CHAPTER SIX

 

Thursday

 

"What did you tell her?" Ray asked, stuffing fries into his mouth.

Jack agreed to meet his friend across town in the Haight, near where he'd been investigating a suspected suicide.

Burger Urge was in the heart of the district and had always been a favorite spot when he and Leah double-dated with the Navarros. With Leah being a vegetarian and Jack needing somewhere to satisfy his carnivorous cravings, why not at the funkiest burger joint in the city? Leah had loved the place with its extensive vegetarian menu.

And he couldn't fault the atmosphere, from the quirky interior wall paintings and a ceiling covered with hand-painted ukuleles, to the extensive mural on the building's exterior, featuring iconic images of Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, George Harrison, and others. Along with the '60s music coming through the speakers, it was all a garish tribute to the Summer of Love. And they all loved it.

Jack's chest tightened with the memory of the many evenings they'd spent here. He could almost see them all sitting at the next table, laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes.

He inhaled long and slow to calm his racing heart. It had been a long time since he'd been here—because of those memories—but in a way, coming back also felt comforting. Like visiting an old friend.

He filled his mouth with vanilla malt shake, soaking in those memories.

"What could I say?" he finally said. "She had a point. I couldn't afford to be picky. I handed her a contract and told her my fee. She whipped out her checkbook and wrote out a check double that without flinching. And I'll get a bonus if I get her the photos she wants by the weekend."

Ray whistled under his breath. "Nice. Now you can afford to pay for lunch." He gave Jack a wide grin.

Chuckling, he said, "Sure, why change tradition now?"

"Hey, man, I've got a bambino on the way."

"By the way you're eating for two, I can tell." Jack nodded at the belly starting to push its way against Ray's button-down shirt. His new mustache made him look like Cheech Marin from the old days.

Ray rubbed his stomach. "Maria calls it my sympathetic pregnancy."

Jack chuffed. "Keep telling yourself that. You need a new partner to get you out of the office more. You're spending too much time at your desk."

All humor went out of Ray's features in a blink. "Don't even go there, Jack. I'm a one-partner guy. I tried other partners, but I'm waiting for the one to come back to me."

Ray had blown through nearly a dozen partners in the last four years. Jack knew his friend was waiting for him to get back on the job. "You're like a love-struck teenager."

With a tender look on his face, Ray said, "I only have eyes for you, cariño."

Chuckling outright, Jack said, "I love you too, brother," as he stuffed the last onion ring in his mouth, then sucked down the remainder of his shake. After wiping his mouth and making sure he didn't have anything stuck in his whiskers, he pushed away his plate and sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his abdomen. If he wasn't careful, he'd be sporting a belly like Ray's. He probably would have, if not for the late-night tension that forced him out of his apartment for long walks.

Jack flinched. The last time he'd taken to the streets on foot, he'd found himself the center of attention in a homicide.

"Just don't try kissing me with that thing living on your lip," he said, flicking his fingers in the mustache's general direction.

A crease formed between Ray's eyes as he stroked the thing like a pet. "You should talk."

Jack chuckled. He'd given up shaving long ago. It was enough just keeping the resultant beard and mustache trimmed. Ignoring Ray's jibe, he asked, "Hey, who did Haniford flip that homicide to over at the Majestic?"

Ray leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. The scowl remained. "Wash and Harry."

Jack knew them. Othuleyo "Wash" Washington had transferred over from Oakland two years ago when Debra "Harry" Callahan's partner had been killed in the line of duty.

Wash's mother had escaped South African apartheid when she was pregnant with Wash and settled in Chicago. He'd earned a full ride to college on the back of his exemplary football record in high school. In his second year, he'd been drafted to play for the San Francisco 49ers. He’d still been living at home, and when his mother heard the news, she moved them to Oakland to fulfill his dream.

No one had thought just a couple years later he'd be taken out by the same freak accident suffered by 1930s NFL All-Star, Albert "Turk" Edwards. Dubbed the Turk and Surf, it was after the coin toss at the start of the game when Turk turned to run back to the sideline when his cleat became entangled in the grass and sent him surfing across the field. He'd blown his knee and his career in that instant.

Similarly, Wash's cleat had caught in the grass, but it was during a tackle. He'd been hit from three sides—the first blow ground the cleat into the grass, the second blow forced his body to spin where he was planted, and the third slammed him into the ground. He'd blown his knee and also dislocated his collarbone. The collarbone had healed within a few weeks, but the knee required surgery which led to months of painful rehab.

The recovery time gave Wash some perspective—continue playing ball and suffering repeated injuries or finish his degree and find a new career. Three years later, he'd finished college and graduated from the academy, and was fast-tracking his way up the food chain. By all accounts, Wash was a standup cop who worked by the book. It didn't hurt that he still had the build and speed of an NFL lineman. And with his penetrating gaze of a pitbull, perps tended to give up quickly.

Wash’s dark complexion was a sharp contrast to Harry's fairer one. Average height with a runner's physique, she'd been given the nickname by her late partner, David Perry. Not because of any references to Harry Callahan from the Dirty Harry movies, but because he'd said she reminded him of the singer Debbie Harry with her striking blond hair and toothy smile. Harry came from a long line of officers, from her great grandfather who joined the force in New York City after immigrating from Ireland, to her grandfather who followed in his father's footsteps, to her father who did the same. Harry was the first female cop in the family, and the first to leave New York for the sunnier west coast. She opted for college in California and stayed after the academy.

Perry had lost his life when he and Harry performed a routine door-to-door inquiry in relation to recent neighborhood break-ins. They'd no more than knocked on the resident's door when shotgun fire blasted through the cheap hollow-core timber, hitting Perry in the hip. As trained, they'd flanked the door while waiting for the occupant to respond. Investigators had determined the shooter must have known this and deliberately fired lower—he couldn't take the chance of hitting a vest and only winding the officer. It hadn't been a warning shot. It had been deliberate murder.

To Harry's credit, she'd pulled Perry down the few front steps to the lawn and behind some porch hedging before calling for backup. But the bullet had passed right through his femoral artery and he'd bled out before help could arrive. At least he hadn't died alone—one of a cop's worst nightmares.

After Perry's funeral, Harry accepted Wash as her new partner without issue, and they went right to work. For her, the job came first. Any anguish she felt over losing her partner was done in private.

Jack knew the loss had hit her hard. He'd agreed to meet with her where she asked how he coped with the loss of his wife and daughter. She confided in him that she and Perry had been more than work partners, so Jack better understood her loss. He'd locked the black dog in the back of his head and told Harry what she needed to hear.

"They're good detectives," he said. "What's the 4-1-1 about what happened up there? Have they ID'd the woman?"

"She was a he." Jack's eyes widened but he let Ray continue. "The victim’s stage name was Pepper Mint. When he wasn't performing, his real name, Bob Johnson. Originally from Lubbock, Texas. His holy roller parents disowned him after he came out at fifteen. He lived in West Hollywood but traveled to the city for the Majestic's annual Drag Queen of the Year event."

"Sounds innocent enough. Any speculation on what preceded the murder? Any cat fights or full-on off-stage brawls?”

Ray shook his head. "Nothing's being speculated at the moment. I think they're going with hate crime. That's all I know."

Jack nodded. It wasn't Ray's case so his knowledge would be sketchy at best.

"You ever gonna tell me what you were doing up there?"

Jack knew he meant, What were you doing at a gay bar? Not just in the Castro. "I was just out walking, man."

Ray cocked an eyebrow. "That's a long walk from your place."

Jack agreed. At the time, his mind hadn't been on the destination, rather how far he could get away from the dark thoughts growing in his mind. "Yeah, I know."

"So, what gives?" Ray pressed.

Jack took a long drag of air. They'd had a great lunch and he was feeling better about being in familiar surroundings. He didn't want to spoil it by going back to that night. By the look on Ray's face, he wasn't going to get out of the question. What could he say that wouldn't dredge up all his internal shit?

"It's just the holidays."

"I get it. By why the Castro?"

"Trust me. That wasn't my destination. I wasn't thinking about where I was going. Or anything else. I just needed to get out of my place for a while. I was feeling . . . antsy." Yeah, that was a good, neutral word. "I needed some fresh air. Walking helps clear my mind."

Ray nodded as if satisfied with his answer, and didn't press any further. "You're still coming for Christmas." It wasn't a question.

"Absolutely." After a long pause, Jack asked, "Why pensive all of a sudden?"

"Maria hasn't said anything, but I see how tired she is. Her due date isn't until after the New Year, but she's struggling. She's really looking forward to Christmas. She says she's okay, but—"

"No worries. You and I can handle it. It won't get you out of buying her an expensive present, but she'll appreciate the gift of the day off." Jack tossed his friend a grin.

Ray scowled. "Don't mention presents. I have no idea what to get her."

Jack whistled low and long. "Think of something she really wants that's not practical—no clothes, no appliances, and whatever you do, do not get her baby stuff. Buy her jewelry. All women love sparkly things. Find something that shows her how much you love her."

"I get it, but I'm still clueless."

"We can talk about it later tonight when I come over." Thursday was dinner night with the Navarros. "While I'm there, I need to pick up my car. I can't tail Franklin the Third on my Harley."