Jack Wakes Up (19 page)

The Colombian nods. He laughs. “In truth,” he says, “I know you are trustworthy, Jack. Even when you lie, you tell the truth.”

Jack turns to Vlade. “That motherfuck from The Coast is the one who called the police last night.”

“Yes,” Vlade says, nods. “So it seems.” He takes Castroneves’ arm. “The other, the one at the club who killed our friends. He is no more.” He cuts across the air in front of him with his hand, holding it parallel to the ground. “We have taken care of.”

This makes Castroneves smile. “Yes?” He says. Vlade nods. “That is good. That is very good.” He takes out a cigarette and lights it with a windproof butane lighter. “Today holds some good news, then, to go with the bad.”

“So, gentlemen.” Jack points to the bags. “What do we have here?”

Vlade places the briefcase down next to him. Inside the store, one of the boys’ mothers starts yelling at them.

The Colombian and his friend start to move down the boardwalk, toward other stores, but not before the friend bends to lift the briefcase. Vlade lifts the white shopping bag and he and Jack follow. Jack sees the bag is topped with light blue tissue paper that matches Castroneves’ suit.

“That’s nice paper,” he says.

Castroneves laughs. “My wife,” he says. “She likes me in the colors. What can I do?”

He says something to his guy in Spanish that makes them both laugh.

“You like this?” he says, handing his lighter to Jack. It has a motorcycle on it and lights that flash when you open the top. “You need these here. With this wind.” He gestures around him, and out to the water. “Keep it.”

In the distance, Jack sees a vintage cigarette boat out on the water among the sailboats, a hundred yards beyond the piers. It’s the kind that has cabins below the decks, room for sleeping and who knows what else. Jack points to the boats on the water. “Is one of those yours?”

Castroneves nods. “We are not here for long. You know?” He frowns. “Here it is cold. Soon we leave.” He lifts the briefcase as if testing its weight. “Gentlemen,” he says. “If it is all here, you will not hear from me again.”

“And us,” Jack says. “It’s all here?”

Castroneves laughs. “Have a look.” He gestures around them at all the people.

But Vlade moves the tissue papers and looks into the bag. He reaches in and feels around, then slips a knife into the bag and brings his finger out with white on its tip. He rubs the powder along his gums. Then he looks at Jack, smiling. “We are good,” he says.

“Alex,” Jack says, reaching out to shake the Colombian’s hand. “If we’re lucky, you and I won’t ever see each other again.”

At the top of the parking structure, in the SUV with the Czechs, Jack feels his cell phone vibrate. At first it gives him a start, but when he checks and sees it’s Maxine, a wave of relief passes through him. He excuses himself to go outside, but before he can, Al gives him the thumbs up. He’s rubbing the white powder onto his gums and smiling, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Hold on,” Jack says. “I’ll be right back.”

Outside the Escalade, Jack walks over to the Mustang and flips open his phone. His eyes go right to the holes along the driver’s side.

Maxine’s talking before he can even say hello. “Jack. You’re still an asshole, but I have something to tell you. Something you can shove into your theory hole.”

Jack feels along the door of the car, touching the holes. He pulls his hand away. “It’s good to hear your voice again,” he says.

“Anyway.”

“No. I mean it. I’ve been trying to call. You were right. I’m sorry.”

“I got your message,” Maxine says. “But shut the fuck up and let me be mad for a little while.”

“OK,” Jack says. “You’re due.” He switches the phone to his other ear, his left, but realizes that he still can’t hear as well on that side, the side that was closer to Vlade’s gun. He switches back. “What?”

“The other club. The Mirage. Tony’s the fucking owner. I just went down to The Coast to get my last check and when I started talking to one of the girls, she told me he was there. I said, why? She said because he owns it. That one, and one other in SOMA. He’s the one who called the cops.”

“I know,” Jack says. He looks away from the parking lot, sees the fog starting to roll in over the northern part of the city, across the Golden Gate.

“You know?”

“Yeah. The Colombian just told me. I guess he’s friends with Tony, or was. He’s pretty pissed off now.”

“Yeah. Have a friend drop the cops on you and I’d be.” Maxine laughs. “What’s he plan to do?”

Jack looks out at the harbor, at the boats, and sees that the cigarette boat is already gone. “My guess is Tony will hear from him.” Maxine laughs or coughs, Jack can’t quite tell which. “So when will I see you?”

“You’ll see me. Don’t worry.”

“No, but—”

“Bye, Jack.” She hangs up.

Jack flips his phone closed hard, mad that he didn’t apologize more or get her to come around. But she’s melting; soon she’ll be all right.

Jack looks at the Czechs’ car, the SUV, and walks over slowly. Inside, the Czechs are enjoying themselves, snorting little bumps of the product.

“Jack, my man,” Vlade says through the open window. “Come back to the hotel and we’ll give you your cut.”

Jack takes a step toward the SUV but doesn’t go farther, even when Vlade swings the door open.

“You come back with us and we show you a good time in this city, Jack. Even better than before. And we also give you your money. Come!” The others are nodding to the car’s music, oblivious to Jack.

“The party’s right here,” Jack says.

“Ah, but our clothes and your money are back at the hotel.”

Jack’s phone starts to vibrate. “Hold on,” he says. On the screen he sees it’s the call he’s been dreading. Jack steps away from the SUV, opens the door of the Mustang, and sits down.

“Hello, Sgt. Hopkins,” Jack says, pulling both legs into the car and closing the door.

“Jack, you know what I’m going to say first, don’t you?”

Jack closes his eyes, kneads the bridge of his nose with his thumb and first finger. “What’s that, Mills?”

“What the fuck, Jack? That’s what I’m saying to you. It looks like you and your buddies started fucking World War fucking Three out there in SOMA today.”

Jack starts to respond, but Sgt. Hopkins keeps talking. “Do you know that I’m calling you from my home today? My fucking home? I tell them to call me if anything looks like you, and I get this called to me, explained in full detail at my fucking house. I’m in my back yard right now, hearing about how your fucking pals just shot up downtown!”

Jack reaches for the glove compartment, hoping to find his cigarettes. “I can see you’re pretty mad there, sergeant.”

“You’re fucking right mad. You try going home on a Saturday afternoon and see what kind of shit comes after you. You ever worked a Saturday morning in your life, Palms? Matter of fact, how about if you took off a few years instead, you and your friends, in the cooler?”

Jack finds the pack and flips a cigarette into his lips. “Shit, Mills. You know that guy was your shooter from The Mirage. Why not just consider it a case solved?”

“Because there’s a four car crash on a downtown street and five witnesses saw shots fired and some guy beat this poor bastard’s head against the hood of his car.”

Knowing he can’t argue with that, Jack lights the cigarette with Castroneves’ lighter. He looks it over and then pitches it out the window into the garage. “So what are we talking about, Mills? What can we say here?”

“I don’t know, Jack. Right now I’m listening, is what I’m doing. I send your ass out— No, I let you out there to tell me about some Europeans, and since last night I got bodies all over town.

Three shot up at a club and two dead in broad daylight today downtown. Now tell me how I feel about that!”

Jack starts to fumble for an answer, but Hopkins goes on. “No, wait. Don’t answer yet, because it gets better: I’ve got you at the scene of each one! But tell me that the guys you’re with aren’t the terrorists I been looking for.”

“They’re not.”

Jack hears silence on the other end of the phone, and then a quiet clicking that’s probably Hopkins chewing his gum. “You better tell me a good story, Jack.”

“OK, sergeant. Here’s what I think: I think the ones you turned up dead today are the mob you want. They came at us, tried to shoot at us from a moving car on Van fucking Ness, and then my boys went after them. And you’re right, that was fucked up, but I still think you’ve got this on wrong. Someone had to tell them where we were, right? There’s some crazy K.G.B. tie-in to all this shit.”

“I’m listening.”

It takes Jack about a full second to put together the fact that he and the Czechs were coming from The Coast when they got shot at and the name Tony Vitelli. “I think these were the guys who killed Ralph, but I don’t think they’re alone in it. I think someone sent them on that hit, someone who wants to take over the drug action in this town.”

“I’m hearing you, Jack.”

“My guess is I can lead you to more of these mob boys if you give me some time.”

Sgt. Hopkins is quiet. Then, softly, he says, “Make me an offer.”

“How about this: you give me a day, the rest of tonight and tomorrow, and I’ll give you the major drug player in this town right now. I’m not talking about a couple of out-of-towners and a washed up actor, I’m talking about the guy who knocked off Ralph because he wanted his action and wants control of these streets. I think whoever that is, he’ll bring us to your Europeans.”

Sgt. Hopkins laughs. “Now, Jacky. Now you’re starting to talk my language. You understand me. I’m talking about you save your ass by helping me out. One ass washes the other, right?

Do you want to see yourself in court, maybe even going to jail? That’d play pretty nasty in the papers, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Mills. Fuck you, Mills.”

“But you get what I’m saying.”

“I’ll call you,” Jack says, “When I have something.” He flips the phone closed and takes a drag from his cigarette. It’s burned halfway down in the time he’s been talking to the cop. Maybe he’s going back to smoking, but he’ll worry about that when his life returns to regular. Right now, he’s conning police officers to keep himself out of jail, making deals that involve putting his own ass out on the line by going after mobsters and drug dealers, and he’s past the point of no return. For now, he leans back in the Mustang’s large, comfortable American seating, reclines a little, and takes a long drag, looking out at the water.

The sun has started setting, and already the pier is darker than when he and Vlade met with Alex. Soon the street lights will come on above the tourists, enabling them to stay out on the pier for another few hours, until the wind makes it too cold. But for now, they’re all right: maybe having another cotton candy or buying their kids an ice cream, waiting for later when they can have a beer back at the hotel, put the kids to bed and get in some love time and really enjoy their vacations.

Beyond the pier, out on the Bay, a ferry boat makes its way under the bridge, headed toward Oakland where bright lights have come on at the port, isolated strings of bulbs that make the big freight cranes look like overgrown, industrial monsters. They’ll stay busy until well into the night, unloading the large metal shipping containers off the boats and putting them onto trains and trucks. Behind the port, Oakland’s downtown glows red in the lights of the buildings and farther off the hills stand dark under the sky.

On Jack’s side of the water, off to his right, the San Francisco downtown stands monumental above him, the buildings too close and too large, looming over the piers and the parking garage, to where he can’t see their tops from the inside of the Mustang.

It takes some convincing, but Jack finally gets the Czechs to understand that he won’t be going right back to their hotel to start the party. Vlade’s eager to give him his fifteen grand and the others just want to get back. Jack explains that there are other problems like trying to find Ralph’s killer, and dealing with Tony Vitelli and what happened to Michal. He’ll tell them anything but what he’s just discussed with Sgt. Hopkins. But Al shakes his head. He’s in the back seat of the Escalade and Jack’s standing outside, hands on the windowsill.

“We have iced those murderers,” Al says.

Jack shakes his head. He doesn’t want to get into his deal or the fact that Hopkins wants European terrorists, but whether it’s his gut or his head, he knows there’s more to what’s going on, more to this than just a couple of ex-KGB going after each other. That might be part of it, but he still needs to know what happened to Ralph, wants to know who put him at the bottom of his Jacuzzi.

Vlade motions for Jack to come around to his side of the car. “You are going after Tony Vitelli?” he asks.

“No. I want to talk with Junius Ponds. That’s the man I need to see.”

Vlade sits back into the car. “Then you won’t need us?”

“No,” Jack says, taking his hands off the car. Might as well let them have some fun for a while and collect his money later. They’ll be around.

Niki gets out of the Escalade and walks Jack away from the car with his arm around Jack’s shoulders. “You go to find who killed Ralph?” he asks.

“I was going to try,” Jack says. “See what I can find out.”

Niki nods. He takes a card out of the inside of his suit and hands it to Jack. “Call if you need help from me. I do not party with them. I will be ready.”

“OK.” Jack nods. He looks at the card in his hand. It has a San Francisco cell phone number printed on the back. “Thanks.” He pats Niki on the shoulder as he heads over to the Mustang.

Vlade, grinning wide, some white powder left in his moustache, pokes his head out of the SUV’s back window. “You will join us later, Jack?” Jack waves and nods. “No, Palms. I am serious.” He points right at Jack. “You will come to our hotel. We have business to settle.”

“Yes,” Jack says. “Trust me. I’ll be there after I handle a few things.”

“Good,” Vlade says. “Good.” He slaps the side of the Escalade as they’re starting to back out, and from inside Jack can hear the techno music double in volume.