San Francisco Values

by James K Turner

  “They may not need the whole year rent free, maybe not at all,” Starka said. “Roberta offered to do some of the construction work on their houseboat, if it’ll speed things along.”

  “But how did you meet them?”

  “Duh, we knocked on the door. They’re pretty cool actually.”

  “Oh and their dogs, how sweet,” Roberta said, “though one or two don’t look so good.”

  “We’ll just be digging up a couple more if they croak before we’re moved in,” Starka said.

  Ella blanched. “Really, it’s better if either myself or someone from my office communicate with the seller, these things can be very complicated.”

  Roberta, momentarily distracted by an elegant woman passing by, whipped around. “You just wanna to protect your commission.”

  Ella jumped back in fear.

  “Roberta, remember, deep breaths,” Starka said. “By the way Ella, I’m sure your boyfriend already told you, but we’re approved for the loan. As soon as Roberta’s pregnant, the bank’ll fund it. We implant tomorrow.”

  Ella didn’t know whether or not to offer congratulations. Before she could answer, a disturbed cry cut through the air.

  “Please someone, help us,” Sanjay cried.

  Ella, the Littlefeather-Jones’ and hundreds of others turned to see Sanjay trying to help Giselle up off the lawn, where she’d fallen onto all fours. One of her bright red, wide wale corduroy bell bottoms resisted, fighting against some kind of snag.

  “It’s a sprinkler head,” Roberta said.

  “What?” Ella asked.

  “Her Santa pants are caught on a sprinkler head.”

  Giselle bellowed while several onlookers worked to free the trapped hem. But the old woman’s howls didn’t hide another, more ominous sound. A loud clap, some sort of a clipped boom, thundered through the giddy, carnival-like atmosphere. Before Ella could even think, Lt. Rothschild appeared out of nowhere and knocked her to the plush lawn. He covered her body with his own, pushing the side of her face into the grass. She moaned uncomfortably. People gasped and murmured, until Starka Littlefeather-Jones started laughing.

  “No one’s trying to off you, Ella Barker. “Look over there.”

  From her prone vantage point Ella saw a small boy twenty or thirty feet away holding a small pop gun. He wore a mask and cape, most likely honoring some video game hero. Ella and the lieutenant clambered to their feet, dusting themselves off.

  “Sorry about the false alarm, Mrs. Barker,” Rothschild said.

  “That’s quite alright,” she replied, removing blades of grass from her hair. “Though why someone would allow a child to bring any sort of weapon to a murder scene is beyond me.”

  Not everyone recovered so rapidly from the pop gunshot however, in particular a white Pekinese dog brought in by a large Asian family. The dog strenuously pulled back from his owner, straining against the leash in a trembling, whining panic, before managing to completely wriggle free of the collar.

  “Stop, my little one,” the 30ish woman holding the leash cried out.

  But the Pekinese, heady with liberation and determined to escape the vicinity of the loud bang, took off running at full speed. Only the creek separated the mop haired creature from the open gates and the freedom of the street beyond. The indomitable little fellow made a valiant effort to leap across, but alas, Ella noted with unusual concern, the creek proved an insurmountable obstacle.

  “My little one,” screamed the owner. “Noooo.”

  My Little One plunged into the manmade tributary. While not deep by any description, the creek moved along rather swiftly for a purely decorative body of water. The dog’s human family, along with numerous other open house attendees, rushed to the banks to attempt a rescue. Only the diminutive canine’s head floated above the water, while its tiny paws scrambled and floundered for purchase.

  Roberta picked a tuft of grass off of Ella’s shoulder. “He’s a goner, too close to the cliff.” Ella shrunk away from her client cum husky prison attacker.

  Roberta’s prediction proved more accurate with each passing second. The dog approached a grate built across the creek, a few feet short of the plunging falls, put in place for just such an emergency. A wayward soul could grab onto this last minute metal savior and return from the brink. But lacking opposable thumbs or the reasoning ability to take advantage of such an opportunity, the little dog passed smoothly under this last vestige of safety.

  The pursuing mobs stopped short at the grate, unwilling to go any further in their vain attempts at rescue. The Pekinese slid over the cliff with a quiet whoosh. As My Little One plunged downward, an eerie, high pitched, howl rose up and echoed through the crowd of shocked spectators. The howl ended abruptly as the noise sensitive creature found eternal rest upon the jagged rocks at the base of Frackle Falls.

  *******

  Something in Ella snapped when the dog went over the cliff, and if asked at the moment she would have been at a loss to explain it. She didn’t consider herself an animal lover, but the innocent little dog’s death stunned and upset her.

  “I’m a sinner,” she said.

  “Huh?” said Starka and Roberta in unison.

  She looked around at all the people at the open house, her eyes falling on Giselle and Sanjay, before lifting up to see Safada, Mark and Elton peering out from the windows above the garage.

  “I’m a sinner,” she said more loudly. She’d never been particularly religious yet the words felt cathartic.

  People standing around began to pay attention. Chirley Wixon motioned for her cameraman to start rolling. A jumble of images bounced across Ella’s mind; Tiffany dead and bloody, Gordon, Jeff blindfolding her, Safada, lying to the man about the Cole Valley condo, Roberta and Starka and the shitty deal she’d gotten them into. But everything paled next to the little Pekinese falling to his death. Aching with a yawning sense of loss and hurt, she walked to the edge of the cliff and raised her arms towards the heavens, hands splayed open. The setting sun over the Pacific profiled her majestic stance.

  “I’m a sinner,” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “I’m a sinner. I’m a sinner. I’m a sinner. I’m a sinner.” She screamed and screamed until she fell to her knees in exhaustion.

  Chapter 14

  “Starka Littlefeather-Jones? Are you serious?”

  Lt. Rothschild stood looking out the window in Ella’s office. “You won’t be needing our services any longer, it appears.”

  “But how?” Ella asked in wonder.

  “We’ve been following up on everyone who’s worked with you and the other two.”

  “You mean Gordon Elway and Tiffany Reynolds?”

  “That’s right. A few interesting facts turned up. I can’t tell you everything now, but let’s just say Starka Littlefeather-Jones is an expert hunter, great with a rifle. The two had a deal go sour with Gordon Elway a couple of months ago.”

  “What? I didn’t know that.”

  “Then maybe you better get better spies. Also Tiffany Reynolds wouldn’t take ‘em on as clients.”

  This sort of information rarely escaped Ella’s radar, either via gossip or reports from other realtors. Often the clients would come clean on their own.

  The lieutenant continued. “And you’ve had trouble with them, from the incident in jail to their unhappiness with the house they’re buying.”

  “I felt a little threatened when they came to my home unannounced, and Roberta did knock me good in the head, but I wouldn’t have pegged Starka as a killer.”

  “We’re only holding her for questioning. She had several hunting rifles among her possessions in storage at a moving company here in town. These have to be checked out, and we’re also waiting for more information from our colleagues in Alaska.”

  “Well, Lieutenant, I trust you’ve got it right this time.”

  Rothschild smiled grimly. “Me too.”

  “You’re sure it’s OK for me to walk the city on my own? How ever will I get around
without a police escort?”

  “Good day, Mrs. Barker.”

  Right after Lt. Rothschild took his leave, Bootsie popped her head in. “You’re going to like this…”

  “What is it? I could use some good news.”

  “There’s an offer on the Frackle mansion coming in tomorrow morning.”

  *******

  Ella had a stop to make on her way home that evening. She just signed a new listing, a half completed house at the top of Twin Peaks. While unusual in this day and age for a lack of funds to hinder any type of real estate fantasy, a nasty divorce had stopped construction on the 10,000 square foot, four level monster home on St. Germain Avenue.

  She pulled up in the loaner car paid for by her insurance company. It would take several days to repair the lengthy dent running up the side of the Mercedes, and in the meantime she had to settle for an economy-level Ford, something one might find populating the nation’s airport rental lots. Indescript and bland, the car disappeared into the crowd, not something Ella was accustomed to or liked.

  The lumbering construction site stood tall against the darkening sky. Well on its way to becoming an overgrown Spanish style hacienda before work halted, deterioration now trumped pretension. Cracks streaked through many of the front windows that weren’t already shattered, while a large sheet of fading plywood plugged up the front door. Weeds, trash and gravel cluttered the earthen front yard, and messy stacks of curved, red roof tiles lay about the gaping, doorless three car garage. The grey, cement exterior walls had been sprayed with a see-through whitewash protectant, lending the house a splotchy, haunted effect.

  The neighbors had to hate this paralyzed eyesore. Every meticulously maintained home on the lush, tranquil block only heightened the shock of drooping decay, calling lurid attention to the rueful structure’s gradual death, much like the once happy marriage of its feuding owners.

  Ella had come to take a look around in order to suggest an asking price. She grabbed a flashlight out of the car as well as the key to open the one door not nailed shut. She slowly picked her way across the front yard, heels sinking into the dirt at various points. Making her way through the garage she climbed the three steps up to the interior access door. Maybe she should have put this off until tomorrow but she had a busy morning on tap, with the mansion offer due in at 9:00 a.m. Such a monumental deal could easily take up the whole day and she wanted to get this bit of business out of the way beforehand. Despite the gathering nightfall, she could see well enough to get a good sense of the home with regard to pricing.

  She slipped the key into the lock, and her cell phone rang. She jumped, feeling a little edgy in the deserted, half built house.

  “I’ve missed you,” Jeff said.

  Ella smiled as she stepped inside the house. “That’s good to hear.”

  “So when can I see you again? Now that you’re not being stalked anymore, I’ll have you all to myself.”

  She walked further into the gloomy interior, and switched on the flashlight. “Can I call you back? I’m doing a quick walkthrough and I’ve got to get done here before it gets completely dark.”

  “Sure, call me. Soon.”

  She slipped the phone back into her purse. Gingerly stepping across the debris strewn kitchen, she walked through the formal dining room into the great room, as living rooms were now known, with its dusty marble floor and arching three story windows. Her heels echoed through the vaulted acreage, and the city lights twinkled in the distance through filthy panes of glass.

  A sharp, cracking sound, like a falling board, tore through the house, reverberating down from one of the upper floors. Ella froze in her tracks. Goosebumps raced up her arms and the back of her neck, and a healthy fear gripped her entire being. She listened attentively. Silence.

  Shaking the fright off as nonsense, Ella continued the inspection. In a place like this, left so haphazard and half-ass, something would always be falling down or blowing around. She comforted herself with the lightly blowing trees outside the windows. Certainly it was only the wind, and she had work to do. She glanced up to the loft like second floor, which ran across the great room forming a balcony. Climbing the stairs, she came to a landing. Her flashlight illuminated a series of bedrooms to the right, with the balcony dropping off to her left. She arced the light up toward the third floor, which boasted a similar, though smaller loft-like balcony. The strong beam of her flashlight caught the tail end of a shadow jumping across a wall. Her heart lurched and she stopped breathing. She held the light on the spot, and swallowed hard. Unlike in the movies, she didn’t make a wisecrack, nor did she think or act quickly with great aplomb, a distinct advantage movie actors have over their real life counterparts, mere mortals who don’t have the benefit of re-writes and hindsight. Ella simply turned and ran back down the stairs.

  When she was halfway down, someone jumped from the balcony, blurring past her before landing securely in the middle of the great room just below. The figure wore a black kung-fu like outfit, tied at the waist with a sash. A hood covered the head and a black ski mask hid the face. Only the whites the eyes flashed up at her. She stopped on the stairs, her heart pounding. The figure raised a handgun. She very nearly started crying from raw fear.

  “Who are you?” Ella cried. “What did I do?”

  The gun only rose higher. Ella gripped her only defense at hand, the flashlight. She flung the red, foot long metal tube, which was quite heavy, straight toward the shooter. The hooded figure saw it coming and tried to jump out of the way. He fired the gun, but the shot went wild, missing by several feet. Her fright multiplied ten fold when she heard the muffled report of a silencer. The flashlight belted her attacker in the stomach, before clattering off to one side. He doubled over in pain, grunting and dropping the gun, wrapping both arms across his midsection. Ella looked around in panic for the quickest way out. Her assailant blocked the way she’d come in, and if she ran the other way she’d only end up at the boarded up front door.

  With only a few seconds time advantage, she tore back up the stairs. She’d walked in heels for many years and had long ago developed the coordination and control necessary to move quickly. She threw open a door at the top of the stairs. No way, an elevator shaft. Scuffling sounds rose from the living room as the shooter scrambled in pursuit. Ella saw a window inside a hall bathroom. Hoping for any avenue of escape, she ran inside and closed the door as quietly as she could, punching in the lock on the knob. She tried to open the window, but the crank handle was jammed. She jiggled it as hard as she could, getting nowhere. Muffled footsteps scampered up the stairway. Outside the roof sloped down for about six feet before dropping to the ground one story below.

  In the back of her mind, Ella glimpsed Jack Nicholson’s manic and terrifying performance in “The Shining,” where he murderously pursued his wife into a locked bathroom. Shoving this image aside, she returned to the window crank. The window began to wriggle back and forth, opening an inch or so as she wrenched the handle. A loud splintering sound pounded through her head. Looking behind, she screamed when she saw the area around the bathroom door knob had disintegrated. Only a bullet could do such damage. With more force than she ever knew she could muster, she pushed the window frame mightily and it flew open, the crank handle spinning wildly five or six times. She started to climb up on the sill, but stopped when she realized she had to take her shoes off. No way could she navigate the sloping roof in heels.

  The bathroom door slammed open, hitting the wall behind with a great bang. She looked back and saw the hooded ninja. She threw a heeled shoe at the masked face as hard as she could, then jumped out. Her body landed with thud, and she rolled toward the edge, unable to stop the force of gravity. She clawed desperately at the smooth, tar papered surface but couldn’t get a hold of anything.

  Ella plunged off the edge of the roof in a ruthless freefall.

  *******

  She hit hard, but not with the jolt she expected, something broke her fall before she landed. Powder
y dreck from the construction site caked her eyes and nose, and she sucked in a filthy mixture of dirt clods and soil as she gasped and choked for air. Coughing and completely panicked, she dug frantically at the dirt, scrambling to escape the masked attacker.

  “Sshhh, sshhh, it’s OK, calm down.”

  Ella struggled to see through the dusty haze, and when her vision cleared she saw Jeff’s clear blue eyes looking down at her.

  “You’re with me now, whoever it was is gone, don’t worry, you’re gonna be OK.”

  Jeff rocked her slowly back and forth in his arms in the shadow of the abandoned, divorce torn hacienda.

  “I love you, you know,” he said.

  He hugged her to his strong chest, and she cried in long, heartfelt sobs.

  Chapter 15

  “OK, so I’m here. And I’m dying to know, who made the offer? How much?” Mark sank onto Ella’s living room sofa, holding a glass of champagne.

  “I’ll tell you this much,” Ella said, savoring the suspense, “the buyer’s agent is with CB-Pru-U-Z.”

  “Tiffany Reynold’s Alma Mater.”

  Ella rubbed her sore shoulder, then delicately picked at the bandage on her elbow. “One and the same.”

  “Wait just a second, first things first. How did Jeff happen to be waiting with open arms when you fell off that roof? Did the cops catch anyone? Talk about a knight in shining armor, jeez.”

  “So many questions, dear boy, all in good time.”

  Jeff came out of the kitchen carrying the champagne bottle. “Thank Bootsie. After I talked to Ella, I decided to her surprise her with dinner out.”