Bad Scene

by Max Tomlinson

  It didn’t take long to make her way up to the crooked path above the steps. The wet ground was mucky and slippery underfoot. In her parka, loaded down with the sawed-off shotgun, she was sweating. In the darkness her eyes jumped at any movement. She stayed to one side of the path, in shadow.

  Another short set of steps appeared, fashioned out of logs, steep, up to the final ascent. Climbing those, she stood at the bottom, looking up. The side of the huge cement cross appeared through a break in the trees, lit by indirect spotlights.

  A flicker of motion.

  A flashlight beam shone down.

  “S-stop right there,” a nasal voice said. Ace with the stutter. The top of his short stocky profile came into view, his frizzy hair catching a scrap of light.

  “H-hands up.”

  She complied.

  “C-come.”

  “I need to see Pam first,” she said.

  There was some mumbled conversation.

  “Don’t do it, Mom!” Pam shouted.

  Good enough, Colleen told herself. Pam was there, still alive. Although Colleen had thought things through, she couldn’t stop her heart from beating wildly. She didn’t get scared often, but she was good and scared now. Mostly for Pamela.

  “I’m coming, Pam,” she said. “Stay calm.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  “N-nice and slow,” Ace said through his nose. “K-keep those h-hands up.”

  “Turn that damn flashlight away!” Colleen said, ducking into the shadows. “Otherwise it’s no deal.” It would be too easy to pick her off.

  “Do it,” she heard Shuggy say.

  The flashlight beam shifted to one side.

  She took a breath, stumbled up a muddy incline, shrubs blocking part of her ascent, hands up in surrender. Thirty seconds and a lifetime passed before she reached the top. Sweat dripped down the small of her back.

  She stopped at a gap in the foliage.

  Before her, in shadow, Ace held a short-barreled pistol on her. His flashlight lit up an oval of muddy ground by his small boot. Behind him the hundred-foot-tall cross sat on a raised circular waist-high concrete base about ten yards in diameter.

  On the platform, in the misty beam of spotlight, Shuggy shielded himself behind Pam, a big cannon of a gun dangling from one hand. Pam’s hands were tied in front of her. On the far side of the platform, standing on the ground, his lower body hidden by the concrete, stood Stan, the barrel of a shotgun visible. He watched Colleen.

  Pam wore only a T-shirt and jeans, no jacket, or shoes, just muddy white gym socks. Pam shivered as Colleen boiled with rage.

  Her eyes met momentarily with Pam’s. Colleen willed herself to send assurance to her daughter, most of all love, love that had so often been unwanted. It seemed to find a place now and for that she drew some small fulfillment.

  But to mean anything, love meant that Pam and the life inside her had to stand a chance.

  “It’s going to be okay, Pam,” she said.

  Pam responded with a soft, sad, uncertain smile.

  “It’s O-OK,” Ace mimicked in a high voice. “M-mommy’s here!”

  Stan and Shuggy laughed.

  “Good one, little brother,” Stan said.

  Ace grinned.

  Control, Colleen told herself. Control.

  “You can let Pam go now, Shuggy,” she said.

  “You just keep your hands up,” Shuggy said from the platform. “Ace—search our guest.”

  Ace set the flashlight on the edge of the concrete base, partially blinding Colleen as he came in close, the nose of his pistol parting her big jacket. Surreptitiously she eyed the rocks embedded in the mud around her feet. A flat one the size of a plate looked perfect for drawing out her shoe blade.

  Ace reached inside her jacket with his free hand, found the sawed-off shotgun in the side pocket.

  He pulled it, stood back, held it up for all to see.

  “C-check t-this out!” he said, clearly proud of himself.

  “Stupid,” Shuggy said, standing behind Pam.

  Ace threw the sawed-off into the bushes.

  “Keep going,” Shuggy said.

  “T-turn ar-round,” Ace instructed Colleen.

  She did, positioning her right shoe over the flat rock. If she was going to die, it had to be worth it.

  Ace’s hands wandered over Colleen’s backside, cupping her butt.

  “N-nice,” he whispered.

  “Please be careful, Mom!” Pam shouted.

  “I will, honey. You too.”

  Ace found the Bersa in her back pocket.

  “D-dayum!” he said, holding it up.

  “Fuck that,” Shuggy growled.

  “T-turn back around n-now,” Ace said to Colleen.

  She did, scraping her foot on the rock as she turned. But the blade in her right shoe failed to eject. Colleen’s heart twisted.

  Ace nodded at the Bersa with admiration, tucked it in the pocket of his biker jacket.

  “Let her go now,” Colleen said to Shuggy. “Pam won’t give you any problems. Neither will I.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Shuggy said, “after she watches her mother die.”

  Colleen froze inside.

  “Let her go, Shug!” Pam screamed, trying to pull away. “You promised!”

  “You p-promised!” Ace whined, laughing.

  “Shut up!” Shuggy slapped Pam across the back of the head with his big mitt. She fell forward and he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back upright. She yelped.

  Colleen’s vision vibrated with anger. One way or another Shuggy would pay. They all would.

  “Time to earn your wings, little brother,” Shuggy said to Ace.

  “Say w-what, S-shug?” Ace said, mouth open.

  “You’re overdue, dude. Waste her.”

  Ace stood back with a frown of indecisiveness, but finally raised the pistol, pointed it at Colleen’s chest. His hand was shaking.

  “Just do it,” Shuggy said.

  “Come on, Ace,” Colleen said, scraping her right shoe on the stone again while she spoke. “You didn’t mind beating Lucky to death.”

  The switchblade ejected with a ratchet sound. Yes.

  Ace’s eyes were diverted to her foot.

  “W-what …”

  “This is what, asshole.” She kicked him in the shin—hard—before his gun went off. The shot went wild as Ace screamed. She kicked him again, sinking the blade into the side of his calf before pulling it out with a scrape of bone.

  Ace went down, howling, the gun tumbling away.

  She knocked the flashlight off the ledge and went after Ace in the shadows, sinking her foot-blade into his groin. Another scream filled the air.

  She fell to the ground, fumbling for his gun while he rolled in agony, clutching himself.

  She caught a glimpse of Pam breaking away as Shuggy came charging for her by the edge of the platform. Pam was running down the steps away from the cross, bound hands in front of her. Colleen fumbled the gun into her hands, muddy and slippery. It was a five-shot snub-nosed 38. A quick glance at the rear of the cylinder revealed the gun was most likely fully loaded. Four shots left.

  When Shuggy saw Ace on the ground, he retreated for the cover of the cement cross.

  “Stan!” he yelled. “Get Pam!”

  Ace rolled and whimpered while Colleen snaked around the cement barrier toward the stairs, staying low for cover.

  She saw Stan running towards Pam, away from the cross, shotgun up. Colleen fired at him. But you couldn’t hit a thing with a snub-nosed revolver from any distance. Stan flinched at the shot, chasing Pam.

  Pam loped off in the darkness in her socks. Shuggy was hovering around the edge of the cross, trying to get a bead on Colleen in the dark.

  She spun, fired at him. The 38 kicked and Shuggy jumped back, returning fire, the big gun like dynamite. She balked, but the shot went wide, tearing through the bushes. Colleen jumped up, firing again. The shot zinged off the cement. Shuggy flew back beh
ind the far side of the cross.

  She saw Pam off a ways. Stan raised his shotgun at her.

  Then, out of the bushes to her left, a quiet shot resounded, a vip that popped Stan’s head like a watermelon. He collapsed mid-run, the gun tumbling to his knees. He tripped over it, a puppet whose strings had been cut.

  “What the fuck?” Shuggy shouted from behind the cross.

  “Run, Pam!” Colleen shouted, jumping up, bringing up the muddy pistol in both hands. Protected somewhat by the platform, she pointed the gun at where Shuggy hid behind the cross.

  “Come on out, Shuggy,” she said, squinting with one eye along the short barrel.

  “Are you fucking high, bitch?” Shuggy peered around the corner. His gun appeared, flashed before it boomed. Another lead missile splintered cement by her head.

  She ducked, panting. Close.

  Shuggy’s gun appeared again.

  But another blast of Boom’s high-powered rifle pushed him back.

  Boom emerged from the bushes, a long rifle in his hands. He darted over to the platform next to Colleen, positioned himself with arms and rifle supported. Aimed at where Shuggy had been.

  “There’s two of us,” he shouted. “Just one of you. If you move, I got you. If you try to run, man, I got you.”

  “Fuck you, suntan!” Shuggy shouted from behind the cross, firing another blast.

  Boom fired his long rife. A chunk of cement popped off close to where Shuggy’s face had been.

  “This is a SIG 550 assault rifle,” Boom yelled. “Fifty-five millimeter, 300-meter accuracy. I got a thirty-round magazine. When you run out of ammo, I’ll come up there and shoot you down like a dog.”

  Silence. Meaning all they heard was Ace crying on the ground.

  “Mom!” they heard Pam shout. “I’m okay!”

  Colleen thought about letting Shuggy make a run for it. Pam was safe.

  No. She had to make sure this was the end of it.

  “I’ll go round the other side,” she whispered to Boom. “You keep him pinned down here.”

  “Roger that.” Boom was crouched down, the gun on the ledge of the platform, aimed at the section of cross where Shuggy had appeared. His eye was lined up with the sight.

  Colleen scooted around the circular base of the cross in darkness. Shuggy was crouching with his pistol. He didn’t see her, too busy watching out for Boom.

  She stood up, her lower body behind the platform, not ten feet away. She raised the gun.

  “Party’s over, Shuggy,” she said between her teeth.

  Shuggy swiveled, mouth dropping. His gun was down.

  All Colleen wanted to do was shoot him, then and there. But her daughter had seen her kill. Once was enough. More than enough.

  Shuggy’s lips drew back in fear when he saw the gun pointed directly at him.

  “Give me a reason to pull this trigger, Shuggy,” she said. “Any reason will do.”

  A few seconds crawled by. Glances shot back and forth.

  “Fuck it,” Shuggy said, tossing the gun. It banged on cement and bounced.

  “Hands on top of your head.”

  He did so.

  Colleen motioned him around, out in the open.

  Pam emerged from the far shadows.

  A flood of relief overcame Colleen.

  Boom came around, relaxed his rifle.

  “Who are you?” Pam asked Boom.

  “A friend of your mother’s,” he said. “She asked me to follow her.” He shifted his gaze to Colleen. “And I did. Down to the beach. Then up here.”

  “I saw you,” Colleen said. “Out by Sloat.”

  “I lost you for a minute. Good thing I saw your car down there by the stairs.”

  “That’s why I parked under the streetlight,” she said. “I was hoping.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Boom said. “Nothing wrong with a little hope.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  “Shuggy Johnston has just been charged with the premeditated murder of Herman Waddell,” Sergeant Matt Dwight said. “His associate, Bob Bennington—aka ‘Ace’—was booked as an accomplice. Charges for abducting Pam to follow.”

  Colleen let out a sigh of relief. And an overdue smile of satisfaction.

  Stan Harrison, the third member of Shuggy’s pack, lay in the city morgue.

  Colleen and Matt Dwight stood on the ground floor of the Hall of Justice on 850 Bryant by the metal detectors, cops and people coming and going to and from court and various city offices. Voices and shoe heels echoed off the marble floors and walls.

  Matt’s tie was uncharacteristically an inch below his collar button, which had been undone after he emerged from court. But the rest of his outfit remained immaculate and his hair was freshly styled. It might have been early morning but Colleen knew he’d been burning the midnight oil. For her part she wore a black trouser suit with flared pants and white platform shoes. She was tentatively planning on a celebration.

  “That’s great news, Matt,” she said. “Great news.”

  “Great work—on your part.”

  She knew he still felt sheepish for what he perceived as dropping the ball on the mayor’s shooting.

  “I caught a break,” she said.

  “Your statement and testimony certainly cinched it for nailing those two.”

  It was the least she could do for Lucky’s memory.

  “What about Dr. Lange?” she asked.

  “Still on our radar,” Matt said. “He’s a slippery character, hiding his racism behind others, but his day is coming. Someday we’ll have a unit that deals specifically with people like him and the hate they spread.”

  Colleen was relieved to hear it. “With people like you, Matt, I have no doubt.”

  He gave a modest smile. “SFPD is under the microscope for the Moscone assassination. It got by us, and it shouldn’t have. There are going to be some changes. We are all responsible for what happened.”

  The road to recovery began with a single step.

  “What about your associate Boom?” Matt asked.

  “He’s met with my lawyer,” Colleen said. “Boom has a permit for the rifle, but you can be sure there will be plenty of questions about what he was doing with it up on Mount Davidson.” And why he shot and killed a man. “Boom is ex-Marine Reconnaissance. Served two tours in Vietnam.”

  “You’re lucky to have him.”

  “Don’t I know it?” Now she just had to make sure a young black man didn’t get put through the ringer for shooting a deadbeat like Stan Harrison. Gus Pedersen, her lawyer, would be a good first line of defense.

  Matt cleared his throat. “And Pamela?”

  “Rocky but better,” Colleen said. “She’s been through so much recently. Too much. And then this. I’m on my way to pick her up from the doctor’s right now, as a matter of fact.”

  Matt’s face fell slightly. “I was hoping you and I could grab a cup of coffee.”

  “Next time,” she said. “And it’s dinner.”

  Their eyes met.

  “I owe you an apology,” he said, clearing his throat. “I should have done more when you filed your complaint.”

  She had hoped for more. But his hand had been forced by his superiors. And what was done was done. Matt, along with the rest of SFPD, would have to live with the results—a mayor and a district supervisor assassinated by an ex-cop—one of their own.

  “I’m arranging a small service for Lucky,” she said. “He’s still in the morgue. No relatives to claim him. And he deserves better than a county burial.”

  “I’d be honored to attend.”

  “Lucky would have appreciated that,” she said. “I’ll get hold of Owens as well. I’m going to swing by his motel later.”

  “I’m sure he’ll want to pay his respects.”

  She pressed the button on her Pulsar watch.

  “Well, time for me to pick up Pamela.”

  You couldn’t change the past.

  But you could atone.

&n
bsp; EPILOGUE

  “There she is,” Colleen said, standing up. She had been sitting in the waiting room of the gynecologist Alex had recommended off Union Square. A view of the Golden Gate Bridge loomed through breaking fog from the corner window. Pamela had just returned from a lengthy visit with the doctor.

  Pam wore a pretty orange paisley printed dress, sandals, and a faded denim jacket that was more white than blue. The colors brought out the red in her hair and the blue in her eyes. Her freckles seemed to glow. Just a few days back from that ordeal with Die Kerk, not to mention a night in hell with Shuggy Johnston, and she was already bouncing back. Youth.

  And the fact that she wasn’t just any ordinary young woman.

  There were no other patients in the waiting room, but Colleen still sensed trepidation on Pamela’s part. She wasn’t smiling. Her face was tense.

  Give her time.

  “Everything okay?” Colleen asked, quietly.

  Pamela nodded. Whatever that meant.

  Colleen gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “We can talk on the way home.”

  They left, took the elevator down to a golden art deco lobby. Leaving the garage, on Sutter Street, Pam staring out the passenger window, not looking at Colleen, Colleen didn’t think she could stand it anymore.

  “So, what did the doctor say?” Colleen motored toward Van Ness.

  “Six to eight weeks pregnant.” Pam sighed. “Doc says we’re both fine.”

  Colleen felt that sense of elation. But she tempered it, held it back. This wasn’t about her. It was about Pam.

  “Well,” Colleen said. “That’s what we thought—right?”

  Pam exhaled a long breath. “Maybe I was hoping somehow I wasn’t.”

  “I can certainly understand that,” Colleen said.

  “It didn’t really hit me until I heard it from the doc.”

  “I can understand that, too.”

  “If nothing else, she says the worst of the morning sickness is behind me.”

  “Good. Hungry?”

  “That’s all I am anymore. The doc says that’s a good sign, too.”

  “Let’s go somewhere special for lunch. We’re overdue.”

  “Deal.”

  There was silence in the car, then noise as they passed Leavenworth. The twenty-dollar hookers were out early. Colleen recognized one in gold lamé hot pants.