He put the note into his shirt pocket and folded his arms across his chest.
“Please, Mike, will you help me find Caesar?”
“I can’t take you into an area like that. Thanks for the information. Now go home and let the police handle it.”
“You won’t know if you find the right man. I have to go with you.”
“Forget it. I said, this is a police situation. The police will handle it. Got it?” He stood up and headed for the bar. I followed.
He ordered another beer.
“Please, Mike,” I said, standing beside him.
“Do it, Flint,” I heard behind me. “Or move over and let me do it for you.”
Flint didn’t acknowledge the comment. He was watching a gaggle of young latinas who had just come in the door, all dressed up, looking for a good time.
“Mike?” I said.
“I’ve said all I have to say to you.” He picked up his beer. “I’m on my own time now. I’ve been waiting for the El Sereno bus all night. Now it’s here. I’m a busy man. Catch you later.” His step was none too steady as he walked over to greet the new material.
A glass of wine appeared on the bar in front of me. I turned and looked at the owner of the hand attached to it. He was tall, maybe forty, with nice eyes and a starched collar.
“You look like white wine to me,” he said. “Fine white wine. Sorry this is the best I can offer you.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Jack Riley,” he said, touching the tip of my finger. “Known Flint long?”
“Since yesterday.” I noticed Mike was watching me. Riley rested a foot on the brass rail under the bar. I put the toe of my shoe next to his, letting the coat and the skirt fall away from my leg. Riley was too close to see anything, but I knew Mike did. He turned his back.
“Thanks for the wine, Jack,” I said. “I have to go.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he said. He smiled. “Merry Christmas.” “Merry Christmas to you,” I said, smiling back as I stepped away from the bar. “Your white wine line is a good one. Keep it.”
He laughed and gave me a thumbs up. On my way out the door, I turned and saw him giving the same glass to a young woman officer who was sitting all alone by the rock garden doors.
Flint had quickly involved himself with a pair from the El Sereno bus. There was nothing more I could say to him-he had made that clear.
I felt bad, I felt cheap. I just opened the door and walked out.
The rain had let up some, but the wind whipped it into a stinging mist that hit me in the face, made me even more miser-able. I struggled against the wind as I picked my way back down to Max’s car. Before I did anything else, I planned to stop at Emily’s and change. And I vowed that I would never again wear sequins.
I ducked into Max’s car, but the wind pulled against the open door and I had to get out to pull it shut. I was just getting back in when Mike Flint reached out through the dark and grabbed the door.
“Slide over,” he said, and pushed his way inside.
“Slide over” is also a great line, or was before bucket seats. I didn’t slide over, I clambered over the console and cellular phone apparatus. It was a less than graceful progress. After some tugging and pulling, I managed to rearrange myself in the passenger seat.
I ejected the tape in the tapedeck and handed it to Mike. He sat looking at it and not at me.
“Last night,” I said, “things may have gotten out of hand when we went back to the Bonaventure. I was terribly upset and I got a little drunk. You had been very nice about everything, Mike. Very sympathetic. I want you to know the reason I went along with you later. The only reason.”
“Yeah?”
I put my hand on his arm. I wanted to.”
Finally, he looked at me. He had a sheepish grin. “The only reason I got so pissed when you took the tape was, I really liked being with you.”
“Good.” I touched the soft little hairs at the back of his neck and kissed his cheek. “Will you take me back to Emily’s so I can get out of these clothes?”
“You don’t waste much time with the preliminaries, do you?”
I laughed. “I have to change before we go down to Skid Row.”
“That again? Maggie, it’s just a plain old bad idea for you to go down there. I have a loaded Roscoe and two extra clips on my belt, but I’m not sure that would be enough if something went down.”
“It’s late. Everyone I saw on San Pedro Street was either asleep or bombed, or otherwise out of his mind. How much harm can they do us when they can hardly walk?”
“Plenty. You wouldn’t go down there alone, would you?”
“I may be a pain in the ass, but I’m not stupid,” I said. “Mike, I know this man, Caesar, went to the Weingart Center tonight. He was turned away because he was drunk. So he’s probably still in the neighborhood. Please. I’m so afraid we’ll lose him if we don’t move fast.”
Mike rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “He seems to be a local. Be easier to find him in the morning.”
“I had a date with my sister at four o’clock yesterday afternoon, and she didn’t make it. I’d hate for something to happen to Caesar before we could talk to him.”
“Okay,” he sighed. He opened the door and started to get out. “You win. Let’s go.”
“Go where? It’s too wet to walk.”
“I told you, this is police business. If we’re going, we’re going in my car.”
Chapter Fourteen
“I don’t know what you were afraid of, Mike,” I said. It was just after midnight and we were walking around Skid Row, looking for our contact, a hooker named Latonya. “Everyone’s so gosh darn friendly.”
“Sure, you’re with The Man,” he chuckled. “But you never know. Things can turn ugly in a hurry.”
“Evenin’, officer.” A passing loony tipped his hat. A fifty-one-fifty Flint would have called him, mental incompetent. “Evenin’, ma’am.”
“See,” I said to Mike. “Nice as pie.”
“Uh huh.” He nudged a body sprawled across the sidewalk. When the body roused, Mike gave him another nudge and ordered, “Get to steppin’.”
The body scuttled away.
“What would you have done if that man hadn’t gotten up?” I asked.
“Called the coroner to bring the scoop.”
“Assuming that the man was dead.”
Mike swaggered just a little. “The only reason he wouldn’t have gotten up was if he was dead.”
“You’re some tough guy, Flint.” I laughed.
“So you keep telling me. But down here, I’m the only law west of the Pecos.”
He made me laugh again. We had walked about three blocks through scuzz that made the Inferno look like the Home Show.
Looking for Latonya. Flint told me she was an old friend of his. I didn’t want to ask how close a friend, or anything else about her. She had left word for me at the Weingart that she knew where Caesar was cooped for the night and had heard there was twenty dollars in it.
Seventh Street and Wall was her home corner, according to Mike. She seemed to be away on business when we came calling. So we were just moseying around, staying visible until she came back.
As we walked, Flint, The Man, the police, cut a wide swath. No one molested us or panhandled us with very much conviction. I had this great sensation of power just being with him. Besides, he was great company, one outrageous war story after another.
As we turned off Wall Street, a monstrously obese woman barreled down upon us. She had YO BABY YO spray-painted on her short-cropped hair.
“Officer, officer,” she wailed. “He’s stealin’ all my stuff.”
“Who is?”
“My boyfriend. See him? He’s takin’ all my stuff.”
Indeed, a youngish man was snatching dark-looking garments out of a shopping cart that had been spilled onto the weedy verge. Flint just shook his head. “Why is he taking your stuff?”
“He’s gonna sell it. He says I owe him money.”