It took Tim another moment to remember that Adam was Sarah’s uncle. Tim wondered when Adam had arrived in San Francisco but he was too stoned now to ask him. His brain was spinning with thoughts of his Aunt Ruth discovering a meth lab behind the restaurant, his big date with Nick this evening and knowing he shouldn’t stay out in the sun too long. It was odd that he should run into Patrick today, too. Tim’s brain reeled with a thousand jumbled thoughts. Maybe Patrick knew what was going on, if only he didn’t talk so fast. Maybe there was something to be said for being "clean and sober" now and then, after all. Tim glanced back down at the Chronicle crossword. Six down… six letters… place… "locate" would fit.
Then the fiery dream started coming back and Tim wondered if he was too stoned to walk down to the playground and say hello.
Chapter 14
hen Tim arrived at Arts that afternoon, Teresa was alone at the bar. She was the only person he knew in W the place besides Artie and neither he nor Teresa noticed Tim come in. Teresa’s focus was in the palm of her hand and Tim realized she must be texting someone. He was still getting used to his cell phone and couldn’t understand why so many people these days were happy to have their attention so far away from where they were. Teresa was put together better than usual, especially for a Saturday. She had on a pale green blouse that matched her slacks and her blonde hair was pulled back away from her face. Tim thought she might even be wearing make-up.
Three 20-something dykes—two of them with tattoos and spiked hair—took up the stools near the front door. Tim remembered them from months ago when they’d had dinner in his section. Surprisingly good tippers, if he remembered right.
Teresa was at the middle of the bar with several empty stools on either side of her.
"Hi Teresa… mind if I join you? You look like you’re busy."
"Hey, Tim." She jumped a bit, put away her Blackberry and turned toward him. "Sit yourself down. It was just my sister in Seattle. She wants me to go in with her on a birthday present for mom."
"What are you drinking?"
"It’s coffee. I’m on the wagon
"You’re still on the wagon? Did hell freeze over or what?"
"Shut up, you!" Teresa slapped his knee. "This is not a permanent situation. It’s just that I’ve got a new man in my life and I thought it might be nice to remember in the morning what we did the night before. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"The cop, you mean? No, there’s nothing wrong with that at all. And I’m in no position to judge anyone else."
"I never thought of you as a big drinker."
"I’m not… usually… but this morning I smoked a joint in Dolores Park and I can still feel it. I must be out of practice; it’d been a while. I got home from the park and took a shower and I was so stoned I was still standing there after the hot water ran out… brrr!"
At the end of the bar near the kitchen, a pair of pink fruity drinks in fancy glasses stood in front of a couple of strangers—tourists, no doubt. Artie pulled out the San Francisco street map from beside the cash register, moved their drinks to either side and spread the map across the bar. They laughed about something Artie said, but Tim and Teresa didn’t catch the joke. Tim was always amazed at how smooth Artie was. He could be so charming and funny, even when he wasn’t in drag.
"So… Teresa… where’s that cop of yours?"
"Peter’s out back with Captain O’Sullivan."
"Aha! So that’s why you’re sitting here drinking coffee.
Don’t lie to me! You don’t want him to catch you falling down drunk at the bar."
"Shut up! That’s exactly how we met, now that you mention it… when I was falling down drunk at the bar." Teresa laughed. "They’ve got their whole team back there dusting for fingerprints, spraying Luminol all over the place."
"What’s that?" Tim asked.
"Luminol? Don’t you watch the cop shows? It shows blood in places where you can’t see it with the naked eye. Peter figures that the building out back is where the fingers they found in the pipes must have come from, so they’re treating it as a crime scene. You didn’t hear a word of this from me though, all right? Promise me, Tim!"
Artie glanced up from the map and looked over at Tim for the first time since he walked in. "Hey there, stranger. When did you get here? Are you ready to come back to work yet?"
"Soon, Artie, soon."
"You wanna drink?" Artie asked, but he didn’t move from his spot in front of the tourists, elbows on the bar with one foot propped up on a beer box.
"No thanks, but hey… Artie, what’s all this about my Aunt Ruth discovering a meth lab? And now Teresa tells me there’s a murder investigation going on out back, huh?"
"I did not tell you that! You stinker!" She gave him another playful slap. "Well, at least now you can see what happens when I’m sober enough to pay attention. The next thing I need to learn is how to keep my mouth shut."
"Now’s the time to buy you a drink! I’ll get you to spill it all!" Tim laughed. "Can I get you something Teresa… really?"
"I’m tempted… but no… I better wait until Peter’s finished and find out what his plans are. He was supposed to be off today. Hey, have you talked to your Aunt Ruth or how did you hear about this?"
"From Patrick, the one who used to work here," Tim started. "Artie, you should hear this, too. Come here and I can start over. I ran into Patrick this morning in Dolores Park. He told me about Ruth and some other lady…"
"Amanda Musgrove," Teresa filled in.
"I would have guessed as much," Tim said.
"Do you mean our Patrick?" Artie budged from his comfortable position and moved toward them. "Our old waiter, Patrick?"
"Speed freak Patrick, you mean," Tim nodded.
"He’s not using that stuff again, is he?" Artie asked.
"Arturo will be so disappointed after all the… well, you know."
"Yeah, he told me how you guys helped him out. The Betty Ford Clinic isn’t cheap! Patrick told me all about it and…
No, he swears he’s been… whatchamacallit… ‘clean and sober’
for six months this time. The way he brags about it made me want a drink! He still talks like a speed freak, though. I could hardly get a word in edgewise."
"He always talked fast, didn’t he?" Artie asked.
"I don’t think so, Artie. Not to that extent. Anyway, he told me it was all over town about Ruth and some old lady finding the meth lab in the building behind here. I guess Patrick doesn’t know Nick’s grandmother."
"That reminds me," Teresa said. "You might want to warn your Aunt Ruth and Mrs. Musgrove that O’Sullivan is furious at both of them for getting involved in police business."
"I would think he’d be grateful they discovered the scene of the crime. The police weren’t having much luck on the case and it was only yards from where we’re sitting right now."
"I told him Ruth was just looking for her lost cat," Artie said. "She heard Bartholomew meowing out by the dumpster and followed him. Ruth says he’s been miserable ever since your cousin came to town."
"I can’t blame the poor cat for running away from Dianne!" Tim said.
"O’Sullivan is also pissed that Ruth slipped out before he arrived," Teresa said. "Mrs. Musgrove was the one who called the cops and filed the report. They want to question Ruth but all they get is her voice mail."
"Same here, but she’s still shacked up with Sam at a fancy hotel in the East Bay," Tim said. "I wouldn’t answer either.
But why does this cop need to talk to Aunt Ruth if Mrs.
Musgrove answered all their questions?"
"I think he just wants to put the fear of God in her," Artie said. "He couldn’t intimidate Nick’s grandmother and he feels like the ladies are showing him up."
Tim turned toward Teresa. "What does Peter have to say about it?"
"About what? O’Sullivan? Or the ladies?"
Before Tim had a chance to continue, the front door opened and the doorframe w
as filled with the silhouette of a tall black man. "Adam!" Tim stood up and went to the door to shake hands. "Welcome to Arts!"
He had a woman with him, a slim and elegant woman. It wasn’t every day that such a stunning creature descended onto Castro Street, a real woman wearing a dress. Adam touched her arm and shoulder with his hands and moved behind her. The peach-colored fabric clung to her perfect figure and the skirt shimmered slightly as she walked. Tim knew right away that this was no drag queen.
"Tim, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Alexandra."
"Oh, wow!" Tim shook hands with both of them. "I thought you looked familiar. I’ve only seen you in pictures in magazines, but you’re even more beautiful in person. It’s nice to meet you, Alexandra."
"Thank you. I’ve heard nice things about you too. But please call me Alex."
"We were hoping to find your Aunt Ruth," Adam said.
"I’m glad you’re here."
"She and Sam are at the Claremont Hotel in the Berkeley Hills," Tim said. "Come in and meet Artie and Teresa. Artie and his partner, Arturo, are the owners of this establishment and Teresa is my Aunt Ruth’s upstairs neighbor on Collingwood Street just around the corner. She used to be my upstairs neighbor until I moved around the corner in the other direction and my Aunt Ruth moved into my old apartment."
"It sounds complicated," Alexandra said with a smile.
"Well, Adam knows where Ben and Jane and the kids live. They’re my tenants and my downstairs neighbors. By the way, Adam, I saw you in the park with Sarah this morning, but I was too stoned to talk to you." Tim stopped and took a deep breath. He still felt a little stoned. "Man, I’m starting to talk like Patrick, now…"
Artie reached across the bar to shake hands with Adam and then Alex. Without looking in his direction, Artie said, "Sit down, Tim."
"And shut up!" Teresa added, before she shook hands with the couple. "Welcome to the Castro, kids. It’s either the gayest little street in the universe or the murder capitol of the world. Take your pick."
"Murder?" Alex asked. "What’s this all about, Adam?"
The three lesbians at the front corner of the bar got up and moved their drinks to a table, so Artie suggested that everyone sit down. "Can I get anyone a drink? We make great Bloody Marys, or how about a Ramos Fizz?"
"I’d love a cup of coffee," Alex said.
"I’ll try one of your Bloody Marys," Adam said, pulling a fifty out of his wallet. "How about you, Tim? Teresa? May I buy you something?"
Teresa started to refuse until she glanced toward the front door at the same time Tim did. Someone appeared to be juggling a purse, the door, and several large shopping bags, all at the same time. It had to be Cousin Dianne. No self-respecting drag queen would go out on Castro Street looking this bad. She looked frazzled and angry with a lopsided scarf on her head and her slip was showing.
"Oh, God, look who’s here," Tim said. "Now I really need a drink. I’d love a Bloody Mary. Thanks, Adam."
"You might as well make me one, too," Teresa said. "I won’t face this woman sober if I don’t have to. I ought to just go home and wait for Peter to call me when he’s finished."
"Sit down, Teresa," Artie said.
"And you shut up.You’re not leaving me alone with Cousin Dianne at a time like this." Tim spun around on his stool with his back to the door as if he didn’t notice the commotion.
When Adam stood up to hold the door open for Dianne, Tim finally turned back around and said, "Well, if it isn’t my delightful cousin Dianne! What a nice surprise to see you here.
You remember Adam, don’t you? He was at Sam’s place down in Hillsborough at the same time we were. I’m sure you two were introduced."
"Maybe we were. They all look alike to me."
Artie gasped at Dianne’s remark and Teresa lunged for her Bloody Mary. Adam, the perfect gentleman, acted as if he didn’t hear it and tried to help with Dianne’s shopping bags, but she only tightened her grip and ignored him. She wrestled them toward the bar and plopped down on a stool next to Teresa. "I thought my mother would be here. Where is she? I can’t carry all this stuff up the hill by myself!"
"Is all of this shopping from downtown?" Tim asked.
"Where’s your rental car?"
"No, you dummy. Yesterday’s shopping is back at Mother’s apartment, except for what I already shipped back to Texas. These are some things I picked up here in the neighborhood today. The car is on Collingwood. I know better than to give up a good parking spot like that!"
"How was your trip to the spa?" Tim asked. "I heard they gave you the royal treatment."
"It was okay. I’m still sore from that masseuse. She was a huge Swedish woman who treated me like a slab of meat."
"It looks like you’ve been doing some serious shopping,"
Teresa said.
"Well, I picked up some gifts at that place across the street. Under One Roof, I think it’s called, wedged in there between those other stores… disgusting!"
Tim said, "But you never know when a nice big dildo will come in handy, Dianne, especially when you get back to Texas."
She ignored him. "Yesterday I bought some cute outfits downtown, but the salesgirls in this city are so rude! They would never get away with that kind of attitude in Houston or Dallas."
"Whatever do you mean, Dianne?" Artie asked.
"They were entirely too familiar, if you ask me," Dianne grimaced. "What time is it, anyway? Is it too early for a glass of wine?"
"Not at all," Teresa said as she took a sip of her drink.
"The sun’s over the yardarm someplace!"
"Take the cost of her wine out of here." Adam pushed the change from his fifty toward the edge of the bar.
"I can buy my own glass of wine, thank you very much!
I just have to find my purse among all these shopping bags." She pulled her scarf the rest of the way off her head and reached down to rummage through her belongings until she came up with her wallet.
"Your hair looks great, Dianne," Tim said. "Almost natural. It must have taken them hours to get all the shellac out of it and they lowered your head by at least three inches."
Dianne stuck her tongue out at Tim as she bent down to look for her purse. "I just hope it doesn’t look too… too…"
Everyone’s eyes were on Dianne as she crouched lower and lower. "I hope it doesn’t look…" she started again, but her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted dead away on the floor.
Tim and Teresa jumped off their barstools and knelt on either side of her. "Dianne, can you hear me?" Tim touched her forehead.
Teresa reached for Dianne’s wrist to look for a pulse. At that moment, Peter Parker and Captain O’Sullivan came through the door from the kitchen. Tim and Teresa stepped back to give them room as O’Sullivan pulled the radio from his belt. "We need an ambulance right away. Arts bar and restaurant on Castro Street between 18th and 19th… Her pulse is weak, but she’s breathing. Hurry!"
Chapter 15
og swirled around the stranger on Collingwood Street.
He pulled his collar up and admitted to himself that he F might be in for a long wait. A mouthful of whiskey from his silver flask burned its way down his throat, warmed his stomach and spread heat through his lanky frame.
He’d stuck around the restaurant earlier, long enough to hear all he needed to hear and no one suspected him, he was sure. After the ambulance hauled off the snooty daughter, her faggot cousin got his aunt on the phone. From the faggot’s end of the conversation, he gathered that she and the rich old boyfriend had spent one night at a ritzy hotel in the Oakland Hills. In the morning he surprised her with a drive up to Tahoe for a Chris Isaak concert. She gave up front row seats to fly back to the side of her ailing daughter.
He sure wouldn’t, but then… he and the wife had never had kids.
He slipped the flask back inside his coat pocket. Then he reached across to the other side and felt for his gun. The weight of steel in his hand warmed him almost as much as t
he whiskey.
Both the gun and the bullet would be easy to trace, but that didn’t matter. It was a standard police-issue 40-caliber Beretta—reported missing months ago when an anti-war rally at the Civic Center got out of hand. He might even drop the gun right there when he was finished. Why make it harder for the cops? It wouldn’t do them any good anyway. Gloves assured against fingerprints.
That busybody woman—Ruth Taylor—reminded him of his wife, always sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. He coughed up a glob of phlegm and aimed it at the root of a tree.
That was what he thought of his wife too. If it wasn’t for her—always wanting something he couldn’t afford—he wouldn’t have to be mixed up in this business. There was no way to make that woman happy.
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