Suddenly, there wasn't enough air in the room. I abruptly rose and walked around, trying to get my breathing under control. I walked back to my chair, but I didn't sit down.
James watched me but he didn't move. He said, "Two weeks ago I thought I had her proxy nailed down. Then you and Arrow went on your pilgrimage and now I find that she has defected-or at the least is seriously wavering. Your job is to get her back in my camp. For reasons we've already gone over, this won't make you a traitor to Richard."
My brain was spinning, but I had sense enough to think of one thing. "If you can't convince her, how can I? She used to be your girlfriend…"
"We know each other too well. And we know how far we can trust each other. I need the intervention of a third person to plead my case. You have more credibility than anybody with her, except perhaps Arrow. And I don't…"
He stopped, but I could imagine the rest of the sentence: "I don't have anything to hold over Arrow at the moment."
I tried again. "You're a sporting man, James. Let me play blackjack for my freedom. If I don't increase my initial stake by ten times, I'll help you with Elma."
James laughed. "Too late. I've already given you the money for your card. You can't have it both ways. By the way, you've got two weeks to pull this off. That's when the Dionysus board meeting is."
"What if I fail?"
"You won't fail, Karl. Failure isn't in my vocabulary. And starting at this moment it isn't in yours."
Grant Avenue was its usual busy self, teeming with people and odors, basking in the infrequent warmth of a sunny day with no foggy strings attached. The odors, some of which emanated from an open fish market, might have unsettled my stomach if I had lingered too long. The plastic-wrapped people of my generation weren't used to being so close to the origin of their food.
I had made a quick change of clothes in my car so as to blend in with the tourists. I was just another sightseer strolling along with the crowds.
I turned onto the side street where Ned had met his demise, searching for I don't know what. It looked like any of a dozen other streets in the area, with shops selling an eclectic array of goods, restaurants with exotic names and food to match. I'm not sure I found the actual alley where Ned was killed. Alleys have a sameness about them.
I spotted the parking lot where Ned's car had been found and saw an attendant take money from an incoming customer and give him a ticket. A parking ticket. It occurred to me that Detective Washington had never mentioned that a parking ticket had been found in Ned's pocket.
What if the killers had found the ticket, gone to the car, planted the cocaine and then returned the car keys but not the ticket to Ned's pocket? The whole operation could have been conducted in ten minutes. And the parking attendant would not have been on duty that late so nobody would have observed what happened.
I turned several corners, at random, and found myself in a residential area-row houses that had seen better days. Fewer pedestrians here, not much auto traffic.
On a street corner ahead three homeboys-is that what they were called?-stood, smoking cigarettes. The shaved heads, rings through every protruding piece of flesh, tattoos, baggy jeans with crotches down to the knees, could have been in LA, except that I hadn't seen Asians who looked like this.
The sensible thing was to avoid them, go the other way. But I wasn't feeling sensible. Maybe because I was about to betray my father for a baseball card. Maybe because I was looking for a miracle to get me out of it.
I walked up to them and said, "I'm not a cop, but I'd like to ask you something."
They stared at me, coolly, insolently. One said, "Man says he ain't a cop."
Another: "Fuckin' right he ain't a cop."
The third: "We know all the cops. No cops we don't know. We know all the cars. We know everybody and everything in the hood."
The first: "You come in here, you don't belong, we pick you up on the radar. You hang around, you better have business here, and your business is our business."
The second: "You a lost tourist from Grant. You got no business here."
The Three Stooges, but they weren't funny. I should just walk away, except that they had shifted positions and were blocking the sidewalk.
"A guy was shot near Grant," I tried, "a couple of weeks ago. Name of Ned Mackay. Word is, someone paid to have it done. I just want a name. Who paid for it?"
"We don't know nothin' about no fuckin' shooting."
"We're good little boys, don't play with guns."
I tried again. "I don't care who did it. I just want to know who paid for it."
"How much money you got on you?" It was the first boy, possibly the leader.
"About a hundred dollars," I said, cautiously. I had at least that.
He spat. "A hundred dollars. Not even pocket money."
The third one said, "Rabbit, you'd sell your sister for 50.”
They chuckled. I chuckled. A very small chuckle.
Rabbit said, "Let's see the money."
Should I? What choice did I have? I pulled out my wallet and counted out five twenties. When he saw there was more he said, "Give me all of it."
Trying to appear cool, trying to hide my shaking hands, I pulled out all my bills and handed them to Rabbit. I put the wallet back in my pocket.
"If I give you a name," Rabbit said, "it didn't come from me. You come back here with the cops, I don't know nothing, you understand?"
I nodded. I had no plans to return under any circumstances.
"The name is Stan."
"Stan?"
"You heard me. I saw a credit card in there. Give me the credit card."
It was brand new. I had just received it in the mail. "It won't do you any good. You won't be able to use it." Reason with him. He's not such a bad guy.
"Give me the fuckin' credit card!"
He pulled something halfway out of his pocket. A gun. I took out my wallet again and gave him the credit card. I turned to walk away. One of the others blocked my path.
"Okay, I'm outta here," I said. Talk lightly. Breezily. I stepped to the side to walk around him. He stepped with me. Like a macabre dance.
"Let him go," Rabbit said, irritably.
"He might bring back the cops."
"He won't bring back the cops. He's a fuckin' tourist."
"I have to catch a plane," I said.
I stepped carefully around the guy and walked away, expecting to hear gunshots, expecting to feel bullets tearing into me with each jerky step I took.
Behind me I heard Rabbit say, "C'mon. I know where we can get cash for the card."
What next? I looked out the window of the plane, not seeing anything. I had called the credit card company. I had replenished my cash. Fortunately, they hadn't taken my ATM card. I had cut my financial losses, but what about my psychic losses?
The gangbangers I would get over, but being a Judas was not me. What if I did nothing? If Elma voted with James, I was in the clear. But what if she didn't? Chances are she wouldn't. According to my father, Arrow had convinced her to vote with him.
What would happen to me? What happened to Ned? Stan. Stan was the front man for James. He contracted with the killers. He knew where I lived.
Okay, go to the police. Tell them James paid to have Ned murdered. Right. James, one of the most influential men in San Francisco. And me without a shred of evidence.
Why did James have Ned killed? Because Ned owed him. Probably lost The Game and promised to deliver Dionysus to him. Then reneged. That's what happens to people who don't keep their promises to James.