five

Mallen had planned to take Anna to her favorite place in Fisherman’s Wharf, but she insisted he take her home and let her make him grilled cheese sandwiches. She would not be denied, so he agreed and drove her home. He made sure to call ahead.

“Hey,” he said when Chris answered, “Anna’s insisting that she make me grilled cheese for lunch. Just wanted to give you the head’s up, see if it was okay.”

The pause was a little longer than he would’ve liked, but she said it was fine, adding, “This is good timing, anyway. You’ll be able to meet Daniel.”

“Ah. Well, you’re sure it’s okay, yeah?” He glanced over at Anna as he said this.

“Of course it’s okay, Mark. Your daughter wants to cook you lunch. I think that’s sweet.” She was forcing it, he could tell.

“All right. We’ll be there in a few.”

He turned onto the street where Chris and Anna lived. Was going to pull into the driveway but there was another car there. One he didn’t recognize. Must be this guy Daniel’s car. In a fit of “I don’t give a shit” or maybe it was more a fit of “I pissed here before you did, motherfucker” he pulled up behind the car and parked. Didn’t care if he was hanging ass-half out into the street. He’d eat the fucking ticket.

Smiled at Anna as they got out of the car. She led him by the hand up the stairs and into the house. His daughter took him right to the kitchen and sat him at the table. Just like her mother had done countless times in the long-ago past when he’d come home after shift, back in his uniform days.

“I’ll start cooking,” she said. Like she was about to perform a magic trick of some sort.

“Okay, A,” he replied, adding, “but Daddy’s got to leave soon, honey. Got some errands to run.”

That was when Chris entered the room, and not alone. Daniel. Good-looking guy, Mallen had to give him that. Older than he would’ve expected. Graying at the temples. Definitely kept in shape. Dressed like right out of a Lands’ End catalog. This must be the guy she’d been taking calls from ever since he’d gotten back into their lives. She handled the meeting well, but Mallen wasn’t surprised by that. Even having gone through what she’d gone through, she was still Chris: strong, both inside and out. Somehow this little scene made him realize that she’d make it. She’d eventually be okay. There was still a long road, sure, but she’d keep moving forward. Anna was blessed with such a strong mother.

Chris smiled at him. Daniel stood there, behind her right shoulder. “You want me to make you and Danny a sandwich, too?” Anna asked.

“No, honey. We’re fine. Thank you.”

Daniel came over to Mallen. Put out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mark. I’m Daniel.” He had a good grip. Good sign.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Mallen said. Looked over at Anna, saying, “A? I’m gonna have to pass on lunch actually. I’m running later than I thought.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Chris said, “you’re going to sit right down and let your daughter do for you. Daniel and I were on our way to the back yard. He’s really into horticulture. Has some great ideas for the back yard and garden.”

My garden, Mallen thought. Hell, that’s what you get for fucking off in the Tenderloin with a needle in your arm, asshole. When you shoulda been here doing for your family. Jealousy reared its legendarily ugly head then but he shoved it back into the cave it came from. The room filled with the smell of cooking cheese and toasting bread. He watched as Daniel gave Chris’s shoulder a squeeze as he went to the back door. “I’ll start looking at those rose bushes,” he said as he left.

“I’ll be right out,” she replied.

“Take your time, babe.”

After Daniel had left, Chris said, “I wondered a long time whether to send him out before you got here.”

“Glad you didn’t,” he replied as Anna came over and put a grilled cheese sandwich down in front of him. He kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you, waitress.”

“Just leave the tip, sir,” she replied with a giggle.

“Glad I didn’t?” Chris said.

He shrugged as he bit into the sandwich. To stall for time, maybe? Finally said, “It’s like what I told you before. I don’t have a right to say anything, Chris. I only hope that you end up happy.” Quickly changed the subject. “How are you doing?”

She put her hand over her stomach … over the shirt that hid the scars. Scars of the symbol carved there. “It’s healing,” she said quietly. “But I have nightmares all the time. Wake up screaming. I can’t be here in the house at night by myself. If I am, I don’t sleep. Can’t take pills to sleep because then I won’t wake up when someone comes after me.”

“Yeah … you definitely need to feel safe. I’m sure.” Mallen replied, not knowing what else to say. Gazed out the garden window. Gotta hand it to Daniel, he thought; dude is just out there tending flowers and not paying us any attention at all. Good work there. Smart man. “He been staying with you? If so, I’m glad you have someone who makes you feel secure.”

“Daddy!” Anna cut in, “You’re not eating your sandwich! You have to keep up your strength!”

“Sorry, babe,” he said, then took another bite.

“It’s not that he makes me feel secure,” Chris said, “it’s just that I need another body here in the house with me right now.” She seemed to be debating something with herself for a moment, then added quietly. “I … he sleeps on the couch, Mark.”

Nodded his head as he chewed. “I appreciate you telling me that. You didn’t have to, I know. Hope I didn’t do anything to make you feel that you had to tell me.”

“No,” she replied, “you didn’t. I just wanted you to know. I … I can’t have that kind of contact yet, with any man.”

“I hope that changes for you at some point, if you want it to.” He finished his sandwich and got to his feet. “I better be going.”

Went and scooped up his daughter in a big hug. “Thanks for lunch, Chef Anna. Sorry I got to eat and run.”

As he put her back on her feet she shrugged, saying, “Men. Always eat and run, eat and run!”

He and Chris had a good laugh over that one. Chris walked him to the door, where he told her goodbye and left quickly. Being physical or not, he couldn’t shake the feeling of jealousy toward the man who was now sleeping on his couch. He’d bought that couch.

–––––

Back in the truck, Mallen headed east over to the Tenderloin. To the Cornerstone. If anyone knew where to find an addict like this Hendrix was supposed to be, it would be Dreamo his ex-dealer. Dreamo knew everybody, especially if they were addicted to a substance. Amazing how the man had gone from helping him get high to helping him get information on all sorts of pieces of shit assholes looking to hurt people and take their money, or their life.

The bar was average, crowd-wise, even though it was Saturday afternoon and there was a Niners game on the TV. A couple dudes huddled together at the end of the bar looked up when he walked in, then quickly began whispering to each other. As Mallen approached the bar those two men got up and left. That got his radar humming. Had to wonder now which fucker he’d once known while undercover they’d go singing to. Couldn’t place them, but then again, he hadn’t paid them too much mind in the first place. Maybe he’d only leant them money one time back when he was in a golden-induced haze. Maybe they’d been afraid he’d come asking for his dough. A part of him thought that was all bullshit though. Trouble was now brewing, fire set on “high.”

That was when Bill came over. A scotch, neat, in his hand. Put it down in front of Mallen with a smile, saying, “Mal, how’s tricks?”

“Okay, B. You?”

“Doin’ alright.” Glanced around the bar before saying. “You on the thing with Trina Marston’s daughter goin’ missing?”

“Jesus, Bill. What’d you do? Put a tracking device in my shit?”

Bill chuckled, his large body bobbing. “Not in this life, motherfucker. No, a plainclothes was in here earlier today, looking for you. Some woman cop I’ve never seen before. Said she was investigating the Marston kidnapping. I told her I didn’t know or hear anything about that. Then she, right out of left field, asks about if I seen you recently. Then, later that same day, you show up. Right outta the blue. Doesn’t take a detective to guess it’s all connected.

“We’ll make a detective out of you yet, B,” he said as he took a drag from his glass. “Dreamo?”

Bill chuckled. “He’s in.” Indicated the hall that led to the bathroom. “I’m countin’ to twenty, Mal, okay?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t, Bill.” Made his way down the graffiti-covered hall to the bathroom. To the room where Dreamo dealt out dreams and madness and escape. He noticed some new graffiti on the walls. Someone had done a pretty good rendering of a Hieronymus Bosch painting. A large view of a field in Hell. He passed by and entered the men’s room. There was the familiar crunch of glass under his boots. Had to wonder if it was Dreamo’s early warning system. A way to wake him up when anyone came into the room should he be asleep.

“Dream?” he asked as he walked to the stall.

“Ex-customer,” came the thready reply.

Mallen pushed on the stall door. And there was Dreamo, just like every time he’d come in here to buy smack. Sitting back, leaning on the toilet tank. The burning candles that were always there in the stall had been moved around, their owner maybe looking for a fresh outlook, as someone would do with moving the furniture in their apartment. Three now sat on the plastic toilet paper rack, along with the rest now being arranged on the floor around Dreamo’s feet. The scent of something that reminded Mallen of henna filled the air. Just underneath that smell was the faint odor of burned smack. Made the hairs on the back of Mallen’s neck stand up. Antenna searching for a wavelength. Would it ever be different for him? And as always, the answer came back strong: probably fucking not.

Dreamo pushed his sagging Mohawk out of his eyes. It was longer now, dyed a raging purple. “Well,” he rasped, “what does my ex-customer want?”

“Just some talk,” Mallen said, leaning against the wall and lighting a cigarette.

“Those will kill you, ex-customer,” Dreamo said, indicating the cigarette.

“If not this, then something else.”

“Good point, philosophy professor Mallen.”

“You hear about Trina’s daughter?”

“Yeah,” Dreamo replied. “That’s some fucked-up shit, man. Taking someone’s kid.”

“That’s right. It’s very fucked up. Who knows what the fuck is happening to her as we speak, yeah?”

Dreamo regarded him for a moment. Faint smile there now. “Mallen, you’re gonna try and help Trina, aren’t you?”

“If I can, yeah.”

“Right the fuck on, man. If you were still a customer, I might even give you a small freebie. To show my support for your very just cause.”

“I appreciate that, Dream. What I need though is a lead on a hypo hound. Tommy. Tommy Hendrix. He a customer?”

A shake of his head, then Dreamo said, “No. Not one of mine.”

“Would you tell me if he was?”

“Fuck yeah I would, man. Jesus, ex-customer … you think I’m down with people snatching kids? If I had a customer involved in that shit, you fucking know I’d fucking tell you about the motherfucker.”

“You know where I can find this guy?”

The dealer considered a moment before saying, “Yeah, I think so. I think he shoots over behind this one building on Harriet Street south of Market.”

“Guy shoots out of doors?” Someone had to be really at the end of luck to have to shoot out on the plains.

But Dreamo told him, “Naw, man. There’s an old car there. An old station wagon. Like something your parents would’ve owned back in the day. Fake wood on its sides. You know what I mean? Anyway, this guy shoots in that car. I’d heard, anyway. If it’s the same dude, I’d also heard he sorta lives in it.”

“How does he manage that?” Mallen said. “Why doesn’t it get towed?”

“Jesus, Mallen, how the fuck should I know? Maybe he’s got a fuckin’ guardian angel. I dunno.”

“I hear ya. So he does have a guardian angel? That what you’re saying?”

A nod. “But you did not hear that from me, ex-customer.”

“Why? He got a bigger, older brother?” Sighed then. Last thing he needed was another Teddy Mac/Carpy thing.

Thankfully, Dreamo shook his head. “He’s got some free pass. Heard it was from your old employers. But that’s all I heard, you hear me?”

“I hear ya, man. Thanks.”

“For what? I didn’t do shit, Mr. ex-customer.”

“Right.”