And Evey had been trying to tell him to “Follow the money.” You almost always needed to follow the money to find the bad guy.
He reached to his back pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He had Brock’s law office on speed dial … because of Evey, not because of Thomas Brock, though he’d done work for the attorney and liked him. The number rang and went to voicemail. He looked at his watch; after five, Gretchen would have toddled off to the bus, leaving Thomas—with insubstantial opposable thumbs—unable to answer the phone.
“All salt and no sugar.” Dagger shoved his cell phone back in his pocket, slung Evey’s pack over his shoulder, and peeled out of the parking lot.
Chapter 2.9
Thomas hovered halfway inside Gretchen’s desk, watching Dagger open the law office’s front door. Gretchen had locked up when she left, thrown the deadbolt, and Thomas had no way to unlatch it. Dagger was using a key, and he didn’t have one of his own.
Dagger came in, key still in hand, on a ring that had a few other keys dangling from it, along with a fob of a pewter cat face inside a heart. It was Evelyn’s key ring. He was carrying her backpack, too.
“Where’s Evelyn?” She was supposed to have checked in after visiting some of the city’s gargoyles. When Gretchen tried Evelyn’s cell late this afternoon, she hadn’t picked up. Thomas hadn’t heard Evelyn return to her second floor apartment, and he knew she didn’t have class tonight. And now Dagger had her keys and backpack. “Something happened to Evelyn.”
“That’s why I came by, Tom. Evey’s in surgery. Thought you should know.”
Thomas felt himself dissipate, stretching like a sheet of fog along the bank. “Surgery? Dear God. Surgery?”
“Surgery.” Dagger said it louder.
“What happened? Did she get hit by a car?” Fall off a building? Had a gargoyle pushed her off a building? They probably weren’t all as cordial as Pete. “Did a gargoyle hurt her? How is she?”
“She’s in surgery,” Dagger repeated slowly, drawing out the three syllables of the last word. “So I don’t know how she is. She lost a lot of blood. A lot.”
Thomas’s ghostly vision blurred and the office looked like a chalk painting running in the rain. He concentrated and regained his man-shaped image, the vision improving with it. “What happened? Dagger—”
Dagger walked past him and flipped on the police scanner. It crackled, a filtered voice talked about a car fire on Fulton. Dagger took a seat at Evelyn’s desk, sat the backpack next to it, turned on her computer, and started hitting keys.
“What happened?” Thomas raised his voice.
“Not sure. I’m thinking some of Arnold’s goons went after her. She was in a restaurant. Broad daylight. Surprised you didn’t hear about it on the news. Eleven people killed, including one of the gunmen. A bloodbath. Five wounded, including Evelyn and the other shooter. Gangers, got to be the same gang they sent after you. Gutsy, stupid gangers who apparently didn’t want to leave any witnesses and didn’t think they’d have anyone stand up to them. Waitress ran out the back; she told police she saw a car waiting. It took off when the sirens started, and no one got a license plate number. It’s connected.”
“A bloodbath. Dear God. Evelyn.” Thomas felt helpless and felt himself dissipating again. He focused. “I—I—didn’t hear anything about it.”
“Obviously. So good thing I stopped by to be that bearer of bad news. Maybe you better start joining Val across the street in the bar. TVs are going all the time over there. Bet some news channel is still talking about it.” Dagger continued to tap away at the keyboard. Thomas floated closer and studied Dagger’s face. Concern … that was there, anger, curiosity, determination. Thomas was good at reading emotions, a skill he’d developed in law school and honed in court.
“What happened?” Thomas repeated.
The chatter on the police scanner changed, a dispatcher talking about a three-car accident on the Golden Gate Bridge.
“I told you what happened.” Dagger let out a hissing breath and looked up, irritation in his dark eyes. Thomas read that clearly. “She got shot. Three times, she got shot. But I understand from the police that she put up quite a fight. Between her and some maniac cook, they killed one of the goons with a meat cleaver. The dishwasher caught the other shooter.”
“She’s going to be all right.”
“So you’ve got ESP, huh? That one of your ghostly powers?” Dagger returned to typing. “Because I don’t know that she’s going to be all right. One bullet broke a bone in her arm. Took two in the shoulder, one got an artery. She lost a lot of blood.”
“Why aren’t you at the hospital?” Thomas was suddenly as angry at Dagger as he was worried about Evelyn. Clearly Dagger cared about her; he’d taught her self-defense, apparently thought enough of her to teach her a few less-than-legal skills and seemed to sometimes watch out for her. “Why the hell aren’t you—”
“Why don’t you go to the hospital, Tom? Why don’t you float on over to the surgery suite?”
“I—I think I’m stuck here, McKenzie, maybe forever. You know that. I mean, Valentino’s stuck, so I guess I’m stuck, too. This corner, it must hold us. Ghosts are held to this world by something. I’m. Just. Stuck.”
“And you’re having a pity party about it? Well, don’t worry. I am going back to the hospital … eventually. But Evey’s going to be in surgery awhile. Then if things work out, she’s going to be in recovery awhile. I know how hospitals work. They probably won’t let me see her until the morning. I had to get pushy as it was. They weren’t going to let me see her before they rolled her in the OR. But I know how to push.”
Thomas thought he should feel his heart thundering. It would be if were living, blood racing to his ears. And the ephemeral fists he clenched—he wanted to feel nails digging into his palms. He imagined his throat tightening, and his chest; that used to happen whenever he was horribly worried and his breath would come faster. He wanted to rage at Dagger, tell him to go to back to the hospital right now, tell him to call when he heard something else about Evelyn. If she dies, she’s gone forever. The chances of her also staying behind as a ghost were slim and none.
But Thomas wouldn’t be able to answer the phone if Dagger did call. “Would you call Gretchen for me? Get her to come back in?”
“For what?”
So she can be my hands, Thomas thought. So she can call the hospital, check on Evelyn, take your calls. So she can turn on the news and change the channels on the scanner and open the file drawers and spread out papers for me and turn pages in the law books. He felt empty and useless and wondered why he hadn’t truly died when the dark fey had murdered him.
“Look, Tom, chill.” Dagger gave a clipped laugh. “Chill. Yeah. That’s funny. I’ll call Gretchen when I find out how Evey’s doing. Not before. No need to give the old woman a heart attack. She took it bad enough when you were killed. Besides, she might have already heard it on the news and is thinking she better start checking the classified ads for another job.” He continued typing. “Now, this is interesting.”
“What?” Thomas floated behind the desk and dropped partway down into the floor so his eyes were level with the computer screen. “Who’s that?”
“Mei-li Arnold.”
Beautiful, Thomas thought, and young. Japanese or Chinese, skin pale like cream, suggesting she stayed out of the sun. She was wearing an expensive-looking suit and a pearl choker necklace that was probably real. “About Evelyn, Dagger—”
“She’s in surgery.” Dagger clicked a link and then another, and Thomas saw him looking at marriage records. The Arnolds were married almost two years ago in Saints Peter and Paul Church. A newspaper clipping showed that they honeymooned in China for nearly a month. More documents flashed by the screen, Franklin Arnold’s birth record, no such record for Mei-li; she was listed as a naturalized citizen, born in 1990. That put her at twenty-two and less than half her husband’s age. A trophy wife, probably lured by Arnold’s money. He followed two more links. Apparen
tly Mei-li was using some of Arnold’s money for her own projects.
“What hospital is Evelyn in?”
“San Fran General, the trauma center.”
Thomas knew it was a good one, the city’s largest hospital. “Shouldn’t you—”
“Useless me checking on Evey at the moment. When you died, did your hearing go?”
Thomas tried to make a noise like he was clearing his throat, but it didn’t work. “Shouldn’t you be looking at Arnold, not his wife? If Arnold was behind my murder, he could be behind Evelyn—”
“Yeah, I’m gonna look there. But I’m looking at this first.” Dagger pointed at the screen, to a series of real estate transactions. He hadn’t hacked; Thomas knew Dagger’s skills were considerable, but hacking wasn’t in his wheelhouse. It was a public records website.
“Building acquisitions. I know. Arnold wants to buy the buildings with gargoyles on them and smash them to smithereens,” Thomas said. “He hates OTs. Is on record opposing OTs. I think that’s why my dad gets on with him so well.”
Dagger tapped the screen. “You’re looking, but you ain’t seeing, Tom.”
Thomas drifted closer, his head halfway through Dagger’s shoulder. He saw Dagger shiver from the cold touch. “Mei-li Arnold bought those. She used her husband’s money, but the deals were all hers. And the deeds are listed solely in her name.”
“Four of them, and they’re clustered in Chinatown. She’s filed for permits to tear them down. Looks like one is scheduled for demolition tomorrow.”
“Gargoyles maybe. Mei-li might share her husband’s cause and wants to get rid of gargoyles. Maybe they’re both out to make gargoyles extinct in San Francisco.”
“Don’t think so.” Dagger pulled out the map. “Look, Evey marked all the gargoyles in the city. All of them. Not a one in Chinatown.”
Thomas glanced between the map and the permits Dagger was skimming on the screen.
“So?”
Dagger shrugged. “Evey thought she was onto something with the Mei-li angle. So that’s where I’m going to look. When she wakes up in the hospital, I’m gonna have something to tell her.”
“So you’re going back to the hospital.” Thomas felt a measure of relief and imagined letting out a deep breath.
“Eventually. You are hard of hearing.” Dagger jotted down the addresses of the four Chinatown buildings and looked out the window. “Or just hard headed. Eventually I will. Apparently Evey thinks Mei-li is an OT, so I want to find out what sort of an OT … if she really is one. She looks awfully human to me. But then some OTs wear human skin. And I want to see what’s interesting about that section of Chinatown. I am definitely overdue for some of Chef Han’s scallion pancakes and Kung Pao scallops. Good thing he’s open late.”
Thomas followed Dagger’s gaze. It was getting dark, the streetlights coming on. The bars’ neon flickered, syncopated with the strings of blinking Christmas lights. Soon they’d turn the music up. He knew he could drift across the street to the front of the bar, just so he kept the law office in sight; the office seemed to be his anchor. He’d followed Valentino once out of curiosity. The bar was probably where Val was now. Maybe Thomas would go there and see if he could hear the news on one of the TVs—before the music and conversations made it impossible.
“Gotta go, Tom.” Dagger turned off Evelyn’s computer and slid back from the desk. “I might stop back here later. I might not. Want me to leave the scanner on to keep you company?”
Thomas thought he’d said that last bit rather snidely.
“Chill, Tom, I’ll get word to you somehow about Evey.” Dagger’s expression mellowed. “I want Evey to be all right, too.” He turned off the lights and headed out, pausing long enough to relock the door.
Thomas watched as the motorcycle pulled away from the curb. “Evelyn. Dear God, Evelyn.”
Chapter 2.10
He should have asked Dagger to spread a few more files out on the desk; reading would give him something to do while he waited for news about Evelyn. He floated back and forth in front of the conference table, like a living man might pace.
Evelyn has to make it. She will be all right. She can’t die, she just can’t.
Thomas was worried—hadn’t been this deep in anguish since his college roommate was killed. Part of it was selfishness. If something happened to Evelyn, this law office would close, and that would leave him … leave him where? Here. He’d still be here. Like Valentino Trinadad had been here since he died on the corner almost fifty years ago. Valentino’s sole purpose for existing as a ghost seemed to be searching for a perpetual high by catching the buzz off drunkards and drug users that staggered by close enough to this corner, or by occasionally finding some happiness hovering around Gretchen when she took a few Vicodin.
Thomas’s purpose was the law, and without this office he would be wholly miserable. He would have nothing, an endless existence of nothing.
He floated through the office, taking a last look at zoning requirements, which he was able to read even though Dagger had thoughtlessly turned off the lights. Thomas focused on the pages, and when he thought only about the words, they came to him. Finally he could see in the dark! Historic preservation was one avenue, but he thought the more solid route to keeping Pete safe stretched in the direction of zoning laws.
Thomas worked for another hour, alternately listening to the scanner, which chattered about nothing particularly interesting or heinous. When he believed he had hit upon an answer regarding Pete, he decided to call it a night.
He’d venture across the street, to the bar that played blues. Maybe Valentino would be there, and he thought the ghost should know about Evelyn. Maybe Thomas would stay late enough to listen to the ten o’clock news. If he stuck his head right inside a television, he ought to hear it through the drunken blather. A bloodbath like Dagger had described, the media would cover it.
Thomas passed through Evelyn’s desk and paused. Whatever would he do without her? It wasn’t wholly selfishness. He honestly cared … cared maybe more than a dead man had a right to.
He passed Gretchen’s desk, then floated through the front door, crossing the street against the light and sensing a big Plymouth cruise through him. Thomas was doing his “invisible man” routine now, translucent like frosted glass. He’d discovered that he didn’t have to appear like a wispy suggestion of his former self—that was just for the benefit of people he wanted to talk to; he didn’t have to appear as anything at all.
O O O
The bar had a scattering of patrons. It wasn’t late enough to be really hopping. Two televisions were on, both showing a soccer game. Uninterested, Thomas floated all the way to the back, looking for Val. Music played: B.B. King’s “Every Day I Have the Blues.”
Thomas agreed with the lyrics. He was in a serious funk.
Please let Evelyn be all right, he thought, as he passed through the back wall of the tavern. Dear God, let her—
Then he was in the alley behind the tavern, through another building, then across the street and floating into an Italian restaurant on the other side, one that he’d always considered too expensive for the quality.
What the hell? Thomas kept going, all the way through the restaurant’s dining room and kitchen, out the back. He stopped in the alley and stared at the back of the restaurant. The bricks were dark, ugly, and yet he thought them beautiful … because he could see them, because he’d passed through them. He edged farther away, through another series of buildings and across three more streets, everything beautiful. He imagined that if his heart could pump, it would be full-out beating a marathon rhythm.
He wasn’t anchored to his building on Haight, at least not anymore. Had he ever been? Had he only assumed he couldn’t go anywhere because Valentino was stuck? Maybe his anchor had been the practice of law, not the law office.
He felt a rush of exhilaration.
I can go to the courthouse, help Evelyn with cases.
Maybe he could even try a case!<
br />
Dear God, please let Evelyn be all right.
Getting his bearings, he changed direction and headed toward San Francisco General. He wouldn’t need Dagger McKenzie to tell him how Evelyn was faring. He was going to find out himself.
Chapter 2.11
Every city had a heart, and Dagger believed San Francisco’s beat irregularly, Chinatown providing some of that syncopation. The oldest and largest Chinese community in the world outside of Asia, it covered twenty-four square blocks. He favored the massive neighborhood at night, when the number of tourists dropped considerably. The area’s history wisely sent them to other parts of the city that were reputedly safer. Still, there was a relatively vibrant nightlife, the colors and the music enticing.
Too, Dagger was well aware that Chinatown had its own dark secrets. Some Chinatowns around the country were experiencing so-called urban renewal, but not this one. The decline was evident, especially if one knew where to look. Homelessness was a problem, and the vagrants were frequently aggressive in their panhandling. The Triads still operated, the “snakeheads” among them smuggling in illegal immigrants destined for indentured servitude. Some of the luckier souls ended up with menial jobs in restaurants. Those not quite as fortunate were funneled into garment sweatshops, and the attractive young girls were forced into prostitution.
Sections were dilapidated, and in the basements opium dens and gambling parlors operated. The Tongs were present, hidden societies known for their in-fighting and turf wars. The gangs also had their place, chief among them the Jackson Street Boys, who’d named themselves after a major street that ran through Chinatown. Dagger had run afoul of the Jackson Street Boys when he was doing a little investigating for a downtown importer-exporter a few months back; he’d come out of it fine, but a few the “Boys” had not.
This area had been worse decades ago. During the hippie years the gangs harassed tourists, sometimes assaulting them. It culminated in 1977 when a few tourists were killed by stray bullets from a popular Chinatown restaurant, caught in the crossfire between rival gangs. The incident was known as the Golden Dragon Massacre. Things improved after that because the city created an Asian crime team. Dagger wondered what they’d dub the bloodbath that had sent Evelyn into the OR.
The Love-Haight Case Files Page 15
