11: Crime SuspenStory

OUR STORY SO FAR: Jimmy Vaughn's work is done: the rat is gone and discipline has been reestablished within the ranks. Meanwhile the Vice squad is preparing for the McCarthy Paint's Christmas party.  

Based on true events.

Twenty minutes passed and neither of them said anything. Oscar got Tek to bring him a whisky and sipped it, eyeing the few people that went in and out the door while Vaughn simply stared at the wall. The older man barely blinked or sipped his water, he seemed to be sleeping sitting up with his eyes open, meditating in a way that allowed him to tune out the television, the talk, everything around them.
He finally moved when Pat came up the stairs with an envelope and handed it off to him. Vaughn held it in his hand, weighing it,  before slipping it into the inside pocket of his sports jacket. Pat retreated back down stairs and Oscar got up to make his way to the exit when Vaughn grabbed his arm.
“I want to get a drink,” he said.
Oscar nodded and stepped back towards the bar.
“No. Somewhere else,” Vaughn said.
He led the way out the door and Oscar followed. They made their way up the street, the lights bright off the wet pavement. They reached the next bar and Oscar began through the door before Vaughn stopped him again and said: “Not here. Too many.”
He didn’t say “people” but Oscar knew what he meant. They continued down Columbus before Vaughn turned along Jackson. He headed towards a little hole in the wall, forgotten among the shops and walk up hotels. It was a cramped little room with three tables smashed together and some wooden chairs. The bartender was leaning against the bar reading the paper, ignoring the two old men and the woman at the other end. The woman was younger and covered in makeup, murmuring into the ear of one old man while the other looked on, red eyed and lazy, his head sagging into his chest.

“Two tequilas,” Vaughn said.

The bartender shifted from his paper and nodded. Vaughn looked over at Oscar and said: “Make it doubles. Two doubles of Cazadores.”

The bartender dragged himself over to the bottle, poured the drinks, then placed them in front of the two men. Vaughn and Oscar sat down at one of the tables, Oscar sipping at the tequila, wishing he had whisky. Vaughn held the drink up and eyed it for a moment before throwing it all down his throat with a flip of the wrist. He coughed briefly into his fist before leaning back in his chair, his body going slack as he breathed out.

“You shouldn’t let people talk to you like that,” he said, motioning for the bartender to bring another round.

“Who?” Oscar said.

“The mick. You can’t let no one talk to you like that. Other people see it and they lose respect.”

Oscar finished his drink, another was placed on the table.

“Just bring the bottle,” Vaughn said, handing over a wad of cash.

The bartender fingered through the money before skirting off. Oscar resigned himself to the fact that he was stuck and sat back in his chair. He said: “Sure.”

“Don’t sure me,” Vaughn muttered and threw back his second shot. “All you got in this business is your reputation. You got to have that. If you don’t have brains then you better have something. Brains will keep you out of jail and keep you working but a reputation keeps you alive.”

The bartender placed the bottle on the table, positioning it an equal distance between the two men.

“I just do the work and try to keep my head down,” Oscar said.

“You can do that. I’ve seen guys try. But it won’t lead anywhere and you’ll wash up quick.”

Vaughn refilled both of their glasses.

“What happens if you get hurt?” he asked the younger man.

“I got health insurance through the paint store.”

Vaughn did his third shot and shook his head.

“No, I mean real hurt. Hurt to where you're no use to nobody.”

“I’ve thought of that.”

“Have you?” Vaughn muttered.

“I’ll be out before something like that happens.”

Vaughn grinned at him and said: “And when you get out what are you gonna do?”

“Open a store. Or  a bar or something.”

“With what money?”

Oscar didn’t answer. He looked over at the two old men and the woman and wished he could leave.

“Exactly,” Vaughn went on. “That’s the kicker. You ought’a be moving up in Leo’s thing, he thinks you're capable enough. You just have to keep your reputation solid and not take any bullshit from these guys. Tough bastards come a dime a dozen. A crew like Leo’s needs more smart guys and a smart guy’s gonna think about his future too.”

Oscar nodded just slightly and Vaughn refilled both their glasses.

****

Claudia couldn’t help but listen to the people talk. She had nothing to do but sit there with the drink in her hand, holding the red purse. It was a man and a woman, both a little younger than her, and they both chatted about inane worthless things for the first few minutes. It was all superficial but Claudia sensed the tension in the tone of their voices. The man got quieter, asked how the woman had been and how things were. His tone shifted and it told Claudia the story. These two had been together, they had a history, one they dodged through superficial small talk. Soon the man would try to delve into it, probably in hopes of rekindling what once had been. Claudia could tell from the woman’s tone that he had no chance.

Claudia sipped her beer and tuned them out. She took another look around the bar, recapping, making sure she had got a good shot of everything. She had made her way around the room thoroughly when she first came in, acting like she was taking a close inspection of the Guinness posters, the framed newspaper clippings, while the purse filmed the bar and the tables and the doors and the hallway to the restrooms. She put her beer down, acted like she was reading a text message on her phone, while pushing the purse along the bar so the eye took in the pool tables and the juke box, all the exits.

It wasn’t upscale like the restaurant McCarthy owned in the Marina but it wasn’t a dive either. It had a beautiful hand carved bar and fish tank built into the wall. It was hidden away, low key, allowing for Leo to have all of his ‘associates’ come out and interact together, even those he would probably rather not be seen with, or they with him.

That night it was filled sparsely, twenty and thirty something hipsters who played pool and talked about bands. The next night it would be filled with criminals and strippers and the SFPD’s own little witness in the middle of it.

Claudia slyly pushed the purse down the bar, closer to the couple sitting next to her. She could tell from their body language that they had broken through the wall of small talk, getting down into the unfinished business, gesturing with their hands. The man was tall, with a beard, and he did most of the talking until the woman cut him short and threw a string of words back at him.

Claudia almost missed those sort of interactions, those dates, the confrontations. She didn’t miss the insecurity, mostly from the man, the resentment of her work and who she was. There was a degree of melancholy that budded inside her but she washed it away with the last sip of beer.

She left the bar and walked down Harrison before cutting across the street and stepping into the alley where the van was parked. It read Bay City Plumbing along its side. Claudia rapped her knuckles on the rusty paint and Dan rolled back the sliding door. She placed the purse carefully down in the passenger seat, then joined Dan and Alex in the back where the gear and monitors were set up.

Even without the seats it was still cramped inside. Alex tapped away at one of the two keyboards laid out in front of him while Claudia and Dan both ducked down and squeezed in to view the screens.

“Does everything sound okay?” Claudia asked.

“There’s a lot of the purse moving around, you know what I mean?” Alex adjusted the knobs on one of the audio units while he spoke. “It’s a design thing and pretty sure I can mess with the cone of the mic and make it come out better.”

“But can you make out specific words?”

“I think so.”

“Play it back for her,” Dan said.

Alex hit a switch on one of the boards and two voices came out of speakers above the monitors. Claudia knew it must have been the voices of the people next to her at the bar. First the woman said: “I never wanted you to think that. That’s why I  disappeared. I didn’t know what to say to you.” The man let out a sigh before saying: “But you can’t do that to someone. I would rather know what’s going on and be in pain then be in the dark and just in as much in pain.” There was music coming from the jukebox in the background and Claudia felt strange that she had piped that moment between the two people into the van to Dan and Alex.

“How does everything look?” she asked.

“It’s dark in there but it’ll work. The iris adjusts automatically.”

“I tried to get a good shot of the bartender when I ordered. Did you notice that?”

“Yes. You could see him clear as day,” Dan assured her.

“Good.”

““We should go over the pictures with Judy again,” he said. “I’ll grab them up from the office before we pick the van up.”

Claudia eased herself back into the driver’s seat in the front of the van.

“We need to be very clear with her about getting shots of everybody she recognizes from the clubs. Especially this new guy. Anybody like that.”

Claudia moved her gaze toward Dan who nodded. There was no point in going on, discussing the odds against them and the inevitable disintegration of their case.

****

They had made it to their fourth bar when Vaughn pushed himself away and muttered that he had had enough. Both he and Oscar had consumed numerous drinks, and Vaughn staggered from side to side, his face locked into an iron expression of disinterest. Oscar found himself drunk as well, falling into the fourth bar, tasting bile in the back of his throat.

The bartender had gone into the back after serving them both a shot and a beer and Vaughn had slapped his glass down, raising one of his fingers.

“You can tell everything from a man’s eyes, you know that?” he slurred “You can tell everything he knows, everywhere he’s been, everywhere- from his eyes. You can see the fucking ambition.”

His own eyes blinked and seemed to sink back into their sockets.

“I’ve always been able to see. Somebody's telling me something. I can see from their eyes it’s not true. They might be the best God damn actor in the world but I’ll look them in their eye and see what’s what.”

He leaned against the bar and picked up one of the beers that the bartender had left for them.  Oscar was watching him, watching his face change as it sagged a bit, the mouth frowning as the eyes fell farther back.

“Except that lion. The one in the woods,” Vaughn said and stumbled farther from the bar.

His eyes rolled up, shifted at Oscar, and he grabbed the younger man by the the arm, pulling him closer.

“You remember; the fucking animal. The way it looked at us.”

Oscar nodded.

“The lion in the woods,” Vaughn said.

Oscar took another sweep around the room. It was still empty. The bartender was still away in the back.

“It looked at us. Something in it’s eyes.”

Vaughn’s own eyes were wide. He pointed passed Oscar, to where where the mountain lion had come into the clearing.

“I’ve never felt that, that look. We were the fucking prey. And the look in it’s eyes........”

He trailed off, holding his body up, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“It was like that thing knew something I didn’t.”

Vaughn stared out passed the clearing in his mind for a moment before bringing his gaze back to Oscar. He recognized the younger man again, and his face steeled back to the indifferent expression.

“Take me to the hotel,” he said.

Oscar flagged down a cab. When they pulled up Vaughn’s hotel he fell out onto the curb before staggering up the steps to the lobby. Oscar opened the door on his side of the cab and vomited into the street.

“You better not get none of that on my car now,” the driver said.

Oscar waved him off then vomited again.

“God damn it. You get your stinking ass out here now!”

The driver got out and came around, trying to grab Oscar’s arm. Oscar wiped his face, staring back at the man. The driver stopped, staggering a few steps back through some of the vomit, then returned to the front of the car and retrieved a bottle of pepper spray from under the seat.

“Get the hell out!” the cabby demanded.

Oscar didn’t protest, he opened the door and let himself out the other side, yanking a few bills out of his pocket that fluttered onto the seat folded and dead. The  driver tore off down California and disappeared. Oscar staggered back towards to his apartment, navigating his way through the blurred darkness. He closed his eyes when after falling into his bed and the spinning room disappeared. He fell instantly to sleep, thankful that he was too drunk to dream.