Bad Scene
Page 23
“Decisions, decisions.”
“Thought I’d check in on you.”
“You don’t know how much I like that you did.”
“Oh, I think I might. You sure things are okay up there?”
“Absolutely.”
“Alex says I can use a car if I want. Just stay away from the Jag.”
“That was nice.” Colleen hadn’t even thought about her daughter being able to drive, then recalled that she had driven the drug delivery van for Moon Ranch. Her little girl.
“I could come up,” Pam said slyly.
Colleen’s heart melted. “Nothing would make me happier, sweetie, but I need you to stay right where you are for the time being. You need your rest. Besides, Alex is taking you to the doctor tomorrow, right?”
“I figured you and I could go.”
Another warm rush filled Colleen’s chest.
“There will be other opportunities. I really want to go with you tomorrow, but I’m right in the middle of this case. A couple of days and I’ll be in the clear.” She hoped so.
“You sure you’re not in some kind of trouble? You can tell me. I know all about trouble.”
Colleen laughed. “I know you do.” It felt good to be able to joke about such dark issues. “But I’m fine, really. I’ve just got a client whose husband has a girl on the side and I need to get some photos pronto. All very grubby but it means I’m going to be very busy the next few days. And you really need your rest.” She didn’t want to ask whether Pamela was thinking of keeping her child. Let her make her own decisions.
“You know, it really means a lot, you helping me out.”
“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”
They said goodnight. It was the nicest phone call Colleen could remember. She’d remember it for the rest of her life.
She turned the lights down, set the sawed-off on the glass coffee table, put The Lost Chords on the stereo, Steve’s album back when he was a teen idol, a record she treasured. She recalled being a young mom living at home with a husband who was still alive and a little girl who was now expecting a baby of her own. She listened to a sixteen-year-old Steve singing about that river that time couldn’t stop and wondered when Shuggy might show, if he did show. Her instincts were usually good. They were prickly now. She sipped coffee, her bare feet on the glass coffee table next to the shotgun.
But she was getting sleepy. Everything was starting to catch up with her. Somewhere in the middle of “Shades of Summer” she drifted off, her head tilted back on the sofa.
She didn’t know what time it was when she woke with a start. A car door had shut quietly, down on the street, amidst the white noise of the elevated freeway up the hill. For some reason it had woken her up. It was late and a lot didn’t go on around here then. Plus her feelers were on high.
She pressed the button on her Pulsar watch, the red numbers cutting the near darkness. Early in the a.m.
She stood up, cinched her kimono. The lights were off so she wouldn’t be visible looking out the window. She went over to the front of the flat, pulled the curtain aside an inch or two. Two stories down, parked down Vermont, she saw a dark mid-sixties Impala, a boat of a car with a primered fender. Someone sat behind the wheel, someone next to him. Or her. And maybe someone in the back. Her biker trio came to mind.
She went, got her binos. Focused on the driver.
Shuggy. Did he wear anything besides his denim and leathers? And, in the passenger seat, Ace the troll doll. Stan, the tall member, might be in the back.
Her guests had arrived.
She patted herself on the back for shuffling Pam off to Alex’s.
How to play this?
Shuggy and his two thugs probably wouldn’t try to come in while she was there. They knew she could be armed. Were they waiting for her to leave? Middle of the night? Or just watching her?
Then the Impala started up with a rumble, swerved out onto Vermont. Floated away.
They’d be back. She felt like bait on the hook.
But she was the one who had put herself there.
Now it was time to catch fish.
Come to mama.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Colleen didn’t know what time Shuggy and his two cohorts would return, only that they surely would.
She dressed in jeans and denim shirt, pulled on socks and sneaks, left her Bersa and shotgun on the kitchen counter. She got a hard-backed chair, her field glasses, positioned them by the front window. In the kitchen she set up the Moka pot and made herself a large cup full of steaming espresso to stay awake. Stirred in several spoons of brown sugar for good measure, took her coffee into the living room. The only thing missing was a cigarette.
Maybe they’d be back tonight. She’d be ready.
By the time she was halfway through her rocket fuel, she heard a distant rumble coming down Vermont. She set her cup down, pulled the blinds back, peered through the gap with the binos in one hand.
The Impala parked farther down the street this time.
She’d wait. They could all wait.
Even with the coffee in her, she was fighting sleep. That trip to Ecuador was still taking its toll on top of everything else.
Her eyelids drooping, she heard a car door open quietly, and just as softly, shut. Through the glasses she saw a short figure, wearing a dark jacket, strolling toward her building. She focused in. Ace. He crossed over Vermont. She could no longer see him but heard his heels pass under her window. They headed around the corner.
Casing her building.
She got up, went to her office, at the back of the flat. With the light off, she looked out the window.
Here came Ace, hands in jacket pockets, approaching the back lot.
He stopped at the entrance, leaned in to look at her Torino, moved on. Knew she was home.
She thought about calling Matt. If things got any dicier, she would.
Then she heard a car door slam, out front. Light footsteps, heading to the entrance of her building. What? Colleen padded to the front window. A shiny black Lincoln Continental, looking familiar, was parked across the street. Colleen craned her neck. The Impala was still parked down the block where it had been, down to one man. Stan, tall and lanky, was coming down the street toward her place now.
Colleen’s door buzzer went off. She pressed the button on her watch. Wee hours. Stan wouldn’t have had time to make it. Ace was probably still circling the long block. Was it some other ally of Shuggy’s? Who’d been in the Lincoln? Reinforcements?
Chest tapping, she got up, grabbed the sawed-off from the kitchen counter, went to the intercom, pressed the button. Didn’t speak at first.
“Mom?” she heard Pam say. “It’s me. Sorry it’s so late. I just wanted to see you.”
Her nerves ratcheted into overdrive. Pam? No!
Colleen buzzed the door open, shouted: “Pam! Get in here quick! Now! And shut that door behind you! Right away! Someone’s after—”
She heard a snippet of Pam yelling out in protest before the intercom cut off. Out on the street, Stan gave a sharp wolf whistle, then shouted: “Hey! Hurry up!”
The Impala started up.
They were taking Pam.
Colleen’s heart leapt into her throat.
CHAPTER FIFTY
From the hallway, by the intercom, she heard the Impala roaring down the street.
They had Pam.
Run to the living room window? No, couldn’t risk shooting from there.
Gun in hand, she charged out into the hall, grabbing the banister for speed as she hurtled down the first flight of stairs.
An apartment door flew open. A neighbor appeared in plaid pajamas, blinking through glasses. She tucked the gun to one side, hopefully out of view. “What on earth is going on, Colleen?”
“Call the police! Someone’s got my daughter.” Colleen turned down the next flight of stairs. She heard the sounds of a struggle out front, doors slamming, engine gunning, rubber burning.
She stood there, hyperventilating. Mind aflame.
Pam must have come home to keep her company, after all. Of all the times she’d wanted to hear from Pam, see her, Pam had to pick tonight.
And now they had her.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
SFPD came, took a report. Colleen gave the lead officer details on Shuggy Johnston, Stan, and Ace. She didn’t have the Impala’s license plate but she had the one for Shuggy’s Harley. Inspector Ryan had already questioned him, according to Matt Dwight, so he should be easy enough to find. Normally this might be plenty to go on but Shuggy had Pam. The time frame was compressed.
Frantically she called Matt Dwight. She caught him before he went to work. He stopped by, early in the a.m. She’d made a pot of coffee and was drinking it in jittery gulps. Matt declined. His face was drawn.
“You say Pam has a history with Shuggy?”
She told him about Moon Ranch, and Pam’s helping deliver drugs.
“This has got to be about your friend Lucky,” he said. “They want to shut you up.”
Colleen slurped coffee. “Thanks to Inspector Ryan,” she said. “That’s why Shuggy was staking me out. Waiting for an opportunity. Now he’s got the trump card.”
“We’ll get SFPD to watch the Thunderbird.”
“Short term, he won’t go back there.”
“I’ll make sure we’re on top of this, Colleen. In the meantime, keep me posted of any updates. You’ve got my numbers.”
She nodded, sipped coffee, spilled some down her shirt. She set the cup on the countertop, thanked him, and showed him out. She checked her answering service. Nothing. She called Alex. Harold the butler told her Alex hadn’t come home last night. Colleen assumed that meant she’d stayed at Antonia’s. Harold confirmed that Pam had borrowed the Lincoln, told him she was going out for a drive. He was more than concerned when he heard the outcome.
Colleen needed to stay by the phone, in case Shuggy called. She parked on the sofa, the phone on the glass coffee table in front of her.
A day of agonizing crept by. She couldn’t eat. Sleep was out of the question. She took a shower just to break the monotony and wake herself up, the phone on the edge of the bathroom sink.
It wasn’t until dark that she heard from them.
“Mom?” Pam said, her voice shaky. In the background, Colleen heard traffic. She was outside somewhere.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Colleen’s heart thumped, hearing her daughter’s voice on the phone.
“Thank God you’re all right, Pam,” she said, meaning alive. “You are all right, aren’t you? Where are you? Did you manage to get away?” Maybe she did. Maybe Pam was free.
The phone clattered as it changed hands.
Shuggy’s raspy voice broke in.
“Your little girl is fine,” he said. “We’re having a hell of a time catching up.”
Colleen’s spirits plummeted. She refrained from uttering threats. This wasn’t the time to lose her cool.
“If you’re concerned about me making a statement to the police,” she said, “I’m not about to do any such thing. You have my word.”
“That’s good to hear,” Shuggy said. “And you have my word that if you say one more thing to the cops, you know what will happen—right?”
“Just tell me what I do next.”
“We’re down here at the beach: Sloat and the Great Highway.”
“What’s the deal?”
“You for her.”
Colleen sucked in a breath of desperation. She had expected as much. But what choice did she have? She had let Pamela down all her life. Now it was time to pay the price. If she had to sacrifice herself, that’s what a mother did. She was prepared.
But she wasn’t going to go easily.
And Pam was going to go free.
“I’m on my way,” she said.
“Oh—and did I mention not to bring anybody else? Did I mention that? I hope that’s not a problem. It would be a real shame for Pam.” Shuggy laughed a nasty laugh.
Then he hung up.
Colleen ran a hand through her hair, thinking.
She called Boom. She hadn’t wanted to involve him anymore but she was desperate.
“I hope you’re not studying,” she said.
“No big,” Boom said. “What do you need, Chief ?”
“I need you to follow someone,” she said. “Without being seen.”
“And who would that someone be?”
“Me.”
After the call, Colleen went and changed her shoes. She had a surprise in store for Shuggy and crew.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Ocean Beach was deserted when Colleen pulled off the Great Highway past the zoo. Ambient moonlight broke through gusting clouds. Two vehicles were parked in the sand-strewn lot that faced the Pacific Ocean: an old rusting Plymouth on flat tires with a slew of tickets under its wipers, and a Chevy van with a custom paint job booming with rock ‘n’ roll in the far corner of the lot. Colleen stopped the Torino by the payphone in front of the maintenance building and shut the engine off. Van Halen throbbed from the van.
She tucked her sawed-off in the deep inside pocket of her military surplus parka, a little awkward, and got out of the Torino. She had her Bersa in the back pocket of her Levi’s. She suspected she’d be searched and the weapons taken, but you never knew. Her pièce de résistance was the pair of dorky black Dexters she wore, boys size, the right one armed with a spring-loaded shoe knife Boom had fashioned for her. All you had to do was drag your right foot back on a rough surface to eject the switchblade. Ever since her last case, when she had managed to survive thanks to a steak knife taped to her ankle, such footwear was de rigueur on risky assignments.
She strode over to the van. Boisterous young voices in animated conversation discussed the quality of the weed they were partaking of. The sharp acrid smell of pot emanated.
Hand inside her jacket, she approached the rear windows, which were heavily tinted. She peered in.
Saw a couple of teenagers passing a joint, neither one of them Shuggy, Pam, or anyone else she was looking for.
A kid in a headband saw her.
“Holy fuck! Dude! Look! At the window!”
“Don’t mind me,” Colleen shouted. With a sigh, she walked back to her car.
That’s when she heard the payphone ring. She picked up the pace, jogged to answer it.
“And there you are,” Shuggy said.
Shuggy wasn’t here at the beach. She wasn’t too surprised. They were going to run her around. Standard.
“I’m alone,” she said.
“Good,” Shuggy said. “Good.”
“Now what?”
“Mount Davidson,” Shuggy said. “The big cross.”
“That’s where you are,” she said.
“Will be.”
A lot more remote.
She’d deal with it.
“Just to reclarify,” she said. “Pam goes free.”
“You got it,” Shuggy said darkly.
“Let me talk to her.”
“You already did.”
“That was before. This is now.”
The phone knocked. Pam was put on.
“Don’t do it, Mom!” she said, her voice shaking. She’d figured out the situation. In that moment, Colleen was more than proud of her daughter.
“You just stay put, Pam,” Colleen said. “Don’t do anything that might get you hurt.” Or worse. “This will be over soon.” She hung up. Looked around. The Great Highway was desolate. All she heard was Van Halen resounding out of the van. “You Really Got Me.” The inane lyrics took on a dark forewarning as she got into her Torino, twisted the ignition key. The starter motor ground for a moment, finally fired up.
She eyed herself in the rearview mirror.
She had done nothing but fail Pamela.
> No more.
She backed out with a skid, threw the car into gear, headed off towards Mount Davidson.
As she flew up Sloat Boulevard, past the zoo, in the rearview mirror she saw headlights peel out of the darkness and follow her.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Mount Davidson was the highest peak in San Francisco and the geographical center of the city. Its shorter sisters, Twin Peaks, to the north, got all the attention with their view of downtown, Ferry Building, Golden Gate Bridge, and Alcatraz, drawing a steady stream of tourists and sightseers, especially at night. Mount Davidson was not so blessed. But on top stood a cement cross over one hundred feet tall, erected with 1500 tons of concrete by the WPA in the 1930s to commemorate Easter Sunrise Service. The rest of the time, Mount Davidson sat in relative isolation.
And the cross, apparently, was where Shuggy waited with Pam. Along with Stan and Ace, no doubt. And who knew who else.
There were several main access points to the forty-five-acre park: a dirt road used by city maintenance vehicles, a set of winding stone steps leading up from the bottom to an even more zigzagged path to the cross, and, on the far side, one other path out in the open. Sutro, a former San Francisco mayor in the late 1800s, had owned half the mountain at one time and planted pine trees on his side, so half of Mount Davidson was forested, the other half left barren, creating a sort of schizophrenic mountain. Colleen opted for the least visible path, the long, twisting one from below, providing the most cover.
She parked near the stone steps at the bottom of Mount Davidson. As preoccupied as she was about Pamela, every decision taxed her thinking. This was not the time to lose control. But theory was now becoming reality. The lack of sleep, remaining jet lag, didn’t help. She felt jumpy when she needed to be cool and collected.
Fully armed, she headed up the stone stairs, beneath ninety-year-old trees that creaked in the wind and dripped moisture like rain. As she turned into darkness, she heard a car trundling along Juanita below. A big engine. She heard it stop, then park. She breathed a small sigh of relief.