In going through the walk-in icebox to get the butter, I found a bottle of cream. I grabbed that on my way out.
Once Johnny K. had all the eggs cracked in a huge bowl, I took a big whisk and began to blend them together. I added the cream and then let the mixture sit under a towel while we got the stove going.
The next thing to do was to get the big cast iron pan ready for the potatoes. While the pan was heating up, I looked frantically for spices. I finally found some in the back of a cabinet. Grabbing salt, pepper, and paprika, I handed them off to Tiny and told him to lightly cover the potatoes on both sides with small amounts of all three. I didn't want to overwhelm the guys with too much flavor the first time.
We were rolling along and things were humming. Once the potatoes were going in the big skillet, it was time to toast the bread. The oven was big enough for all forty slices, so Johnny K slid them in the top rack while Tony got the plates together.
After about ten minutes, I turned down the oven so it would keep the toast warm. I found a big flat pan to put the cooked potatoes in and set it to one side as I turned the ones in the skillet. Johnny K pulled down another skillet and got it heated up. Pretty soon, the bacon was frying. I watched it like a hawk and made sure to pull four pieces of chewy bacon off before it got too crispy. That was two for Carter and two for me. Tiny got the coffee going and soon we were ready to start the eggs.
The warm oven held the toast, the potatoes, and the bacon while I ladled out a portion of eggs, cooked them to firm but not dry, and then divided them up by plate. As I did that, Tiny followed behind me and added small amounts of salt, pepper, and paprika. I looked up at the clock. It said a quarter before seven. We were in the home stretch.
Finally, all the eggs were on the plates. We quickly dished out the potatoes, bacon, two pieces of toasted bread, and a pat of butter on the side. With that, they were ready to go. Just as we finished the last one, I heard a key unlock the door to the dining room. We brought out the plates as the guys were all walking in and sitting down.
. . .
Once breakfast was over and we had the kitchen scrubbed clean, Officer Brown let us out into the common room. He pulled me to the side and said, "Mrs. G. was in a head-on collision this morning."
"How is she?"
"Broke a couple of ribs on the steering wheel and twisted her ankle. She'll be out for a while. You, uh, have any ideas about the rest of the meals until we can get a cook?"
I smiled and said, "If you'll make a call for me, I can get a real cook with a helper over here this morning. And, I'll gladly buy the supplies, if that's OK."
He looked doubtful. "I'll have to call the super."
I nodded. "Let me know what he says. We can do it on our own, but this woman is the best. You're gonna wanna eat with us. Best cook I've ever come across."
He looked interested when I said that. "OK. I'll call the super."
"Tell him to come over for lunch or dinner. He won't regret it. Seriously."
Officer Brown grinned. "Roger that."
. . .
Carter was working in the laundry so I was sitting on my cot, reading through Uncle Paul's diary, when Officer Brown came to the cell door and said, "Permission granted. Come with me."
I followed him as he led me down the row, through the common room, and down the hall to Fitzsimmons' office. Officer Brown opened the door and said, "Have a seat, Mr. Williams."
I sat down in my usual spot. He walked over to the telephone and asked, "What's the number?"
"It's Prospect 9001."
He picked up the receiver and dialed the operator. When she answered, he gave her the number. After a moment, he handed me the receiver.
I heard the phone pick up almost immediately. "This is Prospect Nine Zero Zero One." It was Gustav, over-pronouncing the numbers as usual.
"I need to talk to Mrs. Kopek."
"Yes. One moment." He hesitated. "Are you OK, Mr. Nick?"
"I'm fine, Gustav. Thanks for asking."
"Good. I been to prison and I didn't like."
"I'm with you there. Can you get Mrs. Kopek?"
"Yes." He put the phone down and I heard him walking through the kitchen.
I looked up at Officer Brown who was watching me. He asked, "Who's Gustav?"
I grinned and said, "He's our butler."
The man whistled. "Fancy."
I shook my head. "Not really. He's a Czechoslovakian refugee. Good kid."
"Krauss told me all about you. I know what the super is up to, by the way. It's routine business. I guess you have to play ball, right?"
I nodded. I wasn't sure I wanted to have that conversation with him.
"Well, don't worry. We're looking out for you. This is an idiotic frame. The only cop in this county who believes that quack doctor is O'Connor. And you know they're gonna pass him over for Chief of Police, right?"
Right then, Mrs. Kopek said, "Mr. Nick!"
I said, "One moment, Mrs. Kopek." I put my hand over the mouthpiece and said, "That's what I heard. I'd like to ask you another question about O'Connor when I get off the phone." Remembering where I was, I added, "If you don't mind."
Officer Brown snorted. "I could tell you all sorts of thing but first things first." He grinned and pointed at the phone.
I nodded and said, "Mrs. Kopek? How are you?"
"All fine. So quiet with you and Mr. Carter gone. When you come back?"
"Soon, I hope. Look, I need you to call Marnie and get her to bring Mrs. Strakova and Ida over here as fast as possible."
"To the jail?"
"Yes. We need a cook for lunch. And dinner. Don't worry. It's safe."
Mrs. Kopek laughed. "Oh, yes. Mrs. Strakova She cooked for jail in Ostrava until everyone there get too fat." For some reason, this really tickled her and I had to wait until she finished laughing. I couldn't help but laugh with her as I thought about a stream of men leaving the jail and unable to fit in the clothes they'd had on when they were booked in.
. . .
Once I was off the phone, I stood up. Officer Brown asked, "What was that about O'Connor?"
I said. "I know this is gonna sound strange, but you ever get the feeling there's something off about him?"
A look passed over the man's face. At first I thought I might have stepped over a line but, for some reason, it was more like I opened the dam at the top of the river.
"Oh, yeah. There is definitely something wrong there. You know, this isn't San Francisco. Everyone knows everyone around here. He's desperate and it's weird."
"How so?"
"Well, it's like this. O'Connor hangs out at this bar on Bridgeway pretty much any hour he isn't working. He's chummy with the guys in there. Lots of them are old-timers. They like him well enough. But they don't work with him. He throws his weight around. Makes little deals with the guys he knows. They all like him but none of them is friends with him. Seems to me like all he's doing is trying to become Chief of Police. The other sergeant, this Mountanos, he's Greek, right? He's a shoe-in for chief. He knows how to pull the strings in the places where it counts, like the City Council and the Board of Supervisors. I don't like him but I don't dislike him. What I do know about him is that he's a solid married man. His wife just had a baby. I worked with him some when he was a deputy sheriff. But O'Connor hates the man. I never saw anything like it. And what's worse is he's riling up the guys he knows through that bar. When Mountanos becomes Chief, that could be a real problem."
"You said something about how the guys at the bar don't work with him..."
"Yeah. They like him because they never had to see him do his job. Which he doesn't. He's got his own procedure. Like your arrest, see." He crossed his arms and leaned back. "I never heard of anything like that. When I heard about the hearing and I heard that he never asked you any pertinent questions, I wondered. He never interviewed any witnesses. Didn't you say you was at that Rexall counter?"
I nodded.
"Yeah. He shoulda gone over there and
confirmed. I was down at the little corner bar over here last night. Some of the deputies were there and we got to talking about it. It's like he's lazy or something. I don't get it. You gotta do the footwork, right? You're a private dick. You know how that works, right?"
I nodded. I looked at the clock on the wall. Officer Brown saw me do this and said, "Shit! Gotta get you back in." He walked over to the door.
I said, "My fault."
He turned, put his hand on the door, and looked at me. "No. I see what you're wondering about. Or at least I think I do. I'll ask around tonight and see what I can find out. You don't belong in here. I know all about you. I read the Examiner. Live and let live. But." He stopped, put a finger in my chest, and poked at me. "I seen Pauline walk in those braces. Krauss and his wife were crying like little babies." He sniffed. "No, sir. We're gonna get something on O'Connor. This is bullshit." With that, he opened the door and I followed him down the hall wondering at it all.
. . .
"Look at you. Taking over the county jail." That was Carter. We were sitting on the cot in my cell.
I leaned into him and laughed. "We had to eat breakfast. There could've been a riot."
He put his arm around me and said, "Now you've got Mrs. Strakova on lunch. I'm salivating just thinking about what she might cook up."
"Me, too."
We sat there for a long moment. "What if we lose the trial?"
Carter laughed. "Then all the inmates are going to get fat." I'd told him what Mrs. Kopek said.
"We'll be here another ninety days. Or worse. What if we get prosecuted in San Francisco for sodomy? That's a felony. That's San Quentin."
Carter squeezed me and kissed me on the cheek. "One thing at a time."
"You're right."
"Besides. If push comes to shove, I kinda liked Rio de Janeiro."
"I hear it rains a lot in the winter."
"That'd be fine. Wherever you are, whether it's in Rio or San Quentin, that's where you'll find me. We're in for the long haul, Nick. I love you and that's final."
I could feel my face getting wet as I let him rock me on the cot.
. . .
It was an odd thing going to lunch. We weren't marched in as much as everyone was waiting in line, as if it was the rush to get into a new restaurant. And, it was. They had no idea what was in store for them. But we all knew one thing we would be having: fresh-baked bread. The smell was everywhere in the jail.
Once we were seated, the two inmates working the lunch detail brought out the plates. What they brought were just big bowls of stew. There was some grumbling about this until one of the men tasted it.
One man said, "Damn, this is good."
Another one said, "I haven't eaten anything this good ever. And my ma is a great cook."
A third one said, "That's the truth, son."
Officer Brown and Officer Rogers from Row B were standing by and watching. Instead of telling everyone to pipe down, like they usually did, they just watched us eat. Since I was at the end of the table, where they both stood, I passed Officer Brown one of the bread baskets and said, "Try this."
He looked over at Officer Rogers who said, "Hand me a piece." And he did.
. . .
After lunch, all the inmates gathered in the common room and peppered me with questions.
"This lady work for you?"
"What's for dinner? I'm hungry just thinking about it."
"Where she from?"
"Is she married?"
After the group broke up, Officer Brown walked over and said, "Williams. Follow me."
I stood up and asked, "Just me?"
The officer nodded and said, "New visitor. Only asked for you."
I nodded and looked down at Carter, who smiled.
As we walked down the hallway, Officer Brown said, "That was the best damn meal I've ever had."
I laughed and said, "Wait until dinner."
"I already called the super and told him to come by."
"Good. I hope he'll agree to let Mrs. Strakova cook until we leave."
He stopped and turned. "Does she have to go?"
I smiled at the absurdity of this conversation. "She's my cook. But, I'm sure we can work out something. I know she's trained at least one other cook. I'm willing to bet there are others around, as well."
He smiled and said, "Good." He turned and walked towards the visitor room.
I said, "But, my housekeeper told me she was fired from her last prison job."
"Why's that?"
"The prisoners were all getting too fat."
He laughed as he opened the door and there, sitting at the table and looking miserable, was Jeffery Klein, Esquire.
. . .
"How are you, Nick?"
I nodded and said, "Fine. You?"
He looked around the room. "Is this room bugged?"
I shook my head. "No. We checked."
"I was worried about you in prison. I wanted to come by and say hello."
I smiled. "Thanks, Jeffery." I crossed my arms. "It's OK. It's like being in the Navy."
He smiled wanly. I was surprised at how much weight he'd gained. He was in a summer-weight coat and it was straining at the seams. His face was getting chubby. He was still handsome, but he looked very unhappy and I knew why. Jeffery tended to put on weight when he wasn't getting any action with men. Now that he was married and had a baby, I was sure his own inner morals, however odd they seemed to me, wouldn't allow him to have any dalliances with a man.
"How's Rachel? And the baby?"
He smiled. "Rachel is fine. And Millie is growing like a weed. Want to see a snapshot?"
I nodded as he pulled out his wallet. Opening it up, he showed me a small photo of a pretty baby who was laughing at the camera and pointing her chubby fist at it. "She's gonna break some hearts one day." That was a line I'd heard my mother say and it seemed right in this case.
He closed his wallet, put it in his pocket, and we sat there for a long, uncomfortable moment.
"Nick."
I nodded and waited.
"I'm really sorry about everything."
I shrugged. "You did what you thought you had to do. Now you have a new life. I hope it all works out for you." I really didn't want to sit there with him and talk about all that.
"No, I mean I'm sorry about you being in here."
I smiled and said, "It's not so bad."
He shook his head. "That's not what I mean. I'm talking about Dr. Wildman."
I was confused. "What about him?"
He sighed and said, "We've been funding his research since last summer."
"We who?"
"The American Freedom and Liberty Foundation." That was the name. Now, I knew why I could never remember it. It was ridiculous.
I took a deep breath. "Tell me more."
Jeffery looked at the table. "I met Dr. Wildman last August. One of the members of the board invited the two of us to lunch so we could talk about his work. When I read his thesis, I thought it would be perfect for the foundation. We could support his work and promote, you know, the moral way of life."
I was having a hard time not slugging Jeffery. I sat as still as I could and imagined those big stone figures on Easter Island.
"So, we put together a grant for him and that enabled him to open an office here in San Rafael. No one else would fund him. The universities thought his work was too controversial. After Kinsey, they don't want to touch anything dealing with sex. It's too sensationalized in the press, you know."
Finally, I couldn't hold back any longer. "Are you fucking telling me that my own goddam money is the reason I'm in jail??" I stood up and began to pace.
"I guess you could say that."
I turned on Jeffery and said, "How could you ever think that the money made by Paul Williams could be used for this kind of bullshit? You were at the hearing. You heard all that Freudian nonsense. What the hell, Jeffery?" By that point I was yelling.
He recoiled as though I
had actually punched him. "I'm sorry, Nick. I really am. I didn't really understand what he was doing until I heard him testify. Of course--"
"What?"
"Well, he isn't wrong. The disaffected father and the unnatural attachment. You know my story. That's what happened to me."
I walked around the table and stood over him. "Nothing happened to you, Jeffery. You are not a freak. Neither am I. We came this way. This is how we were born. I don't care if no psychiatrist in the world agrees." I poked him in the chest. "You are a homosexual and you always will be. It isn't your parents' fault. It's no one's fault." I shook my head. "Be honest with yourself. You know you felt this way long before you could put a name to it."
I stepped back and took a couple of deep breaths. "What gets me, Jeffery, is that you've waited five fucking days to tell me this."
He hung his head and quietly said, "I know. I'm sorry, Nick. I really am. I haven't slept hardly at all since Monday." He looked up and asked, "How can I make it up to you?"
I crossed my arms. "Cancel the grant. Right now. Do it today."
He nodded. "OK."
"And get me everything that asshole has ever written. And bring it here tomorrow."
"Sunday?"
"Yes! Tomorrow! The trial starts on Monday, for chrissakes!"
Jeffery was crying at that point. I sat down, put my arms around him, and leaned on his shoulder. I still loved him, even though he was a donkey's ass. We sat there for a while until he pulled away and stood up.
"I'd better go."
I nodded. "Go take care of this mess."
"I will."
"And, for God's sake, go to the Silver Rail or the Old Crow and hire a goddam hustler, Jeffery. You've got to do something. Otherwise, you'll blow up like a balloon."
He nodded but didn't say anything as he left.
. . .
Once he was gone, I went to find Officer Brown. He was in the common room, talking with Carter and Jimmy K. They were comparing cars.
I walked up and asked, "Officer Brown, can I ask you a question?"
He said, "Sure, Williams. What is it?"
In a quiet voice, I asked, "I need to call my lawyer."
"Wilcox, right?"
I nodded.
"I'll call him for you. Is it urgent?"
"You have no idea."
The Iniquitous Investigator (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 8) Page 13
