Divine Fury (41 page)

“It was around 3:30,” he said. “I was working the window.
 
And, I had the paper in front of me.
 
Big Giants fan, you know.
 
So, I grab the papers people leave behind.
 
Read the sports section when I have a minute.
 
So, it’s sitting by the window open to the picture…or I guess it’s a drawing.
 
It says ‘artist rendering.’
 
And he rolls up.
 
They ordered two Whoppers and coffee with extra sugars.”

“And, you’re really sure it’s him?” asked Lee.

“He’s sittin’ there handing me his money,” said Chet.
 
“And I’m looking at the paper, then back at him, then at the paper.
 
So…yeah.
 
I mean he looked just like the drawing.
 
I didn’t say anything, you know.
 
Just took the money.
 
Got the food together.
 
Passed it through.
 
Then they took off.”

“All right, Chet,” said Lee.
 
He looked at his watch.
 
Almost 9 p.m.
 
He was starving and it was getting late.
 
Even if this was a true sighting, it was six hours old now and Walberg could be in Los Angeles at this point, not to mention anywhere in San Francisco.

Lee got Chet’s full name and his cell phone number.
  

“Have you called the SFPD about this?” Lee asked.

“Uh…yeah.
 
Well, I tried,” said Chet.
 
“They put me on hold…like forever.”

“Well, try again, okay?” said Lee.

“Uh…yeah.
 
Sure, man.”

Chapter 51

Saturday, June 19, 2004

ENZO LEE ARRIVED 90 minutes early to wander around the staging areas at the beginning of the Pride Parade.
 
There were a dozen guys among the early crowd dressed in extreme drag – boas, sequined tights, six-inch glittering heels and makeup in garish splashes of reds and blues atop a Marie Antoinette foundation.
 
They happily posed for photos as they made the rounds.
 
Among those in full costume was a guy dressed head to toe as a gentleman fox, complete with a jaunty hat, necktie and cane.
 
Big Bird was there as was a fairly accurate rendition of Snow White with a couple of dwarfs.

Lee made his way to the side street that held the vehicles for the grand marshal as well as the local politicians who never missed an opportunity to troll their names, faces and families before any sizable public gathering.
 
Their chariots for this occasion ranged from Model Ts and pickups to classic Mustangs and modern Ferraris.
 
He found Harper’s yellow Caddy midway down the block.
 
It was mainly distinguished by the four uniformed officers stationed around the vehicle, as if daring anyone to do more than admire the car from 10 feet away.

He spotted Connors on the sidewalk.
 
She had a radio at her ear and was already in alert mode, constantly scanning the entire street as she talked.
 
She gave Lee a curt nod as she wound up her conversation.

“Hey.
 
How is it going?” said Lee as he took a position next to her on the sidewalk and joined her casual scan up the street one way, then across to the other direction and then back again.

“Hmmm.
 
How do I describe it?” said Connors.
 
“You know those old Pink Panther movies?
 
Where Peter Sellers comes home and his faithful manservant…what’s his name?”

“Cato,” said Lee.

“Right, Cato,” said Connors.
 
“Cato is a goddamn Ninja or something.
 
And he has explicit instructions to beat the crap out of Sellers.
 
Just jump on him out of the blue.
 
That’s how I feel.
 
Like Sellers, waiting to get his ass kicked.”

“Well,” said Lee.
 
“It was pretty funny in the movies.”

“Yeah.
 
Excuse
me
for not laughing,” said Connors grimly.

“I understand,” said Lee.
 
“I don’t envy you.
 
Believe me.
 
So, I thought I’d just work the crowd a little bit.
 
Maybe I’ll see something.
 
I spotted him in the crowd before.
 
What should I do if I see anything?
 
Just call your cell?”

“Yep,” said Connors.
 
“I’d give you one of our radios if I could.
 
But you’ve got my number.
 
Just use your cell.”
      

* * *

Johnny Tram and Tina Valdez met on their first day at San Francisco State University.
 
They were in the same English composition class.
 
By the second week, they realized that they had mutual friends – not a huge coincidence considering they both had been raised in the city.
 
By Halloween, they were an item and seven months later they still were inseparable.

It could have been any parade on a warm Sunday in June, a month after their last finals and two weeks into boring summer jobs flipping burgers and selling cheap jewelry.
 
It was just a chance to be together away from overbearing parents and have fun without spending their hard-earned money.

They reached Market Street early, coming in on the underground Muni.
 
They walked a block down the route before they came to a two-tiered bank of newspaper boxes.
 
They were in one big block divided into eight separate boxes, painted a dark green and embedded firmly in the concrete sidewalk.
 
The boxes formed a chest-high bench that extended ten feet along the curb.
 
Johnny helped hoist Tina on top at one end and then jumped up next to her.
   

He sat with his legs dangling down.
 
She was cross-legged.
 
Johnny slid his leg under her hers and gripped her thigh while Tina draped an arm over his shoulder.
 
They laughed,
 
exchanged kisses and watched the flow of people while the street got more and more crowded.

* * *

It was early enough that the walk down the south side of Market went quickly.
 
Lee cruised past the office buildings and banks, then through the department store district below Union Square, and finally to the Civic Center area which held City Hall and the big plaza outside that was a gathering site for rallies and demonstrations.
 
Lee was taken aback for a moment when he spotted the dome of City Hall in the distance, remembering it was where Harvey Milk and George Moscone had been shot to death.
 
He buried the thought and stepped up his pace.
 
He surveyed the growing crowd along the parade route with new vigilance.

He crossed at the end of the parade route and headed back toward the start, this time on the north side of the street.
 
The crowd was growing steadily.
 
The police and parade monitors had lined the route with metal barriers with end brackets that nestled together, forming a solid front.
 
Although he was watching carefully for Walberg, Lee couldn’t help but notice the excitement of the hyped-up crowd.
 
There were people climbing up street lights and perched on the banks of newspaper boxes to get a better view.
 

Midway down the route, Lee saw someone across Market on the south side of the street.
 
He wore a Richard Nixon mask and an old suede coat.
 
He was waving two-fingered “V”s in the air.
 
Maybe it was Lee’s imagination, but he thought the Nixon character was staring at him across the street and thrusting his “V” up in the air as if he were giving Lee the finger.
   

* * *

After Daggart dropped him off three blocks from the parade route and left to find parking, Walberg spent a few seconds getting oriented to the mask.
 
He adjusted it until he could see through the eye holes and got openings for his mouth and nostrils in place so he wasn’t stewing in his own hot breath.

It took only a couple of minutes walking down the street to feel the power of disguise.
 
He’d sneaked a few pills before they got in the car and they kicked in as Walberg wandered through the crowd.
 
People stared at him, some in amusement at the Nixon mask and others warily, trying to read the state of the real person under the latex by studying his eyes.

 
Walberg
 
quickly came up with the “V,” remembering that famous clip of Nixon walking up the steps to the huge helicopter on the White House lawn, turning in the doorway, and waving his awkward
 
goodbye salute.
 
As he walked through the people, the pockets of his coat holding his gun and the detonator, he waved the “V” slowly in front of him as if blessing the assembled mass.
 
The crowd parted to let him through.

It took a while for Daggart to finally find a parking space a half-dozen blocks away from the parade route.
 
It was on the far side of Union Square.
 
He got out of the car wearing a blue track suit and a black cap.
 
He opened the trunk, pulled out the old backpack, slung it over his shoulder and began the long trek to Market Street.
 

* * *

As people-watching parades go, Tina Valdez thought this was probably about as good as it got, at least in San Francisco.
 
She’d heard that Mardi Gras was wild. It would be pretty hard to beat that – warm weather, skimpy costumes, splashes of Brazil and voodoo, and bathtubs of booze pouring out of the non-stop bar scene in New Orleans.
 
That was on her bucket list – visiting New Orleans.
 
But today she was happy to pass the morning with Johnny, who couldn’t get enough of her, and take in the costumes and the increasingly enthusiastic crowd.
 
Occasionally a couple of bare-chested girls would wander past.
 
Plenty of people wore costumes, outlandish hats or Mohawk wigs colored purple, red and orange.
 
A few strange-looking men walked past with breasts and wearing show girl attire but with the size and body hair of football players gone to seed.
 
She even saw a guy in a Nixon mask across the street standing next to Big Bird.
 
Then, there were the Andrew Harper signs everywhere.

She heard and felt one of the spring-loaded doors on the far end of the row of newspaper boxes slam shut.
 
Tina spun around and saw an older guy in need of a shave standing there in a blue track suit.
 
His empty hand was outstretched where he must have just let go of the door.
 
He seemed frozen in place, staring down at the box in front of him.
 
She figured he was reading whatever alternative weekly or automobile shopper filled the box.
 
She turned back to watch the crowd with Johnny.
 
Tina didn’t see Brent Daggart lift his head and take in the young couple before turning around and slipping into the current of people strolling along the sidewalk.
   

* * *