After I finished my steak and beer, I went off in search of a place to stay for the night. Usually, Josh would arrange something prior to me arriving, but I said to him I’d like to have a look around the city, so I’d sort it myself.
As always, my idea of tourism only got me as far as the nearest bar… I found a place that served Bud and had a baseball game on the TV, so I sat down for an hour or so, relaxed, and had a drink. Or two…
For a brief moment, I decided to get my ass in gear and find somewhere to stay, so I left some money on the table, went outside, and jumped on the first cable car that passed by. I traveled through another part of the city, up a steep hill and eventually got off near the Chinatown district.
The first building I saw was another bar…
And here I am. I’m just finishing my sixth beer. This place I’m in is nice — the décor’s warm and relaxing. Not my usual scene, but it’s quiet, and I’m actually enjoying soaking up the culture around here. The waitress comes over to collect my empty bottles and I pay my tab with her, leaving her a ten percent tip.
I really should find somewhere to stay tonight. I need to be in top form for the job tomorrow, and getting drunk and not sleeping well isn’t the way forward. I take out my phone. I’ll call Josh and ask him to find me somewhere…
Actually, wait… No — he’ll shout at me for getting drunk without him.
No, I’ll sort it.
I finish my drink, pick up my bag and leave the bar, stepping outside and taking in a deep breath of the cool, night air. It’s dark but the streetlights are doing their job. I head left, which I’m hoping will lead me toward the main street in the district, where I’m more likely to find somewhere to stay.
I walk on for five minutes or so and start to notice the buildings seem to be getting smaller and more run down. Every other store seems to be a Chinese supermarket or a pawn shop…
Hmmm, maybe should’ve gone right out of the bar…
I approach a particular pawn shop and consider going inside to ask directions. There are two guys standing outside, whispering to each other conspicuously. I walk past and look through the window. There’s an old Chinese guy behind a counter, reading a newspaper. He’s wearing a vest that I imagine at one time in the distant past used to be white.
No, I can’t see him being all that helpful. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere soon.
I walk on, but one of the two guys at the door steps in front of me. He’s tall and thin, wearing a jacket three sizes too big for him. I see part of a tattoo crawling up the side of his neck that I guess covers part of his chest too. His baseball cap is on backward.
“Yo… help you?” he asks.
Assholes are assholes, wherever you may be…
“I’m good, thanks,” I say.
I’m not in the mood for a confrontation. I know, I know — that’s not like me at all. But I’m a little tired and a bit drunk, and just want to find a bed for the night.
“You sure?” asks his friend, stepping out and standing just behind my left shoulder.
I glance back at him. He’s dressed in similarly over-sized clothes, but without a hat. He has a tattoo on the side of his shaved head that looks like a flame.
“Pretty sure,” I reply, nodding.
“You look lost, man…”
I shrug. “Is being lost the same as not knowing where you’re going?”
The two guys exchange slightly confused looks.
“Whatever, man,” continues the first guy. “What you got in that bag of yours?”
I sigh.
Well, we all know where this is going…
Fine, have it your way.
“What bag?” I reply.
“The one on your shoulder,” says the second guy.
I look back at him, taking a small side step to my right so the two of them are in front of me.
“What shoulder?” I say to him.
They look at each other again and puff their chests out. They frown and glare at me angrily, preparing for violence.
“Yo, are you stupid, old man?” asks the first guy.
I frown.
Me? Old?
“Since when is forty-two old, dickwad?” I ask, slightly offended.
The second guy taps his friend on the shoulder. “Let’s fuck him up, bro. I’m getting tired of this bullshit.”
“Fellas,” I say. “Trust me. You don’t want to do this.”
“Oh yeah? And why’s that, old man?”
I drop my bag on the floor. As expected, they both momentarily glance at it. Which means, for a split second, they’re not looking at me.
Idiots…
I whip my right leg forward, kicking the guy on my left hard in the gut. As he doubles over, I spin around counter-clockwise, coming round and slamming my left elbow into his temple, aiming it perfectly and dropping him to the floor.
I come to a stop facing the first guy, who’s frozen to the spot with shock. With my left, I throw a stiff jab, hitting him flush on the nose. It doesn’t break, but it hurts him and makes his eyes water. As he clutches his face, I launch the same right kick to his gut as well. He sinks to his knees from the impact, wincing in pain and unsure where to put his hands. I step forward, slamming my right knee into his nose. This time, it breaks. He falls to the side, out cold.
I take a few deep breaths to compose myself and retrieve my bag. As I stand up, the door to the shop opens and the old Chinese guy comes out. He’s short, maybe five feet tall, if that. He’s bald on top with long gray hair on the sides. In addition to his vest, he has brown trousers on that are too short, finishing just above his ankles.
He looks at the two guys on the floor, then at me. He seems pissed.
“What the fuck you doing?” he yells. I can barely understand him.
I shrug. “They tried to rob me,” I say.
“You any idea who they work for?” he rants.
I shake my head.
“Oh, you fucking dead man!”
He turns and walks back into his shop, slamming the door behind him and leaving me standing on the street, a little unsure as to what just happened. I glance through the window and see him talking animatedly on the phone to someone.
Well, that was weird.
I set off walking to the end of the street. I look left and right, seeing the sign for a hotel a little farther along, on the right.
Finally…
2
I’m sitting on the edge of the fountain in the center of Fulton Street, facing the Civic Center Plaza. It’s mid-morning, and the hustle and bustle of the rush hour crush is dying down. It’s another bright day, complimented by another cool breeze. I’ve been sitting here about quarter of an hour, composing myself before my meeting with Blake.
I look around, taking in the sights that the city has to offer. I’ve never actually been to San Francisco, so it’s nice to be a tourist as well as an assassin. To my left is the Public Library; on my right, the Asian Art Museum. Both are large, picturesque buildings that flank the street on both sides.
Directly ahead of me, across the Plaza, is City Hall — which is where I’m heading for my meeting. It’s a huge, lavish building made of brilliant white brick, which must be a pain to keep as clean as it is. It sports a decorative dome on the roof, which is a gray silver color with golden decorations all the way around and up to the top. Because it’s such a sunny day, the light is reflecting off the building making it all the more impressive to look at.
I set off walking, crossing over Polk Street, and stroll through the Plaza. Trees adorn either side, forming a walkway of sorts toward the front doors of City Hall. I've dressed for the part. I’m wearing beige trousers and a plain light-blue shirt, with brown shoes and a matching brown, leather laptop bag. To finish off the look of a career journalist, I’ve opted for an unfastened navy blue jacket.