Viz’s gunning motor filled the silence.
“I got around him.”
“Toby,” Gage said, “keep Comb-Over there.”
“I’ll make a show of brewing up a new pot.”
“Viz. First get the license plate of the Corona, then set up to follow him.”
“Shit,” Toby said. “I gotta go. He just got up and is heading my way.”
G age spotted Viz’s blue-green Yukon at Geary near Thirty-third Avenue as he pulled up to the corner of Thirty-second. Viz was parked facing west, four cars ahead of the Corona, at a meter in front of a Russian bakery. Gage slipped into a space next to a Chinese produce market.
“What’s cooking?” Gage asked Viz over his cell.
“Nothing. He’s just drinking his coffee. Lots of it.” Viz laughed. “Like it’ll grow hair on his head.”
“You get the plate?”
“I called it in to Alex Z. It’s registered to a John, normal spelling, Porzolkiewski… Por-zol-kiew-ski. Normal spelling.”
“You win the spelling bee for today. Where’s he live?”
“The car’s registered to a P.O. box downtown. But Alex Z did some database searches and found a street address, a house on Seventeenth Ave about a mile south of Golden Gate Park.”
Gage saw Viz lean toward his window and peer into the side-view mirror.
“Boss. Two guys in a blue Ford Explorer came charging up and pulled in behind you, three cars back. Neither got out.”
“What do they look like?”
“Too much reflection on their windshield, but the guy drives hard like a cop. What do you want to do?”
“Sit tight until I find out whether they’re tailing me or are here on something else.”
“What should I do about Comb-Over?”
“If they’re following me, let him go. I don’t want them making a connection between him and us.”
Gage put a couple of quarters into the meter, then strolled along the storefronts past Viz’s truck. He took a right onto Thirty-third, walking by pastel stucco bungalows and two-story apartment buildings. When he neared the end of the block, he climbed the steps onto the recessed landing of a duplex, then called Viz.
“The passenger walked up to Thirty-third and peeked around,” Viz said. “He crossed the street to get a view down the block, probably trying to see where you stopped, then went into that kosher market.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Late thirties, blond hair, six feet, plus or minus, Levi’s, oversized plaid workshirt.”
“Cop or ex-cop?”
“My guess he’s ex. He’s wearing the 1990s undercover uniform.”
“What’s he doing now?”
“Pretending to take an interest in the after-Rosh Hashanah sale items in the window as he keeps an eye on the street.” Viz chuckled. “I never would have guessed. He seems like a mayonnaise and white bread kind of guy.”
“I’ve been up here long enough,” Gage said, then walked back down the steps. “I’m heading your way. Hit me when he comes out of the market.”
Gage’s cell phone rang as he walked on Geary back toward his car.
“He’s thirty yards behind you,” Viz said, prompting Gage to duck into a liquor store to let the man pass. After buying a soda to make the stop seem authentic, rather than countersurveillance, he continued walking to his car.
“I’ll drive back toward the financial district,” Gage said, pulling into the street, “but I’ll loop around and lead them by you first.”
The Explorer remained five car lengths behind him as he passed by Viz and circled the block.
“I’m almost back to Geary,” Gage told Viz. “Get ready. We’ll be coming by you in about thirty seconds.”
Viz turned his ignition, then asked, “Why are they following you?”
“My guess? It’s either Charlie or an antitrust case I’m working on.”
Gage paused in the intersection to let traffic pass, then turned onto Geary, driving east slow enough for the Explorer to catch up. He glanced over at Viz’s Yukon. Viz was staring down toward his floorboard where he had anchored a six-inch monitor fed by a camera hidden in his oversized side mirror. He controlled it by a joystick attached to his steering column.
“Got ’em,” Viz said.
“How’s the reflection?”
“Son of a bitch.”
Gage saw Viz jerk his hand up to cover the left side of his face as the Explorer approached, then lower his head as if he was reaching for something on the floor.
“What is it?”
“A scumbag named Boots Marnin is driving.”
“Who’s he?”
“Ex-DEA. Started about the same time as me.”
“Did he see you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why scumbag?”
“He got indicted for taking kickbacks from an informant he put on the payroll. About two hundred grand.” Viz sat up after the Explorer passed. “Boots would get a lead on where some dope was and feed the information to the informant. He’d then use the guy as his snitch, seize the dope, and apply to Washington for a reward for the informant-”
“And they’d divide up the money.”
“Right. Until he got caught.”
Gage watched his rearview mirror as he drove. The Explorer was gone. “What’s going on?” Gage asked.
“Boots dropped out. He pulled into the Jack in the Box lot.”
“I don’t see anybody close enough behind who could stay with me.” Gage looked ahead. “I think they may have someone in front of me. Maybe the brown Ford Taurus. It has a hesitant feel about it.”
Gage watched the Taurus slow, then pull into the curb lane. Gage took the hint and passed it. The Taurus kept slowing until it was half a block behind Gage, then matched his speed.
“You’re out of my view, even with the zoom,” Viz said. “Where are you headed?”
“Down to the marina, then along Fisherman’s Wharf to see if any other cars are involved.”
“What about Comb-Over?”
“We’re going to have to let him go for now.”
Gage checked his mirror again. The Taurus was still matching his twenty-nine miles an hour.
“So, how’d Boots get caught?” Gage asked.
“His partner figured out the informant couldn’t be in two places at the same time, comatose from an OD in the county hospital and in the Hip Sing Tong basement watching China white heroin being cut. Boots got two years in the federal pen. Out eight years ago. I thought he went back to Texas. I’m surprised to see him around here.”
“Call Alex Z. Give him everything you’ve got on Boots and the license plates of the Explorer and Taurus. Then head back to the office and get the van. Call me when you’re ready and I’ll lead him up the Embarcadero so you can get behind him.”
“I think you’re reading him right, boss, he was always too arrogant to look over his shoulder. That’s why he got caught.”
“Have somebody else drive so he doesn’t spot you.”
“How long should we stay with him?”
“Until you’re sure you know where we can find him when the time comes to kick in his door.”
Chapter 16
What rhymes with Porzolkiewski?” Alex Z said as he walked into Gage’s third floor office.
“Don’t tell me you’re trying to work it into a song,” Gage said, looking up from his desk.
“Just practice. I’m thinking if I could find a rhyme for a name like Porzolkiewski, I could find one for anything.”
Gage checked his watch. Six forty-five P.M.
“Isn’t it past going-home time?”
“Sorta. We’ve got the first of a week of gigs at Slim’s tonight. I figure I’ll keep working until we have to go set up. Shakir the night owl will be here, too. I’m letting him work from 6 P.M. until 3 A.M. ”
Gage’s phone beeped with a text message. He glanced at it. It was from Viz telling him he’d run the surveillance car license plates by Spike. They were both stolen.
Alex Z sat down in a chair across from Gage. He slid a binder across the desk and kept a matching one for himself.
“That’s what I’ve got so far on Comb-Over,” Alex Z said. “Pretty tragic life. Wife died of cancer. Son died in an explosion over at the TIMCO refinery about fourteen years ago. Kid was an engineering student at Cal, working a summer job when it happened.”