He called again.
“Have the cabby drive up to Geary.”
A few moments later, the cab turned right, sagging on the turn. Ray followed several car lengths behind.
Ray watched Moon’s petite head in the back seat, bouncing in sync with potholes in the road. They passed Mel's Drive-In, its tasty cool-blue neon drawing all eyes. He called Moon again.
“Moon, have the cabby bang a U-turn and drop you off at the corner near Mel's.” The cab slowed, and took the left.
The scrambling had smoked out anyone tailing them. He followed the cab, keeping a sharp eye on any other cars. No one made any quick turns.
A red Lexus pulled up quickly behind him. Ray noted an Asian male driver. The Lexus turned left on Euclid. He relaxed.
Moon was paying the cabby and looking across Geary. Ray zoomed up and stopped in front of her. She appeared mildly irritated at being rustled all over the city.
Moon got in, looking at Ray. He pulled away. The pulse and flow of traffic, people running in front of cars on a million afternoon errands.
Ray made a couple of quick turns, tires chirping mildly. He drove up a side street. No one was tailing them, and he felt more comfortable.
“Sorry for the chaos,” he said. “I had to take a few precautions, as I’m sure you can understand.”
“Yes,” she said. Up close, she looked more attractive than he’d remembered, even if windswept.
“Tania is looking forward to seeing you. The last few days have been tough for her.”
“I miss her. Thanks for picking me up.”
They drove on in silence through the redwoods and eucalyptus of the Presidio. He took a right on Union Street and drove through Pacific Heights.
Ray aimed the car up Russian Hill, stopping for a cable car at Powell Street. Tourists hung off the sides of the cable car like baboons. Outside a store, a grocer built a pyramid of oranges on a green cart. A few oranges rolled off the cart and meandered down the hill.
They zipped through North Beach, and pulled into the garage on Kearny.
Ray and Moon entered a side door, and stepped into a hallway. Ray guided her toward the living room. Antonio came in wearing bright shorts and a black T-shirt. Ray introduced Moon to Antonio.
“Let me know if you need anything,” said Antonio. “A drink, whatever you want.”
Ray and Moon entered the living room. Tania sat on the sofa, still reading a book. She looked up and rose quickly. She looked relaxed, even restored. The two women embraced. They stood that way for some time, letting the fear of the last few days slip from their bones, standing in a sunny spot.
“I’ll leave you two for a while,” said Ray. He exited the living room. In a way, he envied their closeness. They both intrigued him, their sleek black hair, the circular way they approached conversation, spiraling slowly, sparrows over a forest.
In the kitchen, Ray and Antonio read the newspaper.
“Jesus, two beautiful women,” said Antonio. “What are you doing in here with me?”
Ray poured a glass of Cabernet. The label showed a masked horseman clad in red. “This looks expensive,” he said. “Your taste is developing.”
Antonio grunted.
In the living room, the two women held each other, speaking in hushed tones.
“I missed you,” said Tania.
“I know. Me too.”
“The last two days. All these surreal revelations,” said Tania. “I feel trapped in this house.” Tania held Moon’s face in her hands, kissed her lips, her forehead. “It’s been so long, Moon!”
“I can’t believe this is happening to us,” said Moon quietly.
“But how are you?” Tania leaned forward to look into Moon’s face.
“OK, given the circumstances.” Moon whispered, “I didn’t know if I could trust him. He showed up asking about you.”
“I know. That seems to be how he works. He burst in on me too,” said Tania, pulling Moon closer. “But he’s legit. I would be dead by now if—”
Moon moved away, looking exhausted. Her hands trembled slightly.
“You poor thing,” said Tania.
“You look as bad as I do,” said Moon.
“I want to end this crazy life,” said Tania. “How long can we keep hiding?” Tania put her face in her hands.
Moon moved to her, holding her, stroking her hair. “We don’t have to do it much longer,” she said softly.
“Promise me you will stay with me. Don’t go away.”
“I’m staying,” said Moon. “This time forever.” She leaned close. “We can leave tonight—we need to.”
Tania looked up. “What? How can we leave—”
“They came after me,” Moon whispered. “This was after Marin.” She hung her head. “They did things to me.” She lifted her shirt sleeve. Tania looked with horror at the splotches of mottled burns, a mess of raw red tissue. A sob convulsed Moon’s body and then subsided.
“I didn’t say anything,” she whispered. “I never gave them anything—”
“Oh my god, Moon, what did they do to you! You need help—”
“They wanted me to take them to you. But I would never do that. I tricked them.” She was crying. “They thought I was on their side after they did this. They gave me a phone to call them once we met. They said they would take us away from Ray, that he’s up to something. I told them I would call. But I never would!” She grabbed Tania’s hand. “I just want us to be together.”
Tania sprang up. “Did you ever call them?”
“Never! They called me but—”
“They can track us with these phones!” Tania raced toward the kitchen, pulling Moon behind her.
Ray heard a crash under the kitchen floor. Antonio looked up. ”The basement door!” Ray ran toward the hallway as Tania burst through the door.
“Ray, they’re here! They followed her here, they tracked a cell phone—”
“I’ll get the shotgun!” yelled Antonio. He rushed out.
“Get upstairs!” Ray said to Tania. Drawing his gun, he led the way back into the hallway toward the stairs.
They were too late. On the right, the basement door burst open. Two black-clad Asian men swept into the alcove, covering the kitchen with shotguns. They blasted off two, three shots, and a tremendous roar echoed in the room. Ray shoved Tania toward the hallway stairs. Unloaded five rounds at the men as they raced into the kitchen. Wild gunfire exploded around him. Bullets punctured holes in the plaster. Already down to a few shots. Then he dove behind the thick wood walls of the dining room.
He heard feet scrambling on the stairs—Tania and Moon seemed to be out of the way. But he heard a once-vital female voice braying its distress.
Where was Antonio? Ray looked around. They were coming. Dining room wrapped into the kitchen—the shooters could enter from either way. But they didn’t know the layout. Better bring the attack and hope that Antonio covered the back.
He aimed the gun toward the rear doorway in the dining room. Then he began to crawl silently toward the kitchen.
A shot cracked behind him—Antonio crouching on the stairs and firing round after round into the kitchen. A hurricane of noise and mayhem. Something crashed into the stove. Pots clattered on the floor. Ray got up and ran toward the doorway. A figure in black was backing in, distracted by the shotgun flak. The figure whirled. Five feet away, Ray fired repeatedly—push, hold, squeeze. The rhythmic concussions echoed off the walls. The man toppled back in rude punctuation to the blasts. He lay still.
Antonio was calling for him. Ray raced back to the foyer. At the foot of the stairs he saw Moon sprawled on the floor, unmoving. Blood flowed from her neck. Tania was crumpled near the stairs, eyes closed, breathing raggedly.
Antonio and Ray scrambled on the floor, pulling blankets on Tania and Moon. Antonio called 911. A heavy smell of smoke in the air. Ray felt fury run over his limbs. He thought of Victoria Chang’s cryptic response. This was done at her bidding, the emblem of her black
design all over it.
He crawled to Tania, holding her tightly. The blue carpet was turning into a slick, damp swamp of blood. Antonio drifted from room to room, checking on Moon and Tania, yelling instructions into the phone.
He had swooped into California just a few days ago. He played his hand boldly, the confrontation in Cambridge. But now he sat once again amidst carnage in an apartment on a hill in San Francisco. He held Tania, listening for sirens, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
Chapter 34
The two-tone Lexus, squat and luxurious in its deliberate pace, motored through the afternoon traffic on Geary. Behind the tinted windows, Lucas Michaels peered out at the traffic. His hands tapped the imported wood inlay of the steering wheel. A Sade CD played. He believed that such music added an exotic tint to his personal aura, a scent he could somehow emit, an unexpected compliment to his patrician profile.
The past few days had veered close to being a professional disaster for him. The Marin matter was botched. The ridiculous meeting in North Beach was an embarrassment. The situation had dragged on much too long. In just a few weeks, the missing girl had grown into a cancer. Once he had found her, Ray Infantino had been a good deal more effective—and intrusive—than anticipated. All this had caused an unfortunate backwash on his reputation.
Victoria had made her displeasure known, and he knew that thirty years of a business partnership were crumbling. But in the end, they had worked things out. He had received word that the matter was to be handled by an old consort of Tania’s—a woman no less.
But Tania had again survived the attack. He had not pressed for details.
It occurred to him again that, by the end of his career, he had engaged in acts that would have warped his soul as a younger man. The idealism of youth. He stifled the urge to ruminate. He had made a choice a long time ago, and the rewards had been significant. He understood that the dead make poor editors. History is for the victors, and he would be victorious here. That was the crucial thing. It was time to press on to new business.
He ignored the unpleasant swirling in his gut, and concentrated on the road.
At a red light he watched a young girl in white knee-high socks stroll by, creating a minor riot among a scrap of teenaged boys. He got a sense of pounding music, hip-hop, urban poses, kids in warm-up jackets, gold and red.
A silver BMW angled from his left and slid expertly in front of him. He frowned—as a rule, BMW drivers were arrogant pricks. He watched people on the sidewalk, streaming past bakeries and shops with awnings covered in bird dung.
An abrupt movement on his left. An Asian man in sunglasses appeared, tight in his window. Lucas felt a pit in his belly. The man raised a gun, pointed it at Lucas’s temple, fired pointblank. A fiery roar ate his face, blood splashing merrily over the leather interior.
The shooter turned to the nearest restaurant, the Bangkok Café, and fired several shots into the front window. Bullets pocked the glass and snapped into the wall. A diner dove for cover behind a potted palm tree. An old man reflexively stood up, jarring his table; hot soup spilled on his lap. He howled in pain.
The shooter took off through the stalled cars on Geary. On the street, people scattered. The brave and the fools looked around, confused, not sure of what they saw. A young couple on the sidewalk pointed to the restaurant, certain that the shots had come from the long-haired white dude at table four.
Who can tell what happens in three lanes of traffic at rush hour?
Lucas’s body folded into the steering wheel. His foot slipped off the brake. The Lexus rolled forward, just another car now, and crashed into a hydrant. Water surged upwards in a geyser, and a misty confusion rolled through the San Francisco streets.
Chapter 35
The ambulance arrived, men and women in medical blues. The technicians hunched over Tania. They made brisk movements with the shiny steel gadgetry of emergencies. Tubes, beeping machines, oxygen tanks, and old fashioned stuff as well—towels, rubber gloves and blankets. Ray heard Tania moan.
One technician walked over to Moon. He checked her pulse, and wrapped her in the blanket. She had lost a lot of blood.
Cops filled the room. A detective in a gray suit stood with a pen in hand, interviewing Antonio. He glanced at the women, nodding grimly.
Ray spoke for forty-five minutes to two detectives. Then a technician approached, a dark man with short hair, Indian maybe, neat and cool. “They’re gonna be OK, sir.” He nodded toward Tania. “She took a bullet in the back. She is in some pain, but she’s OK.” Ray nodded dimly.
“You know the other girl had burn marks on her?”
Ray shook his head no. “How recent?”
“A few days or so. Her arms are real bad.” The EMT moved away. “We’ll take care of your friends.”
“Thank you.”
He hated hospitals. He thought again of Diana and the ambulances that rushed to the apartment after the bombing. There had been no need to take anyone to a hospital that day. Everyone was dead. He tried to relax, but his lungs felt heavy and compressed. He sat on the edge of a chair and tried to breathe deeply.
Antonio by his side. “Jesus, what a couple of days for you.”
Ray sat mutely. So many deserved a payback. He ground his palm into his knuckles, feeling the bone.
Later that night, he sat in the hospital room, his heavy brown leather jacket across his lap. The windows were open. Stars speckled the black sky. The sad, steady bleating of the monitors the only sound. Tania’s upper back was wrapped in a bandage. She had slept all evening. He looked at her fine brown hand, now marred with tubes running in her veins. She looked peaceful as she slept.
Her eyes opened. Her hands tapped the sheet as if she wasn’t sure where she was.
“Tania, how do you feel?”
“Thirsty.” Her voice was faint. “Can I have water?” She fingered the bandages at her back.
“The doctors said you can’t drink or eat for a while. The tubes have to do it for you.”
“Moon brought those men accidentally,” Tania said. “Her phone—they tampered with it.”
Ray nodded. “GPS.”
“What happened?” Tania asked.
He hesitated.
“Where is Moon?” Tania looked up. Her eyes, brown as fallen oak leaves, searched his face.
“She’s here, Tania. But she was hit.”
“Where?”
“Her neck. They have her in intensive care too.” Tania sank into the bed, her back arching, sending the monitors crazy. Ray held on to her hand. Tania’s eyes closed and she grimaced. She turned her back toward him, sobbing. After a few minutes, she lay still, a small lump in the sheets.
“I just want to go. It’s never going to end, is it?” she said.
“I’m sorry Tania for what happened. But even these people tire of the chase. They will move on when they see new threats to their businesses.” He sat there looking at the stars, listening to the television drone. Footsteps in the hallway. Voices at the nurses’ station.
Tania kept her back to him, hunched into her pillow. Ray sat there, a shape in the darkness. He put his hand on her shoulder. She didn’t pull away. Eventually Tania fell asleep.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
The next morning he left the hospital before Tania awoke. He walked to the lobby and called Dominique. He asked her to meet him at Coit Tower. Then he hailed a cab and headed east toward Telegraph Hill. A morning fog drifted inland and everything looked dingy, smeared with gray. He got out at the statue honoring Christopher Columbus in Pioneer Park, just below the elegant gray tower.
A few minutes later, Dominique stepped out of a cab. She walked up the steps to where Ray sat on a cement wall, and they embraced, holding each other.
“I heard what happened,” she said. "Both her and Lucas."
"Lucas found out how gangs lay off middle managers." Ray stared into the mist. “Someone got to Moon. They tortured her. Burn marks all over her arms. They put software
on her phone that activated her GPS. Took them right to Tania.” He shook his head.
“You couldn’t know that,” said Dominique.
"I should have anticipated it.” Ray shook his head. “This hill, right now, I hate it." He pulled his leather coat closed. “It’s just like before.” Dominique started to say something but stopped short.
“How is Tania?” she asked.
“OK,” Ray said. “Moon is in bad shape though. Tania was distraught when she heard.”
“Of course.”
“There’s so much unfinished business here,” said Ray.
“I know.”
“You and I also,” Ray said. “It meant a lot being back here with you.”
She smiled, moved into him. “Thanks for saying that.”
“I mean that.” He looked out across the bay. “I’m going to stay a while, try to make sure that Tania gets some help. Put her in a place where they can’t find her.”
“Where’s that?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll have to find a way to get her out of here. I know someone who remakes people, helps them disappear. Gangs focus on clear dangers. We need to make them come to the end of caring. Like they did with Lucas.”
“How did it go with the other case?”
“OK.” Ray set his face into the wind. “Got some good information. But I wanted this kid Cherry to be the guy. I felt it.”
“Was he what you expected?”
“He admitted he delivered the bomb. Says others organized it. A group out of San Diego. He didn’t want to tell me. But what I took from him—” Ray paused. “It didn’t feel like I thought it would.”
“How so?”
“Dreaming of revenge. Thinking it would fill the pit. Then you look around and you’re just digging to bury yourself right beside the first hole.”
Ray put his arm around Dominique and pulled her into him. They looked across the cold sea. The sun rose, and the wind swirled orange swaths above boats rising and falling on the currents.
* * * * *
Telegraph Hill Page 19
