He stared up the hill, weighing the choices. Finding Wink should have priority — he still had the gun he had presumably used to shoot the bodega’s owner — but evening in North Beach frankly appealed to Garreth far more than Wink’s turf. He had his sources keeping eyes and ears open, and as long as he was on his own time anyway…
He turned uphill.
Chinatown gave way to blocks of glittering, garish signs proclaiming the presence of countless clubs. Barkers paced the sidewalks, calling to passersby in a raucous chorus…beckoning, wheedling, leering, each promising the ultimate in exotic entertainment inside his club. Garreth absorbed it all, color and noise, as he threaded his way through the crowd…also keeping alert for unnecessary bumps against him and fingers in his pockets. He spotted some familiar faces…about the time they recognized him, too, and swiftly faded into the crowd.
He hailed a barker he had met on previous occasions. “How’s business, Sammy?”
“All over legal age, Inspector,” Sammy replied quickly. “Come on in and see the show, folks! All live action with the most gorgeous girls in San Francisco!”
“Any redheads, Sammy?”
Sammy eyed him. “Sure. Anything you want.”
“Maybe a very tall redhead, say five ten, with green eyes?”
The barker’s eyes narrowed. “This redhead got a name? Hey, mister!” he called to a passing couple. “Your timing is perfect. The show is about to start. Bring the little lady in and warm up together. What do you want her for, Mikaelian?”
“A date, Sammy. What else? Who do you know with that description? She sings in the area.”
Sammy laughed. “Are you kidding? We’ve got more showgirl redheads than the stores have Barbie dolls. Come on in and see the show, folks! Real adult entertainment, live on our stage! Our girls have curves in places most girls don’t have places, and they’ll show you every one!”
“I need names, Sammy,” Garreth said patiently.
Sammy sighed, not patiently. “Names. Who knows names? Try the Cul-de-Sac across the street. There’s a red-haired singer I seen there. And maybe in the Pussywillow, too. Now, will you move on, man? You’re spoiling my rhythm.”
Grinning, Garreth moved across the street into the Cul-de-Sac. Yes, a barmaid said when he ordered a rum and Coke, they had a red-haired singer. She came on after the dancer.
He sat down at the bar, which ran around the edge of the stage. A nearly-naked blonde dragged an enormous cushion out onto the stage and proceeded to writhe on it in simulated ecstasy. In the midst of her throes, she rolled over, saw Garreth watching her with amusement, and said in a bored monotone, “Hi, honey. And what’s your day been like?”
“About like yours, unfortunately, hours wasted grinding away at thin air,” he replied.
A fleeting grin crossed the blonde’s face.
The singer appeared presently. Garreth left. The redhead’s hair color was bottle-bred brass and she looked old enough to have sung on the Barbary Coast itself.
He talked to barkers on down the street, collecting a notebook full of possibilities, but checking them out, he found women with the wrong color of red, wrong height, and wrong age. In two hours he checked over a dozen clubs with no success and stood on the sidewalk outside of the last with an ache working its way up from his feet. He looked around, seeking inspiration.
“Hi, baby. All alone?” a husky voice asked behind him.
Garreth turned. A woman in her thirties with elaborately curled dark hair arched a plucked, painted eyebrow at him. “Hi, Velvet,” he said. Her real name, he knew from busting her when he worked Patrol, was Catherine Bukato, but on the street and with the johns, she always went by Velvet. “How’s your daughter?”
Velvet smiled. “Almost twelve and more beautiful every day. My mother sends me pictures of her regularly. I may even go home to see her this winter. You up here working or playing tonight?”
“I’m looking for a woman.”
Velvet hitched the shoulder strap of her handbag higher. “You’re playing my song, baby.”
“The woman I want is red-haired, young, and very tall. Taller than I am. She sings somewhere around here. Would you happen to know anyone like that?”
Velvet’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “I tell you what. My feet are killing me. Why don’t you play like a john who has to work up his courage? Buy me a drink where I can sit down for a while and I’ll think on it.”
Garreth smiled. “Pick somewhere.”
She chose the nearest bar and they found seats in a rear booth. She ordered, then kicked off her shoes and stretched her legs out, propping her feet up on the seat on the far side of the booth.
She closed her eyes. “That’s what I needed. You know, for a cop you’re almost human, Mikaelian.”
“Every Thursday night.” In the right quarters, inexpensive kindness could reap valuable benefits. Velvet’s sharp eyes and ears missed little on the street.
A fact she knew he knew. Opening her eyes, she said, “So let me pay for the drink. Who’s this woman you’re looking for?”
Garreth gave her a detailed description.
Velvet’s drink came. She sipped it slowly. “Tall? A singer? Yeah, I’ve seen someone like that. I can’t remember where, though. What did she rip off?”
“I just want to talk to her.”
Velvet’s drawn brows rose again, skeptical. “Oh, sure.”
“If you have a chance, will you ask around? Its important I find her.”
Velvet eyed him a moment, but then nodded. “How can I refuse someone who always asks about my kid? You have a kid, Mikaelian?”
“An eight-year-old boy named Brian.”
For the remainder of the time it took her to finish her drink, they talked children and showed each other the pictures they carried. As Garreth handed back Velvet’s snapshot of her daughter, the prostitute started to laugh.
“What’s funny?” Garreth asked.
Her teeth gleamed in the dimness of the bar. “What a pair we are, a cop and a hooker, sitting in a bar talking about our kids.” She drained her glass, sighed, and fished around under the table for her shoes. “Well, time to go back to work. Thanks for the coffee break.”
They headed for the door.
“I hope this won’t make trouble for you with Richie, getting nothing for the time,” Garreth said.
She looked up at him. “Look, if it isn’t too much trouble, maybe you could give me a little something, a kind of advance on information I’m going to give you? It’ll help with Richie.”
He dug into his pocket for his billfold and came up with two tens. “One for Richie Soliere and one for you to buy something for your daughter, all right?”
She folded away the bills with a smile. “Thanks a lot.” Then she tossed her head and dropped back into her husky “professional” voice. “Good night, baby.”
He watched her walk off into the crowd, then counted what remained in his billfold. The impulsive generosity had nearly cleaned him out. It would make the rest of the swing through North Beach a dry trip. He hoped Velvet gave him a good return on his investment.
3
Rob Cohen raised a brow at Garreth. “That’s the third time you’ve yawned in the last five minutes. You single guys sure lead a fast life.”
Harry regarded Garreth sharply, however. “You worked all night after all?”
Garreth shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.” He gave Harry a recap of the North Beach canvas. “It was a waste of good shoe leather, though; I didn’t find her.”
“Maybe you’re lucky. Your hexagram this morning was number forty-four, Coming to Meet. ‘The maiden is powerful. One should not marry such a maiden.’”