understand why he doesn’t want to run the gauntlet here, why he’s set on figuring out what’s behind it—beyond his own stupidity. Why he wants to come back dragging a perp or waving a psychiatric
record or digging up something more than just her name. But he’s only making things worse—a lot worse—not showing up here, not calling in, being the kind of irresponsible he’d ride a rookie out of the department for. What I’m saying is if he knows something about this case that he’s not reporting, he’ll get himself suspended and it’ll be what he deserves.”
I stopped, turned, was inches from his face. “You’ve already convicted him, haven’t you? He’s hiding out. He’s doing secret sleuthing. He’s too cowardly to come to work. Has it even occurred to you that something might have happened to him? Thought never crossed your mind, has it? I have no idea where he is. And I’m worried. It’s not like John, not at all.” My voice was quivering, dammit. Now this train of thought seriously frightened me. I pulled my arm free, turned, and nearly smacked into Chief of Detectives Broder.
I looked back at Korematsu, trying to deduce what was show for Broder and what was real.
He eased back a bit. His breathing was shallower, as if to allow more internal room for weighing options. But when he spoke his voice was unwavering and his eyes hard. “I’m going to give you time to get this message to him: if he gets himself in here by the end of the day, I’ll cover for him. I’ll work with him on this case. Do what you have to. No one’s going to be following you. He’s made enemies in the department, and a lot of guys will be happy to see him gone. No one’s got his back. I’m sticking my neck out, but I’m going to trust you.”
“Thank you,” I said so docilely a lesser man might have laughed. “I have no idea where to find him but I’ll do everything I can. He’s being an ass. He’ll be here by sundown.”
I walked to the street. If I could trust Korematsu then he was on very thin ice here. As for John, there was no way I could find him, even if I had intended to.
I wanted to get back to the zendo. But city running has its drawbacks and there was no good route, with some much worse than others. Hoping to clear my sinuses and my head, I opted for flat and headed back along Howard, on once seedy blocks now in the process of spiffification. I cut left onto the Embarcadero. There was one lead Korematsu might not think of.
I intended a quick stop at the zendo, but when I got there a note was on the door:
Come see me—now.
Renzo
“You read my mind, huh?” I said as I walked into his little café on the corner. Just one of the three tiny tables was empty. The bracing aroma of strong coffee and sweet pastry filled the space. I pulled out a chair, ready to wrap my finger around the handle of the little white cup.
Renzo caught my arm. “Outside.”
“Without coffee? What’s going on?”
He motioned me to the door. With his greyhound face and gray ponytail, he looked like he’d walked out of City Lights Books after hearing a young Ferlinghetti in 1960. His jacket—cleaned, pressed—was probably circa 1960. He held the door for me and I walked out and followed him down Pacific till we were clear of the café windows.
“That Korematsu,” he said, “he may be okay, but I don’t really know him. He comes in here getting coffee for you and it makes me uneasy. He looks like he’s on business.”
“He was.”
“Like I say, I don’t know him. I’ve been running this place for forty years. I know the city. I know the police. Korematsu may be okay but his boss—”
“Broder.”
“Yeah, Broder. He’s shifty.”
“He dislikes John.”
Renzo shrugged as if to say my point meant little in the greater scheme of things. “Broder’s father was a cop and his father before him. They were on the force back in the days when joining was a business investment. Grandpa made his money in
record or digging up something more than just her name. But he’s only making things worse—a lot worse—not showing up here, not calling in, being the kind of irresponsible he’d ride a rookie out of the department for. What I’m saying is if he knows something about this case that he’s not reporting, he’ll get himself suspended and it’ll be what he deserves.”
I stopped, turned, was inches from his face. “You’ve already convicted him, haven’t you? He’s hiding out. He’s doing secret sleuthing. He’s too cowardly to come to work. Has it even occurred to you that something might have happened to him? Thought never crossed your mind, has it? I have no idea where he is. And I’m worried. It’s not like John, not at all.” My voice was quivering, dammit. Now this train of thought seriously frightened me. I pulled my arm free, turned, and nearly smacked into Chief of Detectives Broder.
I looked back at Korematsu, trying to deduce what was show for Broder and what was real.
He eased back a bit. His breathing was shallower, as if to allow more internal room for weighing options. But when he spoke his voice was unwavering and his eyes hard. “I’m going to give you time to get this message to him: if he gets himself in here by the end of the day, I’ll cover for him. I’ll work with him on this case. Do what you have to. No one’s going to be following you. He’s made enemies in the department, and a lot of guys will be happy to see him gone. No one’s got his back. I’m sticking my neck out, but I’m going to trust you.”
“Thank you,” I said so docilely a lesser man might have laughed. “I have no idea where to find him but I’ll do everything I can. He’s being an ass. He’ll be here by sundown.”
I walked to the street. If I could trust Korematsu then he was on very thin ice here. As for John, there was no way I could find him, even if I had intended to.
I wanted to get back to the zendo. But city running has its drawbacks and there was no good route, with some much worse than others. Hoping to clear my sinuses and my head, I opted for flat and headed back along Howard, on once seedy blocks now in the process of spiffification. I cut left onto the Embarcadero. There was one lead Korematsu might not think of.
I intended a quick stop at the zendo, but when I got there a note was on the door:
Come see me—now.
Renzo
“You read my mind, huh?” I said as I walked into his little café on the corner. Just one of the three tiny tables was empty. The bracing aroma of strong coffee and sweet pastry filled the space. I pulled out a chair, ready to wrap my finger around the handle of the little white cup.
Renzo caught my arm. “Outside.”
“Without coffee? What’s going on?”
He motioned me to the door. With his greyhound face and gray ponytail, he looked like he’d walked out of City Lights Books after hearing a young Ferlinghetti in 1960. His jacket—cleaned, pressed—was probably circa 1960. He held the door for me and I walked out and followed him down Pacific till we were clear of the café windows.
“That Korematsu,” he said, “he may be okay, but I don’t really know him. He comes in here getting coffee for you and it makes me uneasy. He looks like he’s on business.”
“He was.”
“Like I say, I don’t know him. I’ve been running this place for forty years. I know the city. I know the police. Korematsu may be okay but his boss—”
“Broder.”
“Yeah, Broder. He’s shifty.”
“He dislikes John.”
Renzo shrugged as if to say my point meant little in the greater scheme of things. “Broder’s father was a cop and his father before him. They were on the force back in the days when joining was a business investment. Grandpa made his money in
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