Who Needs Justice?

by Rex Bolt

  "Your diagnosis, you're referring to."

  "Not that . . . I'd kill to be able to pleasure you, but you're not into it, and then this new person who maybe would be into it, I'm not sure I could consummate the relationship."

  "Wow. All I can tell you is I've given my opinion . . . It's not completely about you Chris, even though I know it feels like it."

  He said, "That's actually why I wanted to talk to you. Someone said maybe I was nursing the flu, and they fucked up in the lab."

  "Is this someone a medical individual?"

  "He tends bar."

  "You know something? You need to limit your medical discussions to trained experts."

  "You mean like the oncologist Billy wants me to see? Even though they can't show me one patient like me they've cured?"

  "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

  "I ran another eleven today. It wasn't that bad. Unlikely as it is, I think I'm getting stronger."

  "You're making me really angry, is that what you want?"

  Christian said, "Near the end with my dad, I had to take him to the Emergency Room a couple times. Gave me a chance to observe the activities. Everyone, including the ER docs, was on the computer at least half the time. It does make you wonder."

  "Whether someone made an error? Chris, I understand you grasping for any ray of hope . . . but no."

  "That's what I figured. Just thought I'd bring it up."

  Bethany took a minute. "If you don't mind me asking though, who else knows besides your bartender friend?"

  "Besides you and Billy and the lab person? No one. The bartender, Shep, I blurted it out to when I was in shock. He's been a good confidante. I almost told someone else at what seemed like a natural moment, in fact did tell them, but she didn't react well so I told her take it easy, I was joking."

  "Well maybe you should start leveling with a few more people? Rather than harboring all the stress yourself?"

  "Good point. When I get to where I can only run ten miles and not a foot more, that's what I'll do."

  "Chris . . . fuck you."

  "Now there you go. That's the passion we've been looking for. All you gotta do, convey that to Kyle."

  "You know what? Fuck you."

  +++

  Polk Street was changing, Christian was thinking. It wasn't as gay it used to be, when it felt like an extension of The Castro. There were upscale bars and restaurants popping up, the vibe different than Chestnut in that you had less of the college-sweatshirt crowd, though everyone was young and seemed well off, the way they were jumping in and out of cabs when they probably didn't have to be.

  The Red Raider had been around for years, and if it was reinvigorated by the surrounding activity you wouldn't know it. Christian got there at quarter to eight, ordered an Irish Coffee, and was just about the only one in the joint.

  Right around eight everyone showed up. Allison had on very tight jeans and a lacy top and looked nice, especially compared to the other performers who were shuffling in. Monica introduced Christian to Henry, a surprise.

  "A pleasure to meet you sir," Henry said. "The two ladies have spoken quite highly of you."

  It took Christian a little getting used to. He assumed Henry was a street kid with pants falling down and a tattoo on his neck, but here was a polished, easy-going fellow with a steady smile and a touch of a West Indian accent.

  Christian said, "How are they? As roommates. They clean up?"

  "Man, you know then," Henry said. "I never saw two people so oblivious to a mess. So I take care of it myself. It's worth it, I enjoy the company."

  Monica was holding Henry's arm. "He exaggerates big-time," she said.

  Christian looked up and there was Kim. He gave her a peck on the cheek and introduced the others as his friends from Berkeley. Allison was tuning her guitar and stood up and thanked Kim for coming but at the same time was scrutinizing her, which irritated Christian and made him want to leave right then.

  The surprising thing was the whole shebang was much worse than the one in Pocatello. Tired chord progressions you'd heard a hundred times, corny lyrics, and everyone so serious, like they were compelled to make a grand statement. The only one any good was Allison. Her songs were just enough outside the formula, and she had the best voice in the house.

  "I heard her play one of these in a small town," Christian said to Kim when it was over. "Here we have San Francisco, big cutting edge music scene supposedly, and most of this was tough to take."

  "Your friend really is talented though," Kim said. "I was kind of blown away by her, actually."

  Monica came over to their table. "Chris, you won't take credit, but Al really has been focused since the trip. You've been a big influence."

  "She's coming along," he said.

  "There's a pizza place," Monica said. "You guys are joining us, right?"

  Kim said, "Unfortunately I can't. But thank you for including me."

  Monica was talking to someone else and Christian said, "Why not?"

  "I open tomorrow, Chris, I have to get up at four."

  "Ah."

  "Bethany was in the club tonight, before I left. She said she saw you earlier . . . Also, what trip?"

  "You know something? Bethany's starting to get on my nerves. I confronted her on the skeleton in the closet comment."

  "And how did she respond?"

  "Just that I don't open up enough, in her opinion. That it would be unfair in a serious relationship."

  "What did you say?"

  "I told her she has to start cultivating her own garden. She didn't like hearing that."

  "And what was the trip Monica was referring to?"

  "Not something I'd recommend. I had to go to Idaho, so Allison wanted to come along for the ride. She brought Monica, and it was pretty strange."

  "Do you have something with Allison?"

  "Not that type of thing."

  He walked her to her car. Kim said, "Can I make you dinner tomorrow night?"

  He gave it a moment. "I'm thinking no."

  "Not tomorrow? Or no?"

  "Probably no," he said.

  +++

  At the pizza place, Allison said, "Are you just saying that, or I really am getting my act together?"

  "I would say it anyway," Christian said, "but in this case it's true."

  "Well, so what's my next step?"

  "You make some videos, gotta be tight, your best stuff, you stick them on YouTube. You never know, that's how they found Justin Bieber apparently, if that counts."

  "And then I would promote them how?"

  "C'mon, you have to figure that out. My guess is you play the dumb game, commenting on everyone else and 'liking' shit, so you start getting linked back to."

  Allison said, "Okay. And off-topic, that girl Kim, she's a little cutie."

  "Oh."

  They finished eating and were outside the place. Monica said she and Henry were stopping off somewhere and they said goodbye, and Allison asked Christian if she should come over.

  "That'd be wrong for about seventy-five reasons," he said. "But what can you do?"

  They walked there, Christian not crazy about carrying Allison's guitar but thinking he should, and this time they got down to business right away.

  "One reason you sounded better," he said, looking up at Allison, his hands on her hips, her eyes closed, "you worked some of that fake country out of your voice."

  "Did I."

  "Yeah, it was more pure . . . Also . . . this is . . . how I envisioned you at Floyd's."

  "Well I fucked Floyd . . . just like this."

  "I saw you doing it."

  "I wanted you to . . . I was . . . hoping you would."

  "Fuck you? Or see you?"

  "See me . . . Do you . . . see me now Chris?"

  He asked her what she meant, exactly, but she stopped answering . . .

  Later, Christian said, "Well, whadda you know. I wouldn't have put money on that occurring."

  "I'm glad it did," A
llison said.

  "And I guess glad to get it out of the way before my brother shows up."

  "For your information, I'm not thinking about anyone else right now. Can you take a shower with me?"

  It was a nice experience, she was tender and serious in there, and Christian felt bad he'd made that comment. He lingered for a while and when he got out, Allison was on the couch with a cup of tea and the TV on.

  "Gosh, someone drowned in those waves," she said. "It just felt like that might happen." It was two in the morning, the late night local newscast being replayed.

  Christian said, "What?"

  "It's off now, but they were at the Cliff House. They didn't say much except that they found a body. You know we have a big ocean storm going, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "A friend of mine, he surfs, he's been on a high. But people get in trouble. They don't anticipate the awesome power of the ocean."

  "They show the guy? . . . Or woman, or whoever?"

  "No. They only said some people having dinner saw something out the window. You know how the restaurant part extends over the water? At first they thought it was a seal, but it was too white."

  "Okay, well, those things happen I guess." Racing through it in his head, looking for some mistake he'd made.

  "Do you want me to leave? I can hook up with Monica, she and Henry are staying in the city. I can get a taxi."

  "No, don't go. Let me ask you something, though . . . Any aspect of me in worse shape than when you first met me?"

  "Chris, it was great tonight. I mean that."

  "What I'm getting at is have I changed? My pallor, the way I speak, move, look, anything?"

  "Well yes, you look a little thinner."

  "I do? God damn it."

  "What a strange reaction, Chris . . . I'll tell you what, let me see what's happening with your eyes."

  She brought a standing lamp closer and had him lean back. "Nice and white. Your diet is obviously prudent, and I'm not seeing a lot of free radical activity."

  "Yeah right. What a bunch of bull."

  "I know a little about Oriental medicine. There's a logical body flow, everything is connected, and you can tell a good deal about a person through simple observation. Let's see your tongue . . . hmm . . . You appear quite fit, Chris. What are your concerns?"

  "Nothing to back it up, just that I might have something wrong I don't know about."

  "See now this is the thing, which I've tried to impress upon you. You're not balanced. Therefore you're not calm, and you develop anxious thought patterns. Not to mention the cynical stuff."

  She had him put his legs up and began massaging the soles of his feet. He said, "Dang, that feels good. If I had something wrong, it might show up in my feet too?"

  "It absolutely would," Allison said. "I have a friend, he got poked in the eye, where he couldn't open it for a few days? I was doing his feet and he yelled out when I worked on a certain spot. I looked it up on the chart, and that exact spot was for eye."

  "What else is on the chart?"

  "All your organs, everything."

  "How about penis? Can you do something there?"

  "What did you have in mind, in particular?"

  "I don't know, tune it up, enlarge it, that kind of thing."

  "No, I'm sorry Chris, that I can't do."

  "I didn't think so."

  "Not permanently anyway. Temporarily I can though."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Un-huh."

  +++

  Christian got up late and ran, not giving it a very good effort. He felt Damirko behind him part of the way and then saw him fluttering toward those rocks. Something he alarmingly hadn't thought of, could you leave DNA on a guy when you tugged on him and most likely fingernailed him in the ocean?

  When he got back, Allison was not only still there but standing in the kitchen waiting for a piece of toast to pop up. Nude.

  "Jesus God Almighty," Christian said. "What are you doing? People can see in."

  "I closed the shades," Allison said. "Is it such a problem?"

  "What are you again, twenty-five, twenty-six?"

  "Yep."

  "Well you have a grace period, is what I'm saying. Just so you don't take things for granted."

  "Thank you for that wisdom."

  "If you were forty-five you might be a bit more discriminating. Whereas right now, admittedly, I'm not finding any specific issues."

  Allison said, "Floyd's driving. He should be here tonight."

  "You've gotta be kidding me . . . He'll be residing with Henry and the whole gang?"

  "Yeah . . . Listen, why don't you jump in the shower and by then I'll be fully awake."

  "Awake?"

  "You know . . . "

  "You sure? . . . Two Seelys the same day?"

  "I want that."

  "Fine. You do what you have to do. Then beat it on out of here."

  +++

  He spent the afternoon checking news updates on the body that washed up at the Cliff House. After a few hours they identified it as Gregoriev Petroivikov of Santa Clara. Christian was relieved for about twenty minutes, until the Mercury News added a photo to its news story, which was of a smiling Damirko.

  He had hoped the little guy might stay out at sea a while longer and end up down near Half Moon Bay, but it was what it was. He figured he could sit around waiting for further developments, or he could go over to the Booker Lounge and have a couple drinks.

  When he walked in, his old newspaper cronie Rich Tomlinson was sitting at the bar talking to Booker. "Rich," Christian said, "this is where we left off like a month ago. Same stool and everything."

  It wasn't quite cocktail hour, and it was just three of them.

  "Chrissy! I'm glad you're back." Rich got up, staggered a little and embraced him. "Have you committed any homicides since last time?"

  Christian was stunned by the question, felt his heart race, started to say something and then caught himself, remembering now the hypothetical discussion they'd had.

  "It's a fair question Chrissy," Booker said. "If I recall, you inquired whether bullets recovered at a crime scene was traceable."

  Christian said, "Well are they? You never did get me the definitive answer," and they all laughed.

  "Nothing wrong with plotting to whack someone over a few beverages," Rich said. "In fact it's probably therapeutic."

  Christian saw Damirko's picture flash on the TV behind the bar. He tried to look away and listen to Booker, who was saying, "You got that right, we all human beings. The difference though between us talking junk—and them up in Pelican Bay? Restraint, brother."

  "Good point," Rich said. A news reporter was interviewing players at a tennis court now, probably that park in San Jose. Christian was thinking they piece it together quick. The segment ended with a police hotline number, which implied they didn't buy the guy being in the ocean in his underwear by choice.

  Christian said, "Any thoughts on how you'd take care of someone who was on vacation? Staying in a hotel and such?"

  "Damn, you crack me up," Rich said. "I'm loving this though . . . Well one thing, don't go in the hotel."

  "Or outside it neither," Booker said. "Before, during or after. Cameras up the wazoo, if the establishment is half-way respectable."

  "The thing about killing an out-of-towner," Rich said, "you have to expect more heat. The cops work those hard."

  "They protecting the business owners, and I don't blame 'em," Booker said. "If The Lounge started losing revenue because some dude from Milwaukee got hit on Chestnut Street, I'd go out and track down the motherfuckers myself."

  Rich said, "Remember the one about fifteen years ago where the guy and his girlfriend got shot to death near Japantown?"

  "Vaguely," Christian said.

  Rich said, "Young couple from Nebraska. Lily-white, corn-fed, supposedly here sightseeing. You have your Japantown featured on the tourist map, but then you have projects three blocks away." Christian thinking, yeah, R
ay lives in one of them.

  Rich said, "I was on the crime beat then, at the Examiner. SFPD used more manpower trying to solve it than any case I remember. It didn't even matter that the fresh-faced Nebraskans were on a drug buy."

  Booker said, "How you know that?"

  "A little old-fashioned investigative journalism. The cops didn't want to go there, they were working the PR angle. The mayor came on TV every day for a while, assuring tourists the city is safe and justice will be served, and look how we're making sure."

  "And it backfired on 'em, because they came up empty," Booker said.

  "Exactly," Rich said. "You remember it then."

  "Heard about it," Booker said. "How it went down and such."

  "Christ, really?" Rich said.

  "And we'll be leaving it at that," Booker said.

  Christian said, "I'm not seeing though how that'd apply to my . . . situation."

  "Well for starters," Rich said, "taking care of it in a dangerous neighborhood wouldn't be the worst idea." Christian was wondering if there were many of those in Oklahoma City, and how you'd get someone to go there.

  Booker said, "I might actually agree with you on that. Be putting more angles in circulation. Throw 'em off track."

  "Okay, fair enough," Christian said. "And what about a guy living in a small town? How would you approach that one?"

  "Chrissie, I'm getting a kick out of you," Rich said. "You're messing with us pretty convincingly. That, or you're a closet homicidal maniac."

  Christian said, "All it is, I've got these two guys right now, they shouldn't be walking around."

  Booker put his hands on the bar and took his time. "My man, I believe your heart is in the right place. But you follow it too close, you may not be liking what you see."

  38 - Radar Like Lightning

  Friday morning Christian was on a computer at the Funston Library. First he checked his fake gmail, and there was a reply from the Oklahoma City fitness convention person, saying yes, other fitness operators from Idaho would be attending but they weren't allowed to say who. Christian thought for Christ sakes, it's not like they're giving out classified information, though he had to admit they sort of would be.

  There was an updated version of the Damirko story in the online Chronicle: