Romeo's Way, page 16
part #2 of Mike Romeo Series
“You … I don’t believe …”
“What’s wrong with the truth?” I said.
Her eyes flamed. “Have you been truthful with me?”
Bam.
“Well?” she said.
“I haven’t told you everything about myself,” I said.
“Start,” she said.
“Trade,” I said.
“Maybe.”
I said, “I work for a lawyer. He hired me to find out about T’Kia Wilson.”
Kat’s jaw muscles twitched. I could sense the words forming, the various names she wanted to pin on me.
Finally, she said, “Get out.”
“You don’t want to know the truth about T’Kia, do you?”
“Get out!”
“What if T’Kia was a hit job?”
I tried to read her eyes, looking for nystagmus, an involuntary twitching that happens with those who have something to hide. All she did was blink.
“Who would do that?” she said.
“You don‘t have any ideas?”
She shook her head.
“Would Jay J. Parsons know?” I said.
“You’re not … There’s no way.”
“Can you arrange a meeting?” I said.
“After all this? After you freaking lied to me?”
“What couple doesn’t have its squabbles?”
“Squabble!” She clenched her face like she was trying to keep her head from exploding. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
“You’re not,” I said. I took her hand. She left it for a moment then pulled it away.
She looked at her hands and spoke softly. “You were going to just lie and then run out.”
“I was,” I said. “I don’t want to now.”
She looked at me, confusion and hurt and anger on her face.
“Set up the meeting with Jay J,” I said. “I’ll lay it all out for both of you.”
“He fired you,” she said. “He doesn’t want to see you.”
“Give him a reason. Tell him I came to see you, which I did, and that I can provide him some information on the T’Kia Wilson killing, which I can. That should be enough.”
“What do you know about the killing?”
“I’ll talk that over at the meeting.”
“You don’t have anything at all, do you?”
“I might have a card up my sleeve,” I said.
“Why should I believe anything you say?”
“Dammit, because I’m charming,” I said.
Her mouth fought a smile then gave in to a grimace.
“I won’t lie to you again,” I said.
“Who is the lawyer you work for?” she said.
“I can’t tell you,” I said.
“Ha!”
“It’s confidential,” I said. “You should know that.”
“Does he work for the Johnson campaign?”
“Let me put it this way. The lawyer I work for is interested in only one thing, the truth.”
She said, “I find it really ironic that a guy with a truth tattoo lied to me.”
“I’ll change it,” I said. “To a skull with Born to Lose underneath.”
“Just keep it,” she said. “Maybe it’ll sink in.”
OUR LAST STOP was Leeza Edgar’s apartment building. I didn’t expect she’d be there. She’d been grilled by the Dogs and then shot at—at least, she was there when the shots were fired.
There was no answer when I buzzed.
So I buzzed the next-door apartment.
A buzzy voice, a woman’s, came through the speaker. “Yeah?”
“I’m trying to get hold of Leeza Edgar,” I said.
“Who?”
“Leeza Edgar.”
“Wrong apartment.”
“I mean next door.”
“What?”
“In 2C.”
“She’s gone.”
“Can you tell me where?”
Click.
I went back to Kat’s car. “I think I’ll watch the place for a while,” I said. “Then I’ll come and get my stuff.”
“You don’t need to,” she said. “Yet.”
As she drove away I thought about that yet. Three letters. But on them history has changed, wars have been started, and lovers have been thrown together and pulled apart. It has dread or hope ahead of it, and sometimes you just don’t know which it will turn out to be.
But I had a feeling about yet now, and it wasn’t good.
After an hour and half sitting at the bus stop bench on the corner, and seeing no one who looked like Leeza Edgar, even in a heavy disguise, I called it quits. The wind was starting to change from playful biting to insistent gnawing.
But I wasn’t about to let this city chew me up.
AROUND EIGHT I went to the place called Johnny X. It was in the Tenderloin. It had a nondescript black door and a simple red X on it. I pushed inside to find the medium lights of a drinking establishment. No mood here. Just a set up for the crushing of fast drinks. It could have been any bar along a back street except for one item. A small pool table close to the ground.
Here a couple of Urban’s cohorts played a game. One of the two was considerably shorter than his opponent, who was short to begin with. So he used a small step for elevation before the shot.
“You sure you’re in the right place?”
She was about three feet tall, blonde, wearing a leather jacket, and holding a Corona.
“Do you serve my kind in here?” I said.
“No discrimination, big boy,” she said. “Where you from?”
She cast a glance at my attire, which was a Hawaiian shirt with pineapples on it under a brown jacket and over blue jeans.
“I’m here on a little business,” I said. When she squinted I said, “Sorry. Just business.”
She softened. “Let’s dance,” she said.
“Do you know Urban Rosetta?”
“Come on.” She reached out to me.
“Another time,” I said.
She slapped her hip with the hand I’d refused. “What do you want with Urb?”
“I’m a friend.”
“You don’t look like a friend.”
“What do I look like?”
“Big trouble.”
I said, “Inside I’m small and peaceful.”
“You try anything in here you’ll get hurt.”
I looked around the place. “Tough crowd, huh?”
“Don’t underestimate the under fours,” she said.
“My name’s Mike.”
“Rose.”
“Nice to meet you, Rose. Know where I can find him?”
“Order a drink,” she said.
I resisted the urge to say, You mean at the mini-bar? and went over and ordered a Coke.
I took the Coke and went to the pool table. The guy who used the step hit a nice combination. He gave me a hard look.
“You shoot a good stick,” I said.
“How much?” he said.
“How much what?” I said.
“Friendly game.”
“I don’t shoot with pool hustlers,” I said. I meant it as a joke, but the little guy got off his step and faced me, meaning my thigh. “You calling me a hustler?” he said.
“You mean you’re not hustling me?”
“You want to step outside?”
I noticed his opponent and some of the others in the bar looking at me. Was I really being challenged to a fight?
I put my hands up in surrender. “No way, man.”
“Then back off,” he said.
“You back off, Max.” It was Urban.
Max turned on Urban, holding his miniature pool cue like a weapon. “You want a piece of this?”
Rose stepped between them. “Cut it out, you dopes!”
Urban said, “Mike, come on.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” Rose said.
Urban led me past the bar top and through a back door. In another room was a round table with guys––a mix of big and little––playing poker. One of the little ones smoked a pipe.
They gave us a passing glance and continued playing.
Urb said, “What are you doing here?”
“I need some information, and you were the only one I could think of who could give it to me.”
He nodded. “You want a drink?”
“Not tonight.”
“Spill.”
I took out my phone and showed him the picture of the man from Walnut Creek.
Urban gave it a long look, shook his head. “Who is he?”
“I think he’s a mechanic,” I said.
“A hit man?”
I nodded.
“He looks normal,” Urban said.
“That’s the best look, isn’t it? Live a life of ease and comfort, nice family man, do a little shooting on the side.”
“He the one who got you?”
“Could be. He has a kid, and his kid and a buddy of his attacked me when I first got here to Frisco.”
“We don’t like it when outsiders say Frisco.”
I closed my eyes. “The guy you work for, think he’d know?”
“Might. But who’s gonna ask him?”
“Me.”
“No way. Can’t be done.”
“Anything can be done.”
“Not that.”
Somebody from the poker table said, “You playing or not, Rosetta?”
“Deal me out,” Urb said.
“Then shut up,” the guy said.
“Bite me,” Urb said. He took me through another door, and we were outside.
“You don’t know Wincher,” Urb said. “He’s bad.”
“That’s why I want to see him.”
“I told you—”
“I’ll make him an offer.”
“What kind of offer you got he’d want?”
“Guy like that always wants something.”
“Money.”
“Other than money.”
“What else is there?”
“Information,” I said.
“You got something like that?”
“Could very well be,” I said.
“Aw, no—”
“Urb, do me this and we’ll be square.”
“Square? You mean about Ripley?”
“That’s right.”
“Aw, man. I don’t know.”
“Just get me in,” I said. “What’ll you have to drink?”
WE WENT BACK to the bar and I ordered Urban a shot.
I said, “Make the call.”
“You better have something worth listening to.”
“Urb, have I ever lied to you?”
“You banged me into a wall!”
“But I did not lie. That’s the main thing.”
He sighed. “Let me make a call. I can’t promise anything. I have to talk to a guy who can talk to a guy.”
“Sounds like a federal government website.”
He blinked. “Wait here.”
I waited, leaning on the bar. Rose came over.
“What are you two into?” she said.
“We’re trying to bring back vaudeville,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“Specialized stage acts. Song and dance, sketches.”
She scrunched her face. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“I bet it’s a nice leg.”
Smiling, she kicked one of her legs out. “Thanks. Let me see your arm.”
“Which one?”
“The one with the tat.”
I held out my left so she could read it. “What’s it mean?”
“Truth conquers all things.”
“Cool. Does it?”
It seemed every time I got asked that question my view would change. I was changing, so how could it be the same?
“I think you have to believe it does,” I said. “Because if you don’t, why go on?”
Rose thought about it. I like that. I like when people think about it.
“I think lies usually win,” she said. “Look at politics.”
I almost snorted. “You’re insightful, Rose. But what I’m talking about is you, the individual, all of us, looking around for some reason to live. If there’s no truth out there, if we just make stuff up, there’s really no point.”
“Yeah, but maybe there isn’t. Maybe there isn’t real truth.”
“It’s why we’ve got to keep looking. The looking is part of it. It’s a reason to get up in the morning.”
“You’re a strange guy,” she said.
“So I’ve been told.”
“I like you.”
“I like you too, Rose. Can I buy you another beer?”
“Beer overcomes all things, too,” she said, and laughed.
I ordered her a Corona and we talked for a few more minutes. She was from Hollywood and her parents had been in the movies. There’d been a Chevy Chase movie about Munchkins and they’d had good roles, and Rose was a baby in a scene that got cut. She’d come to San Francisco to find her own way of life.
Urban came back.
“You’re in luck,” he said.
“Come back and see me sometime,” Rose said.
I PAID FOR a cab. Urban gave the driver an address on Washington Street. It was red brick office building with old-fashioned arch over the front door. A definite 1930s vibe.
Inside was a security console with a very large man in a blue coat behind it.
“Help you?” he said.
Urban said, “We have an appointment with Mr. Wincher.”
“May I have your names?”
“Urban Rosetta and guest.”
“Ah. One moment, please.” He picked up a handset and pressed a button, put it to his ear. “A Mr. Rosetta and guest are here to see Mr. Wincher. Uh-huh. All right.”
He put the handset down. “Please step over to the metal detector.”
He stood up and was even bigger than I thought. He came around his station and over to the detector. He positioned himself on the other side. “If you will please remove the contents of your pockets. Watches, bracelets.”
Urb put change and a wallet in a plastic bowl. I tossed my wallet and some loose change in another.
Urb went through first and the security gate went nuts. The big guy motioned for Urban to approach him.
“I don’t understand,” Urban said.
“This won’t take a second,” the big man said, and he had to lean way over to pat down Urban Rosetta. But he came back up with the .38 that was in the back of Urb’s pants.
He looked at Urban with stark disapproval.
“I forgot I had it!” Urban said.
“This is an oversight on your part. I will have to report it.”
“Come on, man.”
“One moment, please.” He motioned for me to walk through and I did without a hitch. Then he took the gun and walked back to his console and made another call.
He came back to us. “Mr. Wincher will see you. I will hold your piece for you. You want the third floor, to the right. All the way down.”
We got on the elevator. It was made of black iron. We could watch the pulleys and gears.
On the third floor we walked to the end of the corridor. Double doors made of rose-colored wood were the end of the line. Urban knocked.
A door opened and a man who looked like a German tank answered. He had short blond hair and blue eyes and was wide at the shoulders He led us into a reception area. There was a fish tank in one corner, lit up with blue and pink lights. A big flat fish swam contentedly around. Some littler fish gave way to the big fish.
“One moment,” he said, and went through an inner door.
I watched the fish.
Urban shuffled around, mumbling.
“Don’t be so nervous,” I said.
“You’re the one should be nervous,” he said.
The German tank came back and said we could come in.
CEDRIC WINCHER SAT behind a nice-sized desk in an office with low lighting. He had a round head with big round eyes and fleshy lips. His hair was curly and brown with a little salt in it. He was just south of sixty, I guessed. He could have used a few more salads in his diet.
He wore a black silk shirt opened wide at the collar. Sprigs of white chest hair wove around a thick, gold-chain necklace. He held an e-cigarette in the fingers of his right hand.
“So you are the man I’ve been hearing so much about,” Wincher said. “Let me have a look at you.”
He motioned at me with the e-cigarette, like he wanted me to turn around. I just stared at him.
“You’re a big fellow,” he said. “Who can handle himself. And we all know there are many situations that need to be handled.”
“Like this one,” I said.
“Sure,” Wincher said. “Would you like a drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“Mind if I?”
I shook my head.
“Val, make me a gimlet, please.”
The German tank went to a mobile bar in the corner and started to work.
“You know, I love a good gimlet,” Wincher said. “It’s a Hemingway drink. You read those safari stories and they all drink gimlets.”
So he was going to be a talker. And not because he liked to hear himself, though that was pretty clear. It was how he was establishing control. I’d let him. But only for as long as I could stand it.
The man named Val came over to the table with the drink and handed it to Wincher.
“You have been granted a great privilege,” Wincher said, then drank. “Ah, that’s nice.”
“Thanks for seeing me,” I said.
“Urban here has proven valuable to me, and that’s what got you in here. I believe people should have to prove themselves before I trust them. Do you think that’s a good policy Mr. … what was it again?”
“Romeo.”
“Like the play.”
Oh, he was sharp.
“I never liked Shakespeare,” Wincher said. “Had to read Othello in high school. Black guy kills a white chick. Some plot. I mean, what do you call that?”
“Iambic pentameter,” I said.
“Eh?”
“Ten syllables per line.”
“Clever,” Wincher said, and sucked some vapor. “I’m listening.”
“Thought we might trade some information,” I said.
Wincher motioned for me to continue.
“I’m trying to identify someone,” I said.
“A mechanic, Mr. Rosetta said.”
I nodded.
“Why would I know such things?” Wincher said.
