Scar Tissue

  “Of course. You’re right. Keith called me, and told me he spoke with you. Ray is in more trouble?”

  “Yeah. Serious trouble.”

  “Did he do it? Did he really kill someone?”

  “I don’t know. Police seem to think he did.” I told her everything I’d learned the last few days. I told her about meeting Tetlow and Milner, Cole, and Carol, and about the Chinese jewelry store robbery, and finding Ramus.

  “I don’t know what to say, Lucky. I never thought something like this would happen. That’d I’d be getting you involved in something so…so, what…so ugly.”

  “I know that.”

  Lou ran back into the living room dripping water from his mouth and carrying a chew stick. He plopped down next to Carol and went to work on the stick.

  “You can just stop, Lucky. I would completely understand. Hell, I would like it to go away now too. Who knows what else could happen?”

  “I’m sort of involved now. I’ll hang with it for another day or two. Plus you can’t beat the pay.”

  “Ha, ha,” Carol laughed. “I offered to pay you.”

  “Just messing with you.”

  “Tell me about Ray’s wife. What’s she like?”

  I described Carol from a physical angle, staying away from the job description and from making too many moral judgments I couldn’t back-up, though I did say I thought she was too young to be married.

  “You and Patti were about twenty when you were married, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah, we were. But there weren’t drugs and prison terms in our future.”

  We talked a little longer and then Kathleen left for home across the bay. I stretched out on the couch and wondered about Ray and Carol and their uncertain tomorrows. Soon I was asleep. I went into a dream and saw Patti and me in the early years of our marriage. We looked like kids playing dress up games, trying to be some ideal we weren’t even sure how to define. What we didn’t know about life sometimes triggered fights. And there were scars. I damaged things pretty good one time when the responsibility of family life was getting me down and I was feeling sorry for myself. I went on a week-long drinking binge and ended up in a Hollywood apartment with a former girlfriend. The girlfriend misread the signals and eventually called Patti. At first I lied, which of course made things worse. A year passed before we slept together.

  I woke up from my nap sometime after six. I didn’t feel rested and I wasn’t in a good mood. I poured myself a drink and threw it straight back. I was drinking more in the past week and enjoying it less. It wasn’t an equation built for confidence and efficiency. I took a long hot shower and made some dinner.

  It was around ten o’clock when Tetlow telephoned.

  “Hope it’s not t…too late? But, I saw Ray,” he said. “Thought y…you’d wa…want to know. There’s g…g…going to be an arr…arr…arraignment tomorrow.”

  “What’s your sense of this? Of his involvement?”

  “You n…never know, but h…he doesn’t seem .like he cou…could do this type of thing.”

  “I hope you’re right. Let me know how the arraignment goes.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Good night.”

  A little before eleven thirty, not interested in sleeping, I made myself a cup of coffee and got back into the car and headed for The Penthouse. It was twelve o’clock on the nose when I pulled to the curb across the street and down a hundred feet from the club. There was another car in my loading zone spot from earlier in the day. I waited in the car and at twelve fifteen the doors to the club swung open and I saw Carol walk out and go straight to the passenger’s side door of the car at the curb and get in. The car pulled away from the curb, and as it headed down the street I made a u-turn.

  The car was an early 80’s Corvette, black in color with mag wheels. The body shape gave the taillights an easy to follow outline. The traffic was not too thick to make tailing the car difficult, but not so light that I needed to worry about being spotted. If the person you’re following isn’t suspicious it’s not too hard to remain unnoticed.

  He took a left off O’Farrell at Larkin and used it all the way to Union where he made a right and slid into North Beach. At Stockton Street, he slowed down to a crawl and pulled into a driveway. The garage door opened automatically, but the driver got out of the car and went into the garage. He moved a box that was in the middle of the garage. The light in the garage cast a bright glow that splashed out to the driveway and car. When he turned back and moved to the car it was easy to recognize Officer Frank Cole.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The bars had closed, but Marty wasn’t ready to call it a night. Not yet. He was working his way through a new stash of blow and looking to play. His Mustang headed toward Lucinda’s place on Polk Street.

  A teenage kid was huddled in the doorway of Lucinda’s building flaming up a joint.

  “Get out of here, kid,” Milner said.

  “Says you?” the cocky kid snapped. “Fuck off, man.”

  Marty slapped him across the top of his head. “SFPD cutting you a break, junior. Move on.”

  “Jesus, guy can’t slip a reefer in peace no more,” the kid complained and left the safety of the sheltered alcove.

  Milner pulled on the street level door and the barely functioning lock rattled in the frame. He was looking for the buzzer to Lucinda’s apartment when a young couple came up to the door and had a key.

  “Evening,” Milner said, as polite a church deacon.

  “Hello,” the man said, and without a second thought held the door open for Milner after his companion was safely inside. They moved to a first floor apartment and Milner ran up the stairs to the second floor, and knocked on Lucinda’s door. He heard movement inside the apartment.

  “Who is it?” Lucinda said.

  “It’s me, baby. Marty. Let me in.”

  “It’s late, Marty. Not tonight. You should have called.”

  “I’m a surprise package. C’mon, open up.” He kicked at the door with one of his thick black boots.

  “Marty, no. I’ve got company.”

  “Get rid of him. Or let me in and I’ll get rid of him. C’mon, girl.”

  Milner heard Lucinda say something to the person inside and then turn the lock on the door and open it a few inches. She leaned against edge of the door, but Milner could still see her black eye and bruised cheek.

  “Not tonight, Marty. Please.”

  Milner’s foot was wedged in between the door and the frame and he leaned with his shoulder and pushed on the door. Lucinda fell back into the apartment.

  Her entire face was hell and gone. There was dried blood around her left ear and an ugly welt sat up on her forehead.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  Lucinda moved to the midnight blue velvet couch cramped in one corner of the room. She pulled her thin red waist length robe around her around as if it were a safety net.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Marty.”

  “I asked what happened?”

  “I’m what happened,” said a voice to Milner’s right. Stepping into the living room from the kitchen, parting the strands of colored plastic beads separating the two rooms was Leon. All five foot nine and two hundred and fifty pounds. His Jeri curled shiny black hair fell to his shoulders and his skin glistened as if it had been polished. When he smiled the little diamond embedded in his front tooth sparkled.

  “When they let you out Fat Boy,” Milner said. He was feeling good. He shifted his weight and focus to Leon. “Pimps getting early release programs?”

  “Marty,” Lucinda said. “Don’t” She pulled her bare feet up to the couch and curled them under her ass. “Leon…”

  “Shut up, Lucinda,” Leon said.

  “Seeing you on the loose again gives me a case of despair, Leon.” Milner nodded back at Lucinda. “And still beating up women.”

  “What was mine before is mine again.” Leon reached into the front pocket of his cream colored linen slacks and came out wit
h a knife folded into a pearl case. He slipped the blade out to dig ceremoniously at a fingernail.

  “Lucinda isn’t yours. She was maybe confused before. Not anymore. She’s got clarity and her new world doesn’t have a place for you.”

  “Yeah, That so? How you going to keep me out?”

  “Make it more trouble for you to keep her than it’s worth.”

  “You going to protect her? Provide the bitch with safety? I ain’t worried about you, schoolboy. Get the fuck out of here.” Leon removed the knife from his fingernail and let his arm drop to his side.

  A tiny coke inspired explosion went off in Marty’s head and he took two quick steps toward Leon and landed a full contact kick in Leon’s groin. Leon bent over and Milner grabbed a handful of shiny oily hair, pulling Leon’s head flush into his upraised knee. Leon’s nose detonated blood. He dropped the knife and reached for his face. Milner was dancing. He swayed from side to side and shoved Leon against the wall. He threw a hard right hand that popped Leon’s ear. He stepped to his right and kicked at the side of Leon’s left knee. Bone cracked and Leon screamed.

  “Marty stop it!” Lucinda shouted.

  “How’s things, Leon?” Milner said. He was sweating and smiling.

  “Fuck you,” Leon said.

  “Get up,” Milner said.

  “You broke my fucking leg,”

  “Use the other one and pull your ass out of here. Lucinda’s off your calendar.” Milner stepped into the kitchen and grabbed a dirty dish towel and threw it to Leon. “Here.”

  Leon slowly gathered himself with the help of a chair. He held the rag to his nose and dragged himself out of the apartment.

  Lucinda was quietly crying and shaking on the couch, arms holding arms, curled into herself, into a fleshy ball of damage and fear. Milner sat down beside her. He pulled out a baggie of blow from his pocket and pulled close the little end table at one end of the couch.

  “Don’t worry, baby,” he said. “Marty’s the doctor for you with the private prescription.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Awake with a headache and a bit of an attitude I drove to Carol’s apartment in the middle of the morning go-to-work traffic. She wasn’t home. I drove back into North Beach and parked near Cole’s place. I had to wait about thirty minutes before I saw the black Corvette slide out of the garage. Navigating some of the smaller streets in Chinatown, Cole eventually blocked a drive-way on Grant Street, two doors from Lee Wong’s business. I found a place next to a fire hydrant where I could see the front of the store. Carol stayed in the car, and I was considering approaching her when, five minutes later Cole came back to his car and drove away. I followed.

  Cole went through the Broadway tunnel, crossed Van Ness and made a left on Divisadero, and a couple minutes later pulled over to the curb across the street from Carol and Ray’s apartment. Dressed as she had been when she left The Penthouse the night before Carol climbed out of the car. I circled the block until I found a place to park and then went to visit Carol.

  Denial is the first and the easiest defense. Convince your accuser they’ve got things wrong, that their assumptions are tangled up, and maybe they will go away. Drug addicts and alcoholics are the prime movers of the strategy. Carol tried it with me.

  “Carol, what’s your business with Frank Cole?”

  “Who?”

  “Carol?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I just followed you home from his place. He dropped you off across the street.”

  Her eyes and face went into a scramble, but couldn’t find a way out, so she attacked. “You followed me? What’s that about?”

  “I came to The Penthouse last night. I saw you leave with Cole. What’s the story? How come you’re dancing with a cop?”

  Carol lit a cigarette and kicked off her shoes and paced the room and chewed at her fingernails.

  “What do you want? You followed me, now you come here again and stand around pushing me with questions. I don’t have to listen to you.”

  “I’m trying to help Ray. We both know that. This looks like part of something moving at bad angles. You’re sleeping with a cop who may or may not be involved in a murder and Ray is sitting in jail. So I’m asking. Talk to me.”

  She exhaled a deep breath and threw herself into a chair. Her voice softened. “Shit. Okay. Yeah, I know him.” Her shoulders collapsed and she seemed to shrink and get younger. A little girl knowing she’s done wrong. “I met him when Ray was in trouble the first time. I was scared. With Ray, I thought maybe I’d finally met someone I could be with for a long time, maybe someone with a solid center, you know? Then he goes to jail. I met Cole and he helped get me the job that I have now. He said he felt sorry for me. He said he could arrange it maybe I could see Ray a little easier, maybe more often than the normal visiting times. At least he’d try.”

  “Did that happen?”

  “No. He said there were problems. But he was nice to me. I needed that. We shared some time.”

  “That was then. This is now.”

  “I tried…” she bit her upper lip, crushed out her cigarette and immediately fired another one. “But it’s hard. I tried to break it off, but he’s got a way. He can convince me of stuff.”

  I thought about marital infidelity and the price it can extract. Is it better to know about an affair or to remain ignorant? Perhaps it depends on which side of the bed you were on. If Carol’s twist with Cole didn’t directly affect Ray’s case, I’d leave it alone.

  “He’s using you, Carol.”

  “I know,” she said, almost with a whimper. A single teardrop slid free from one eye and dripped down her cheek. “I know,” she repeated, and in a moment the first teardrop was followed by a river.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  As expected the judge denied Tetlow’s request for bail. The hearing lasted five minutes. Carol and I sat together in the courtroom and, after the judge’s decision, Ray was granted a minute to talk with Carol. They exchanged a light kiss. I spoke with Tetlow and told him about the relationship between Carol and Frank Cole. I also mentioned Cole’s return visit to Lee Wong’s jewelry store.

  “I think I would like to do a little digging into Cole’s past,” I said.

  “I’ve d…done some,” Tetlow said. “I met with a c…cop f…f…friend who knows Cole a bit. He t…told me Cole’s not originally f..f…from around here. Came from San D…Diego. Been here a few years.”

  Tetlow paused and we both turned to watch the bailiff separate Ray and Carol. He took Ray toward the rear of the courtroom and through the doors connecting to hallways that led back to the jail. Carol stood motionless, watching her husband leave her again, disappearing behind tall blond doors.

  “Cole’s single. Wid…widowed,” Tetlow added. “Young t..t..to be a widow, huh?”

  People had said the same thing about me not that long ago. “It happens,” I said.

  “I guess.”

  “I know some people with San Diego. I’ll call down there see if anything else comes up with Cole.”

  Carol approached us. She was dressed in a simple flower print dress and without make-up. She looked almost innocent, damaged and sad, but innocent.

  “I want to go home,” she said softly.

  “I’ll take you,” I said.

  “No. I’ll take the bus or a cab,” she said. “I want to be alone.”

  “Let me give you cab fare,” I said, reaching for my wallet.

  “No, thank you,” she said. She turned without another word and left the courtroom.

  “You feel s…sorry for her?” Tetlow asked.

  “Sure. Happiness doesn’t look like part of her future. Not right now, at least.”

  “Yeah. I need t…t…to spend some t…time with her…talk about her as a witness.”

  We walked through the courtroom doors and into the hallway.

  “Can you win this?” I asked.

  “I plan to.”

  I smiled. “Confid
ence is good.”

  “Success is better,” Tetlow said. He glanced at his watch and picked up his pace. “I’ll see you,” he said, and walked away.

  Outside the Hall of Justice, I telephoned a friend who was twenty three years into a career with the San Diego police department, and told him what I wanted.

  “What’s in it for me?” he asked.

  “Eternal gratitude,” I said.

  “What’s that buy me?”

  “The comfort of friendship.”

  “I repeat my question, what’s that buy me?” he said. He was laughing as he disconnected the call.

  I got to my car and headed back to Chinatown. Cole’s morning visit to Wong didn’t feel right. Wong probably wouldn’t be any more cooperative than he was during my first visit, but this time I had a plan. I was going to lie.

  Wong was not happy to see me when I entered the store. He and a young girl had been helping two women customers. Wong slipped his glasses from his face and let them dangle on a string around his neck. He said something in Chinese to the girl, glanced at me briefly, and shuffled into the rear of the store, behind the curtain. I followed him.

  Wong was seated on a metal stool next to a workbench.

  “This area private,” he said.

  I flipped open my wallet, briefly flashing my badge. “You know what I.A.D. is Mr. Wong?”

  “No,” he snapped.

  “Internal Affairs Department,” I said. “Cops who investigate cops. We’re the police for the police.”

  “Good for you.” Wong lifted a half smoked non filtered cigarette from an ashtray and lit it and pinched it between his thumb and index finger, both stained an ugly yellow.

  “I’m looking at Officer Cole.”

  Wong smoked and stared at me.

  “I believe you know him.”

  Nothing.

  “He’s the cop who worked on the robbery of your store. The robbery where you dropped the charges. Also the cop who came by here this morning. That cop.”

  Wong dragged twice at his cigarette and before it was about to burn his fingers dropped it to the floor and put it out with the heel of his shoe. He lifted his glasses and wiped at the lenses with a small cloth he grabbed from the workbench. He held them up to the ceiling light before slipping them back on.

  “What did he want this morning?”