Untold Damage

by Robert K. Lewis

  “Gato, it’s Mallen. Remember? The guy you helped in the drunk tank? I got your note. Thanks for that. It’s appreciated, you know?”

  “Vato!” Came the enthusiastic reply. Seemed like a day where his heart was just going be warmed up, no matter what. “I’m happy you called me, bro.” Then his voice got a little more quiet. “You okay, man? You having … a struggle?”

  “No, no, man … nothing like that. I just … I, um …” He’d never been good at the actual asking for help thing, and now he found himself struggling with how to exactly phrase what only moments ago seemed like such a good damn idea.

  “Mallen,” Gato said, “just spit it out, bro. We’re among friends here, okay? For reals.”

  “Well,” he replied, “I do need some help, actually, but I’m not sure where to start. It would be better to do this as a face-to-face.”

  “Just tell me where you are, bro, and I’m there.”

  He smiled at how definite Gato sounded. “Thank you, Gato. I’ll make it up to you, man, trust me.”

  “Ah, forget that. Where are you?”

  “At the Cornerstone.”

  “I’ll come and get you out of there, away from that Dreamo dude. I know about him. I can be there in fifteen. Be out front,” and the call was over. Mallen put the receiver back on the hook, said his goodbyes to Bill, finished his drink, and went outside to wait. So, Gato had wheels. That would help. Sure seemed that things were all falling into line. And in a good way, for a change.

  Mallen paced up and down the sidewalk in front of the Cornerstone as he waited for Gato to appear. There was a rumble of a very large engine and he turned to see a tricked out 1965 Ford Falcon Futura Sprint, painted a pearlescent white, pull around the corner and glide to the curb. Gato grinned at him and reached over to unlock the passenger door.

  And that was when he heard another sound. Tires screeching as rubber burned. He looked back up the street just as all hell broke loose. A black Escalade with tinted windows, passenger side window down, rushed toward them. A gunshot exploded and he felt the slug sail by his right ear and hit the Cornerstone’s brick facade, ricocheting off. He dove for the sidewalk as the Falcon’s door kicked open. “Bro!” Gato shouted. “Get in and down!”

  He threw himself into the car as another shot rang out, followed by the roar of the Escalade’s engine. He glanced just in time to see the huge vehicle tear away down the street, heading toward Van Ness, probably to get lost as soon as fuckin’ possible. Gato shoved the Falcon into gear and tore away, the back tires screaming.

  “Mierda!” Gato said as he tore around the next corner, heading south down Hyde. “Was that for you, bro? I don’t think I know anyone that carries a Magnum.”

  Gato was right. It had been a Magnum. A .44. Been a while since he’d heard one, but once you’d heard the gun in real life, you never forgot it. And the fact that it was a .44 meant only one thing: Griffin had pulled the trigger. Jas had to have been driving, just like he’d always done back when Mallen had known the two killers. Jas always drove, and Griffin always rode shotgun, his silver .44 tucked neatly under the seat. The pride that fucker had carried over that big gun would be hysterical if it’d been any other guy. Griffin was way too big, way too Dirty Harry, and way too on edge. He suspected the bastard of being manic-depressive. It would answer a lot of questions regarding how the man operated, that was for sure. Jas, on the other hand, had always been the smooth one, the one to offer up a smile as he gave you a choice: your life or your balls. Griffin was like looking into a pit of crazed hungry dogs.

  The Falcon crossed Market Street, continuing south. “Well, thanks for picking me up, Gato,” Mallen said, forcing a smile. The adrenaline was draining from his body, leaving him feeling ragged and shaky. Been ages since someone had shot at him. “I thought you’d enjoy the little hello gift I rigged for you. Hope you did.”

  Gato laughed softly. “So, what was that about, bro? Do you know?”

  “Yeah, unfortunately, I do.” They were cruising the ’hoods for him. That would make his life infinitely more uncomfortable and problematic as he searched for the answers to Eric’s death. He explained to Gato who Jas and Griffin had been to him, and in doing that, he also had to explain how and why he’d known them in the first place. If he were going to ask this man for help, he had to be a hundred percent up front with him.

  Gato listened to it all, nodding from time to time, glancing at him when he told about his years undercover, and how he fell. It felt good, actually, to say it all out loud. Cathartic almost.

  “So,” he said when he was done, “I totally understand if you want to pull out, Gato. I’m sure you didn’t expect this when you wrote me that note. Really, I would understand.”

  Gato turned the Falcon off of 8th Street and onto Kansas, heading toward 16th. He expected Gato to pull to the curb and tell him to get out. Instead, Gato said, “Friends always show their love. What are brothers for if not to share troubles? That’s from the bible, bro. My padre tried to weave those words into my soul, you know?”

  “Well, it sure looks like he did a good job. He should be proud.”

  Gato had insisted on taking Mallen to Gato’s place. Even though Mallen had tried to persuade the man he was quickly learning to regard as a friend that it could dangerous for him, Gato had just shaken his head, telling him that this is how it was going to go down.

  It turned out that Gato’s place was also his mother’s place. Gato and his mother lived in the Mission, off of 24th and Valencia, on the top floor of an old but well-kept building. The Mission district was one of the more troubled parts of the city, as bad as the Tenderloin, but different. Fewer sex offenders here, more gangs. More shootings here, less hard, biting grimness. There was also more unity here in the Mission, like everyone trying to work together to make a go of it. In the Loin, it felt like every man for himself.

  Gato’s apartment was a large three-bedroom, decorated with a lot of religious imagery. Gato had explained to him on the way over that his mother was very devout, going to Mass every Sunday since she’d been a young girl, over fifty years ago. Esperanza had welcomed Mallen warmly, a woman with now graying hair, coffee-

  colored eyes, and a beautiful face. There were a lot of care lines in that face now, and a certain amount of sadness, but he could see that when she was younger, she would’ve been a woman so lovely that men would’ve easily dueled each to the death for her affections. Esperanza had looked him up and down after Gato led him in through the door, smiling at him, saying only, “Mi hijo. Always picking up strays. This one seems to not eat any better than the others. We’ll fix that.” Then she went off into the kitchen.

  Gato had waited until she’d left the room before saying, “You can sleep here safe, bro, trust me. In the morning, we’ll get going on helping you with finding out what happened to your friend. You know where you want to start?”

  “I think so,” he replied as he sat on the couch. If Jenna was out of the hospital, then he had to talk to her first. “Eric had a wife. They seemed mostly on the outs from what I’ve heard, but I need to talk to her. See what she knows.” He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling spent. He’d barely slept the three nights he’d been sick in jail, barely ate. He needed some rest, along with a good amount of food. Being clean seemed to be bringing back his appetite. Food and rest would have to be priority number one, no matter how much he wanted to be out on the hunt for answers.

  But before that hunt resumed, and after he recharged his batteries, he needed to do one other thing. Something more important than any of it.

  He had to see his daughter.

  Ten

  Anthony Scarsdale zipped up his fly. Gave the long-legged hooker on the bed a well-earned tip. Grabbed his coat, left the motel room. He felt good. Drained from top to bottom. What a mouth she had, he thought as he walked down the street to the bus stop. He ignored the requests for change
from the homeless and offers of crack from the dealers. Decided to stand at the bus stop and not sit when he noticed someone had vomited right in front of it. Went as far as he could upwind from the large splash of pale liquid and what looked like a half-eaten hotdog. Some fuckheads are really fucking disgusting, he thought with a shake of his head.

  He didn’t realize that he was being followed. Up the street half a block sat a small two-door hatchback the color of old memories. The bus finally came, and he got on. Flashed the driver his mother’s handicapped pass he’d taken out of her purse earlier in the day while she napped. Went and sat all the way at the back, still thinking about the hooker. Grinned as he remembered how her eyes got so damn big when he pulled off his pants. She was really impressed with his dick. She loved every last thing they did together. He liked trying to make it nice for them, what with them having to fuck all damn day with a bunch of guys who were probably total fucking losers. Him, he just didn’t want the attachment of a full, or even part-time, relationship. This way was easier. Less complicated.

  After the forty-five-minute bus ride, he got off at his stop. Went the three blocks to his mother’s house. It was nice being home, but part of him wanted out. That of course meant getting a job, and no one was hiring. Well, not hiring him, at least. Not with his history. At least mom had set up the garage room nice for him.

  His mother’s house was a faded pink row job deep in the Outer Sunset. Out far enough where the salt air rusted everything that had any metal in it. Scarsdale let himself in the door next to the garage. Went past his mother’s old brown Buick. Frowned as he passed the rust bucket. She needed a new car. But of course she’d never put out the dough for one. She never put out money for anything nice or fun. The idea of finding her bank book and just going out and buying her a new ride had crossed his mind, but he didn’t want her to explode and kick him out. He needed this roof over his head. And the allowance she gave him. Just enough for drinking on weekends and a hooker every ten days or so. Life could be worse. Heck, it had been worse. More simple, sure, but a hell of a lot worse.

  He had no idea that the hatchback had followed him all the way home and was now parked at the end of the block. It would be there for another hour before the driver realized Scarsdale would not be going out again, and so drove away.

  Eleven

  Mallen sat on a bench at the Marina Green and watched the bay. The morning sky was gray, heavy. He had to admit, however, that it never looked so damn beautiful. Maybe being clean could do that for a guy.

  Gato had been up already, ready to go, when he’d woken up on the couch. After a much-needed shower, Esperanza cooked him some breakfast, and then he called Chris to see if she could swing a visit between father and daughter. She’d given him some attitude about his request at first. It wasn’t a scheduled visit day, plus it was way last minute. He knew she’d have every right to go tell him to fuck himself. In the past he’d never cared about making all the visits all the time anyway. Of course she wondered why all the urgency. In the end, though, and probably because of something in his voice she’d picked up on, she said she’d do it. Gato even drove him over, Mallen telling him thanks, and that he would call once he was done with his visit. He was just getting out of the car when Gato stopped him. “What is it?” he said.

  For an answer, Gato reached under the dashboard, right below the glove box. There was a soft click of metal and he came out with a small automatic. Mallen recognized it as a .22 caliber. A Walther P-22.

  “No,” Mallen said, “I can’t take that.”

  Gato shook his head. “You’re not thinking this through, vato. Those pendejos after you are armed for bear. This isn’t much, but it might save your life.”

  “I can’t walk around with a stolen gun in my pocket, man!”

  “Mallen,” his new friend said, stern like he was a schoolteacher trying to explain the obvious, “you think I’d let you do something like that? You think I’m that dumb? This little one is registered, trust me. It won’t show up as stolen. It will show up as a black hole. As a fan-

  tasma.”

  He looked down at the small black weapon. It’d been how long since he’d carried a weapon? Jesus …

  But there it was. He couldn’t argue with the fact that he would feel much safer with it on him. He’d have to risk it. With Jas and Griffin out there? Hell yeah, he should fucking be armed. He took the gun. Put it in his coat pocket. Smiled. “Thanks, man. I don’t know how you manage your life, but I’m certainly glad you manage it in the manner that you do.”

  Gato started the Falcon. “Call me,” he said as he put the car in gear and Mallen shut the door. He watched the Falcon rumble away, wishing they’d never stopped making cars that looked that cool.

  He went over to the nearest bench and pulled out the bag of bread crumbs Esperanza had given him at his request. As usual, there were a lot of seagulls mulling about, looking for scraps. Out in the ocean, he caught a glimpse of a sea lion’s head as it came up for air. Probably one of the colony that lounged and slept over at the docks by Pier 39, one of the ones that had turned into an attraction there years ago. A few families were out, walking along the path that led from Fort Mason all the way to the yacht slips, and then beyond to Chrissy Field. Only a handful of cars were parked in the lot. The occupants looked like they were either napping or partying. He sat there and fed the pigeons, watching them fight with the seagulls, as he waited for Chris and Anna. He’d thought about finding a kite on his way here. Gave it up when he realized he didn’t want Anna to fly any kite he didn’t make. Soon he would start again on that special kimono kite. Then they would come down here, in the sunshine, and fly it all day.

  He heard a car pull up behind him. Turned to see Chris’s steel gray BMW. Anna was out immediately, running to him. “Daddy! Daddy!” she screamed. Her hair was longer than he remembered. More honey colored. He was so glad she didn’t get his dark hair and eyes. Both were just a shit brown. Her eyes though? A beautiful blue-silver.

  He got down on one knee. Embraced her tightly. It was going to be okay now; he was holding his little girl.

  “You didn’t shave!” she squealed as he rubbed his cheek on hers. She giggled. Tried to get away. He straightened up as Chris approached. Her hair was now cut in a short bob that accented her sharp features. Looked like she still worked out. A stab of regret got him then—he’d really screwed it all up. All he could do now, he figured, was to just be there for them. If they’d allow it.

  Chris studied his face as she approached. “You look … different,” she said in a guarded tone. He’d let her down so many times. Couldn’t blame her if she couldn’t believe him capable of change, or ever getting clean.

  “I am,” he said with a definite voice.

  She stared at him for a moment. He held her gaze.

  “What happened?” she said.

  “Long story. Safe to say, I’ve had a life-altering series of events take place.”

  Worry crossed her face, and she leaned down to talk to Anna. “Honey, why don’t you go sit on that bench for a moment?”

  “But I want to see Daddy,” she replied.

  “It’s okay, babe,” he told his little girl. Handed her the bag of bread crumbs he’d been feeding the pigeons with. “Why don’t you take over for me?”

  She smiled. Took the bag. “Don’t let them poop on you,” he warned.

  “Daddy, you’re gross!” she told him as she went to the bench.

  After she was out of earshot, Chris said, “Life-altering events?” Added in a voice just above a whisper, “AIDS?”

  “No, not that,” he replied. Wondered if perhaps one day that might be the case though. He should get tested. “Something else. I can’t get into it right now, but I’m finally on the right path, Chris. Really.”

  Studied him for a moment. A faint smile of relief there. “I’m glad for you, then. You had me worried there. I alway
s wanted her to grow up with you in her life. You know that.”

  “I do.”

  She paused. “How long has it been?”

  “Long enough for me to believe it’ll take.”

  “That’s good, Mark. Real good. I hope so.”

  On an impulse, he reached out. Took her hand for a moment. “I’m sorry, Chris. About everything. I mean that. If I could go back, make different decisions? I so would.”

  She seemed stunned by the heartfelt tone in his voice. Took her a moment to answer. “Thank you for saying that. It means a lot, to hear that. Thank you. Are you sure you can’t tell me what happened?”

  “It’s about Eric.”

  “Eric? I didn’t know you two were talking.”

  “We weren’t.” He then told her about Oberon’s visit, and his visit to Hal and Phoebe’s. Chris went and leaned on the hood of her car, arms across her chest, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “I can’t believe it. Eric? Eric got into the same trouble you did? I had no idea. Why? How’d that happen?”

  “I don’t know. Hadn’t heard a word about it, at all. Oberon didn’t say, either. I’m actually surprised you didn’t know. I thought you and Phoebe were close.”

  “We are. Well, were, I guess. She’d stopped calling a while back. Stopped returning my calls. We hadn’t spoken now in years, but I just figured that … well, it was because of you and … what happened.” She kicked at the gravel. “I need to go see them.”

  “I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

  A nod. She looked over at their daughter. He knew what she was thinking: what if they one day lost Anna? “I’ll see them today,” she said firmly. “Do what I can.”

  He’d always loved that about her. That she could be so strong when the chips were down. Again the stab of regret. Like a spear in his gut. He’d lost a great partner in this woman.

  “Look, I’m going to go talk with her for a bit, okay?” he said.