coiled up, ready to strike. It was one of the hardest things I ever resisted—not dispatching a healthy kick to his groin.
I said, “If you think I’m going to try to kick you just so you can slug me, you’re wrong.” I sensed that he wanted to hit me, but I figured he wouldn’t dare do anything, since I was handcuffed to the other cop, and technically defenseless. But guess who got the last laugh?
He pulled his right arm back at hip level. I tightened my belly, but it wasn’t strong enough to protect me as he lunged toward me.
“Don’t!” yelled the cop who was handcuffed to me.
But the other one smashed his fist into my guts.
“Smartass fairy!” he muttered.
I crumpled toward the floor, dangling from the handcuffs. The spasms in my stomach jerked my body around for a few minutes.
I groaned. “Should’ve kicked you when I had the chance.” Then I spat up blood onto the hard, dirty floor. The cop who’d hit me left the room and slammed the door. Through the pain I wondered what I’d done to deserve it.
Once the worst agony subsided, I thought about what to do next. The answer was clear, since I was still chained to a big smelly brute: nothing.
The flight to Boston was horrible. We were in the last row of the cabin with the heavy smokers, and I was jammed in against the window. It was humiliating to be handcuffed to an oaf who drank beer and belched and didn’t even chew his food. Any well-bred deb knows that causes flatulence.
During the film I had plenty of time to think. Ever since Roger’s death, all I’d done was try to find out what had really happened, and to clear my own name. Branco had even encouraged me, and I thought we had an unwritten agreement. But now, just because I didn’t show up exactly on time in his office, he resorted to brute force. The Lone Ranger had turned on Tonto.
I wondered where Yudi was. Had he even got on the plane? If he had, why wasn’t he at least looking for me? Or was he afraid they’d get him, too?
The plane touched down at Logan Airport twenty minutes early, due to unusually strong tail winds. It seemed even Mother Nature wanted me home in a hurry. My clod of a traveling companion told me we had to wait until the entire plane unloaded before we could leave. When we finally got off, I saw both Branco and Nicole waiting at the gate. They stood near each other, looking like adversaries for the same quarry. Branco stepped forward and intercepted my escort, the pigpen, with me attached. I’m sure my face registered disillusionment and rage, for in my eyes at that moment, Branco was just another cop.
They disconnected the handcuffs. The smelly cop said to Branco, “I’ll go make my report,” and he vanished into the crowd. Nicole came up and hugged me. “Stani! What happened? You look awful!”
I held her tightly and sobbed into her ample bosom. “One of those jerks assaulted me.”
“What! Lieutenant, did you hear that?”
I glared at Branco and said, “Why did you do it?”
Branco kept his voice level. “We had to get you back here fast, so they put you in protective custody.”
“Protective custody! The only protection I needed was from the two palookas you sent after me.”
“The only way to guarantee your return was to use special agents from California.”
“They were special, all right. How’d you find me out there?”
Branco’s eyes dropped. “I suspected where you’d gone, but when you called your shop this morning, it was a cinch to find you in San Francisco. We had a trap on the phone where you work, remember?”
“Too bad I forgot,” I said.
“Let’s get going,” ordered Branco.
I held on to Nicole’s arm as the three of us walked from the gate. Then I remembered Yudi. I still didn’t know if he’d even got on the flight.
“Wait,” I said. “Someone else should have been on that plane.” I was about to ask an airline agent about the passenger list when Yudi emerged from a nearby men’s room. He looked terrified.
I called out to him. “It’s okay, Yudi!”
I saw him looking at Nicole and Branco.
“They’re friends,” I said. “Well, one of them is.” Branco gave me a stony stare.
Yudi came to us. When he was close enough to me, he asked quietly, “Did you see him?”
“Who?”
He looked nervously at Branco, then shook his head. “I’ll tell you later. What did those men want with you?”
“It’s a long story, Yudi. I’ll tell you later.” Then I introduced him to Nicole but ignored Branco.
Yudi asked Nicole, “Are you his sister?”
She said, “Probably.”
We got outside and Branco said to me, “I’ll take you in my car, Stan.”
Nicole remarked icily, “Haven’t you done enough for him, Lieutenant?”
Branco said, “I have to talk to him, in private.”
“It’s okay, Nikki,” I said.
She grimaced and continued walking with me and Yudi. She stopped at a shiny new convertible, illegally parked, and took some keys from her purse.
“What’s this?” I asked.
She opened the trunk, and Yudi and I threw in our bags.
“You’ll be driving this for a while,” she said.
“Why?”
“You haven’t solved the case yet, have you?”
“No.”
“Then you need a car.”
“Who’s paying for it?”
“It’s a transportation expense for the shop.”
Matter settled. At least Nicole was still on my side.
To my great joy, I saw Sugar Baby standing up on her hind legs and peering out through the driver’s window. “You brought her!” In seconds we were reunited. Sugar purred noisily and licked my cheek. Yudi watched everything with reserved amusement, but I could see that something was troubling him.
I got in the cruiser with Branco, while Yudi and Nicole and Sugar rode together in the convertible. Once Branco got the cruiser moving through traffic, he said, “Is it true, what happened with those agents?”
“Lieutenant, you put me in with a fag-bashing homophobic cop.”
“Stan, I hope your imagination isn’t exaggerating again. That’s a serious accusation.”
“I know, damn it! But I was beaten, and it was entirely without provocation.”
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
I recounted the whole ugly incident to him. Then Branco said, “I’ll make a report tonight and see that he’s put on probation. If you want to press charges—”
“You bet I do! Christ, it was those two against me, and I was handcuffed! I should’ve kicked the SOB! Vito, why did you do it? Why did you sic them on me?”
Branco drove in silence. Was it because I’d presumed to use his first name? Was it a bit of remorse? Was he capable of such a feeling? He clenched his jaw and I watched the muscles grip and release. Finally he
said, “The captain got wind of your little excursion out there. He wanted you back here fast.”
“So you set a time and date and that was it.”
“That’s not how it happened, but my ass was on the line.”
“I was on my way home!”
“I know, but the laws the law.”
“Cripes! You’d probably divorce your wife if she folded your underwear the wrong way.”
“I’m not married.”
“Your girlfriend, then.”
“You keep out of my personal life!”
“But it’s all right if you wreck mine!”
“By leaving town, you put yourself under suspicion again.”
“For something I didn’t do! I suppose your past is lily pure, with no smudges?”
Branco clenched his jaw again and didn’t say anything until we came up out of the airport tunnel. Finally, he spoke. “Stan, when the captain found out you’d skipped, he ordered your extradition.”
“Who told him I was gone? You?”
“No, and I don’t know who. I tried to intercept the order, but I was too late. Fact is, the captain thinks I’ve been too lenient with you, and he’s thinking of taking me off the case.”
“So, are you blaming me for that now?”
“No, but for your own safety, you shouldn’t have gone. You don’t realize the danger you can get in snooping around the way you do. I know I asked for your help, but I meant for you to talk with people, not fly across the country.”
“But I wasn’t in any danger out there.”
“You could have been and not realized it.”
I wondered, Did he really care? Or was he just trying to appease me and convince himself that he wasn’t groveling under his sacred cow, the captain? I sulked the rest of the way home.
When we arrived at my building, Nicole had just finished parking the rented convertible in a loading zone in front. Branco said, “I’ll leave you now, but you report to me first thing tomorrow morning, is that clear?”
“Yessir!”
“And you’d better tell Ms. Albright to move that car. I don’t want to give her a ticket for the parking violation.”
“Lieutenant,” I said, “it’s a loading zone. We are unloading bags from the trunk. Can’t you bend the rules just a little, just once?” Branco pulled his lips tight.
A Body To Dye For (Stan Kraychik Book 1) Page 19
