6: Crime SuspenStory

OUR STORY SO FAR: Detective Claudia DeLa Cruz has twenty four hours to find another witness to help build her case against Leo McCarthy and his vast San Francisco vice empire. Meanwhile, two of McCarthy's bagmen, Oscar Rayne and Pat McCarthy, drink their way through a brief break from their duties, which include finding Bill Rodasavitch, their comrade and the chief suspect in the recent robbery of one of McCarthy's gambling dens.
Based on true events.
Rollins spent over an hour inside the Catnip Club and then drove over to a dry cleaner. He emerged holding a few hangers with the clothes wrapped in plastic, flapping in the breeze. Claudia followed in her car almost a half block behind as he drove to Potrero Hill and parked. She continued around the block, only to find his car vacant when she came back around. She circled the block again but there was no sign of him. When she came around the third time she found an open spot six or seven cars behind the Mercedes and parked.
She sat for four hours, taking one break to sneak over to a café two blocks down for a coffee and to pee. She kept the radio on, switching to different talk radio stations until she was too annoyed and switched it off all together. Some kids were playing catch in front of an apartment house across the street and a man was working on a car in his open garage next to them. They didn’t seem to notice the Ford sitting on the block with the same woman in it for most of the day.
Claudia began to get the same feeling she had picked up on in other tails and stake outs; the irrepressible sensation that she was no longer a person with a life but a being whose whole existence was based on another person. There was a concentrated irritation that bubbled inside her from the fact that the person she had to base her time and every move on was a certified low life; in this case a probable pimp, drug dealer, scum.
But amongst the irritation lingered a sense of comfort and familiarity to sitting in the car with the low winter heat beating through the windshield, the world carrying on beyond her. The work had taken all the energy and time she could give it, blanketing all corners of her life. It had been almost two years since Keegan had moved out, and while there was still regret lingering in the empty apartment when she came home it was also a comfort that the work still filled her hours and balanced her out in a way that Keegan or any other man probably never would. The work protected her from all the other life that she sometimes found tiresome and too confusing, and she let it continue to protect her without looking too deeply into it.
Her phone rang and she saw it was Dan. She knew speaking to him would only irritate her more. She ignored the call, letting it go to voice mail. It rang again. She let it go until it rang a third time and she decided to answer with the hope of good news.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been thinking-“
Dan paused there, allowing for the confession that he had been “thinking” to sink in.
“And?” Claudia asked.
“Why don’t we just go with these raids? If we ask they probably would have us lead on it. We are the primaries on this.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Claudia’s tone had gone cold.
“Don’t react like that. I knew you were gonna do that,” Dan said.
“Do what?”
“Freak out if I brought this up.”
Claudia took a deep breath and closed her eyes, it helped a little bit.
“Then why even suggest it? Why would we flush all that work down the drain?”
“How is it flushing it down the drain? They say Ferris is going to be the front runner this year. If we offer up what we have someone is sure to look out for us.”
“What the does that have to do with the work we’ve done?”
“Everything. It means it didn’t all go to waste,” he said.
“If Leo McCarthy slips out of it then it all did go to waste.”
“Jesus Claudia. It’s time to get realistic about this thing. Schonberg said that without another witness they were sure to go ahead with the raids. We might as well get on board.”
“I’m not giving up that easy,” she said.
“We have one day to get a witness.”
“I’m working on it.”
“I knew you met the girl this morning. Where are you now?”
“Potrero Hill. I’m on Marvin Rollins.”
“With the intention of…?
“I don’t know yet.”
“Jesus Claudia. It’s our day off.”
“This is what I like to do in my spare time Dan. Are you going to be around if I need you?”
“To do what?”
“Like I said, I don’t know yet.”
“I’m going to pick Sarah up from school and take her to her swimming because Jeannie is doing her class. That’s in an hour then I was thinking-“
Rollins came out of an entrance to one of the flats smoking a cigarette, the derby cap pulled low on his head. He made his way across the street towards the Mercedes.
“I’ve got to go,” Claudia interrupted.
“What happened?”
“He’s on the move. Keep your phone close.”
She hung up and turned the car on, watching Rollins steer the Mercedes out on to the street and down to the intersection before pulling out herself and following.

****

Pat and Oscar had a few drinks in Paradise Isle until Shari showed up and berated Pat into leaving. They made their way through North Beach and then stopped at a pub with seating outside so Pat could smoke. Pat mixed whisky with beer while Oscar stuck to the beer. They didn’t talk much. Pat made a comment periodically and Oscar would reply and then they would sip their beers.

They grabbed pizza at Golden Boy and then walked across Broadway into China Town, Oscar walking with long protracted strides and Pat beginning to stagger a bit. They went into Lai Po on Grant and Pat forced Oscar into moving to whisky by ordering two rounds. They sat down in a booth and their talk became looser.
“This guy’s going to come in here and tell me what to do? Really?” Pat shifted his eyes around the room as he spoke with the glass of whisky near his lips. “I’ve been working for my uncle since I was a kid. You have too, ever since I brought you by the store. And now we got sit there and take orders from some asshole that shows up and starts telling everybody how it is? You kidding me?”
“He’s doing his job,” Oscar said.
“Which is what? Nobody’s gonna give the Croat up. You know that. For five thousand dollars?”
“Why not?”
“Because everybody knows the fuckers gonna kill him,” Pat spat out, shifting his eyes from the booth again.
“You sure about that?
“C’mon. Leo’s gonna go out of town because he wants some guy to talk to us? What’s this guy Vaughn supposed to be? A fucking motivational speaker?”
“But Bill didn’t take the money,” Oscar said.
“You’re this guy Vaughn’s right hand man for Christ’s sake,” Pat looked at Oscar sideways. “You know the score. Who else is gonna have done it? Everybody else has been cleared up.”
A group of men and women paraded by the booth, the men dressed in suits, the women well dressed and perfumed, laughing and carrying on. Oscar swallowed his whisky and waited until the group was settled a few booths down before speaking.
“How was everybody else cleared?” he asked.
“We went through all of the Duck’s video with the guy. The Croat is the only one that didn’t show up in the video leaving.”
“So what?”
“So what? You gonna tell me that the Croat just happened to take the garage exit on the night that we get ripped off? Really? You gonna tell me that?”
Pat snapped his finger over at the skinny Cambodian girl tending bar, holding up his empty glass.
“Everybody knew the place had a lot of money sitting in it,” Oscar said.
“Some did, yeah. What else are we gonna do with word that the store is getting watched? That fucking pig O’Neil is good for something at least.”
“So that video is the only proof?”
“What else you need? I know sure as hell this guy Vaughn doesn’t need anything else.”
The girl brought two more drinks over and Pat gave her cash before standing up from the booth.
“I’m gonna piss. Let’s go over to Nip and see what we can get after this,” he said.
Oscar didn’t like the idea but nodded anyway, caught up in his thoughts. Pat turned to find the bathroom and collided with one of the men in suits.
“Had a little to drink?” the man asked.
The man was handsome and had curly hair that was cut just right on his head. His suit was expensive.
Pat didn’t speak, he pushed his wobbly gaze into the man’s eyes, not moving.
“You’re gonna give me shit? My buddy’s getting married tomorrow,” the man said.
“Your buddies getting married tomorrow? Tell you what: fuck you, him, and the whore he’s marrying. How’s that?”
Oscar pushed his glass to the side, positioning his feet outside the booth. The man in the expensive suit had gone crimson. His head began to shake in anger and bewilderment as he stepped back to gain a position that would allow him to throw a punch. In one fluid movement Pat reached between the man’s legs and grabbed his testicles, squeezing them close to bursting.
The scream filled the bar and one of man’s friends stepped forward as Pat let go, the expensive suit falling and spreading out onto the sticky floor. The friend instantly targeted Pat as the aggressor, making his way towards him. Before he reached Pat, Oscar shot up from the booth and cracked his fist against the man’s jaw, sending him over his friend laid out on the floor.
Pat and Oscar made their way out the door while the rest of the people drinking in the bar looked over at the two men on the floor, trying to figure out what had happened in the last seven seconds.

****

 

Claudia brought the window down, the smell of rot and mud blowing off the Bay and into the car. She watched the Motel entrance, trying not to think about the smell. She was tempted to drive in, to try to pinpoint where Rollins had gone exactly, but she forced herself to stay put and stay patient. She had found herself getting too close on the freeway, desperate not to lose him, and had slacked off once he had taken the exit. She stayed a block behind after that and pulled in after she saw he was doing the same. She had watched as he got out and made his way into the parking lot of the Sea Side Motel.

She was pretty sure they were in Millbrae, six miles outside San Francisco. The GPS showed her to be somewhere on the border of the City of Millbrae and the City of Burlingame, it was hard to tell which one she was actually in. She was parked in front of a residence and beyond the motel there was only a small strip mall with a few miscellaneous store fronts before the street turned to grass and dirt all the way to the water. It was a secluded place and Claudia had the distinct suspicion that whatever would bring Marvin Rollins to a place like that could be what she was looking for.
She caught sight of him as he made his way out of the parking lot and back to his car. He had only been in the motel for twenty minutes and Claudia noticed he was carrying a small suitcase on his way out, rolling it behind him on wheels. He hadn’t had it when he went in. Rollins put the bag in the backseat of the Mercedes, then took a quick look around. Claudia felt the adrenalin enter her veins.
Rollins made a u-turn, driving passed Claudia before she did the same. She missed a light that he made, almost panicking before she caught sight of him again, staying a few cars behind him. He turned into the parking lot of a liquor store and made his way inside. She pulled in as well and parked in a space to the far right of the store front.
She tried to think back, angry that she hadn’t reviewed what they had on Marvin Rollins. Probably drugs. She couldn’t remember what his arrests were for. Had there even been any? She tried to think back to what Judy had said about him. She had definitely mentioned him giving drugs to the girls at the club. Coke, possibly meth. Her pulse rate kicked up. What else had Judy said? Pervert sick fuck?
She got out of the car and made her way passed the vehicles that separated her from the Mercedes. She stopped and looked through the windshield, the suitcase sat in the back seat. What now? She looked up towards the entrance of the liquor store as two men made their way out with paper bags under their arms. Could she pull him over? She had no siren in her civilian car. She had no gun; she just had the badge.
She went back to her car for her phone and dialed Dan.
“Yeah?”
“Do you know where the old theater is in Daly City?” she asked.
“Not the Century one?”
“No, the one near the Mexican disco where MS13 had their operation for a while.”
“Oh, right. The old funky one.”
“Can you be in there in fifteen minutes?”
“I think so. For what?”
“We’re bringing in Rollins.”
“For what?”
“Not sure yet. I’m improvising. Be in the parking lot and keep an eye out for a silver Mercedes.”
She hung up and looked in the side mirror. This wouldn’t do, she looked plain and red eyed, like she had been sitting in a car all day. She pulled out the little make up kit she had in her purse and smeared on the eye shadow and lipstick. She looked in the mirror again and felt ridiculous. She undid the top three buttons of her shirt. She knew it wasn’t convincing but it would have to do.
She pulled her coat out of the car and made her way over to the entrance as Rollins emerged with a bottle wrapped in a bag. This was it. She cleared her mind and set her face and let him walk passed her.
“How you doing daddy?” she purred.
Rollins kept walking like he hadn’t heard. Claudia felt her throat tighten. He opened the passenger door of the Mercedes and placed the bottle on the floor. He closed the door, beginning to make his way around the car, then paused, looking over at her. Rollins wore thick glasses and he stared through them like he was making an appraisement. His mustache was mostly gray, stained blonde on the edges from tobacco,the mouth under it tightened as he watched her silently. She smiled back at him.
“You work around here?” he asked and stepped closer.
“Sometimes. You?”
He pursed his lips and nodded. He asked: “You ever work in a club?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
She forced herself to smile even wider. Rollins nodded and his tight little mouth gave way to the smile of a jaceltarine, a tooth missing on the right side.
“You need a ride anywhere?”
“Well, I gotta meet a friend. But I could use a ride.”
Rollins gestured towards the car and they both climbed it. He pulled out and gave her a sly smile as he adjusted the stick to drive. The car smelled like cigarettes and old rancid cologne. Claudia forced back a gag.
“You got any blow?” she asked.
He watched the road, licking his lips for a moment.
“You know you seem like a sophisticated type sort ‘a. How long you been doing this?” he asked.
“I had a boyfriend. We needed some money now and then. It’s not no big deal.”
“Where’s your boyfriend?”
“I don’t know. Don’t care. He’s probably locked up.”
“What’s his name?”
“Eli. We both come up from LA.”
“I used to work at a club in Glendale.”
“Oh yeah?”
Rollins lit a cigarette, rolling the passenger side window down slightly so the smoke carried through Claudia’s face to get outside.
“You going on a trip?” she asked.
“What makes you say that?”
“I saw your bag in the back.”
Rollins chuckled, the smoke coming out of his nose.
“That ain’t luggage baby. Those are movies. Pornos.”
He broke up in laughter, looking over at her before she laughed too.
“You make ‘em?” she asked.
“I don’t make ‘em. I sell ‘em.”
“Do girls make money in them?”
“Hell yes. You ever been in one?”
“Just amateur stuff. Can you hook me up with your people?”
“Maybe. You wouldn’t work for these though.”
“Why not?”
“No offense baby but you're too old.”
He switched on the radio, classic rock making its way into the car. They were nearing the exit, it was time for Claudia to make her move.
“My friend is off of here,” she said.
He pulled off of the freeway, slowing down as they made their way passed the auto garages and used furniture stores.
“You gotta get there right away?” he asked and Claudia’s heart beat kicked up another notch. She hoped Dan had made his way as fast as he could.
“I got’ a little time. You want to pull over?” she asked.
“I could. Where you thinking?”
“I know a place. Just a little farther now.”
Claudia directed him into the theater’s parking lot, forcing herself not to look around for Dan as the car pulled into a corner near a closed down party store. Rollins parked and shut the engine off. He rolled his window down, throwing his cigarette out. The sun was going down, the inside of the car becoming gray.
“What you want to do honey?” he asked, looking over at her with the same sly grin.
“I guess it depends on what you want to do baby.”
“Well-“he lifted his body up out of the seat, dredging his wallet out of his pants pocket. He pulled a fifty dollar bill from the leather fold and placed it on the dash board “You want to try to get into some movies then you should think of this as an audition.”
He grinned at her. She nodded and he eased his seat back a bit before bringing his zipper down.
“Now be gentle honey and please, take your time,” he said.
Dan rapped his knuckles on the window and Rollins flashed around, both hands covering his crotch.
“That’s my partner Marvin. I’m Detective Dela Cruz and you are in some deep shit,” Claudia said.
Rollins swiveled his head back at her, his eyes wide through the frames of the glasses. She took the bill off the dashboard and shoved it in his the chest pocket of his shirt.

****

 

Pat was getting belligerent and Oscar was glad the Cat Nip was packed so the two of them could blend in with the other belligerent drunks. Dina was on stage now, holding onto the pole and glancing back at the audience with her big dark eyes. The lights shined down on her, some men hooted from the darkness while others sat transfixed at their tables, hypnotized. Pat sipped from the bottle he had brought in, making an odd comment here and there to Oscar while Oscar sat keeping him company.

Oscar watched Dina climb the pole and slide down, her eyes closed in mock ecstasy. He remembered talking to her a few times when he had done pick up’s at Catnip. That had been at least two years before, he was surprised she was still dancing there. She was smart, going to school, recieving extra work from the Leo by doing some of the club’s accounting before it opened up in the evenings. She danced and crunched numbers to pay for school and Oscar respected that. He knew she was especially smart by how she kept the conversations that had passed between them pleasant and brief. She knew enough not to interact with Leo’s men.
He watched her wander the stage as the music blasted and he hated all the men that hooted at her and reached up drunkenly to shove cash into the string of her thong. He wondered if she turned tricks. He knew most of the girls did but not all. Some of them were forced to, especially the less attractive one’s that couldn’t get the right amount just through tips. If they didn’t then they were out.
The music faded out and Dina left the stage, waving goodbye to the crowd of sweating men that whistled and screamed at she disappeared behind the crimson curtain.
“Gentlemen, put your hands together for Catnip’s very own in-house nurse! The voluptuous Cindy!”
The men clapped and called out as Cindy made her way out in her tight white coat and white pumps and the little hat with the Red Cross on it. Pat was still talking about something. Oscar turned away from the stage and back towards his friend.
“I don’t even care,” Pat slurred. “That’s the thing. I don’t care! It could be any fucking thing I’m doing. A job’s a job. Right?”
Oscar could barely hear Pat over the beat of the music.
“I mean, what’s the point? If this shit is going to turn into a job, like a real fucking job, what’s the point? What I got to start doing? Filling out reports? Clocking in and out for Christ’s sake?”
Pat waited like he wanted an actual answer, Oscar simply nodded. Pat sipped from the bottle and his eyes swung up in their sockets before taking in the stage again and he suddenly became energized, like he had been struck by something, sitting up in his chair.
“She’s looking good tonight,” he slurred, nodding towards Cindy.
Oscar nodded back in absent agreement, he could tell where things were headed. He pulled out his phone to check his missed calls, looking for another 510 number, but there was nothing on the list. Cindy had removed her top and Pat stood holding up the bottle in a toast. One of the newer floor security guards came over to their table, stone faced.
“Your out of here!” the security guard yelled over the music.
“Am I?” Pat yelled back. He turned to continue the toast to Cindy.
Oscar watched the guard make a swift run to the front of the club, returning with Murph in tow. Oscar could see the rage on Murph’s face even in the dim lighting. The new guy pointed towards Oscar and Pat. Murph recognized them and shook his head, whispering aggressively into the new guy’s ear. The security guard made his way back to their table.
“I apologize gentlemen. Have a good night,” the new guy pleaded. Oscar waved him away while Pat ignored him with the bottle to his lips.
“Would you?” Pat asked Oscar, gesturing towards Cindy on the stage.
“Probably,” Oscar said.
“Me too. She looks good tonight don’t you think?”
“Are you sure you haven’t?” Oscar asked and Pat let out a loose clumsy chuckle.
Cindy stepped down from the stage and walked around the tables smiling at the men, allowing those in the farther rows to put money in her underwear.
She reached Oscar and Pat’s table and sat down.
“What are you guys doing here?” she asked.
“Watching you that’s what. You're great. You met Oscar before?” Pat slurred.
Cindy nodded.
“I seen you around. How you doing?” she asked.
Oscar ignored her. Pat put the bottle down on the floor next to his chair, taking Cindy’s hand.
“Can I buy a dance? Is that alright? It’s up to you.”
She smiled at him, then looked back at the other tables.
“Go up to the booth in the corner and I’ll be up there in like fifteen minutes.”
Pat gave her a slight drunken bow and got up as she did before she made her way back through the tables. Pat snatched his bottle up, leaning against Oscar’s chair.
“I’m going upstairs. What are you doing brother?” he asked.
“Just sitting here,” Oscar replied. Pat stumbled off towards the stairway that led to the upstairs booths.
The next dancer had emerged. She was a short Latin girl with big brown eyes that stared out at the men, not quite seductive, just nervous. Oscar didn’t recognize her which meant she was probably new. He checked his phone to see if The Croat had called.
“Show us your pussy!” one man yelled. Oscar looked at him and thought about how good it would feel to break the man’s face. Maybe he would. He could just wait outside until the man came out with his buddies and then he could walk up and catch them by surprise. He would use the butt of the P32 to split the man’s face open. His buddies wouldn’t do anything. They would see all that blood and they would stay put. They were out of towners and Oscar watched them and sized them up, the plotting making him feel better.
His phone began to vibrate and he saw the blocked number, the dread coming up in his throat. He left the red glow and noise of the main room, making his way into the lobby to answer.
“Yeah?”
“Pick me up in front of the hotel,” Vaughn said from the other end.
“Where we going?”
Oscar didn’t think he would get an answer but waited it out.
“Oakland,” Vaughn muttered and hung up.
Oscar put the phone in his pocket and walked out the front door, passed Murph and one of the new hires. He tried to clear his mind of all thoughts but they battered at the corners. Javier must have been the one. He was the only one that had an idea of where the Croat was. Javier had given up Bill for five thousand dollars and there was really no way for Oscar to help the Croat now.

To be continued.

Black Widow

Furlough Film # 8
(Every furlough day Dublin and Robert Fong get together to view a film and have a discussion about it. This time Bob Fong's neighbor Paul joined them as well. The following is a transcript of that discussion.)

D: So here we are, another furlough film day with the the three of us.
R: It's been a minute.
D: Months in fact.
P: Why? I've e-mailed you both a bunch of times.
R: Me and Dublin have been doing it. We just haven't been calling you.
P: Why?
R: Because no one f__king likes you Paul.
(Silence)
D: He'a just playing. I think we've all been busy.
P: And my Netflix subscription is done. I haven't renewed it.
P: So what are we watching?
D: I thought Bob was bringing something.
R: F__k it. Put the f__king TV on. We'll find something to watch.
P: Wow.
(They flip through channels)
R: This is good!
D: The Patriot?
R: Mel Gibson made The Road Warrior. He's a hundred percent bad ass.
P: Mel Gibson is a prick. What's this?
D: It's just starting. Says it's "Black Widow" with Debra Winger.
P: Who?
R: It says there's nudity. Let's do it.
(They watch the movie)
D: That was interesting.
R: I hated it for a second but I could get into it. It was 80's like f__k but dope all the same.
P: The two leads we're great.
D: Debra Winger and Theresa Russell.
R: The one that change identities and murdered men was fine. Nice body.
D: It was a classic cat and mouse crime story. But the fact that it was two women kind of flipped it.
P: You don't see that a lot.
D: I remember seeing some of that movie as a kid and being pissed because it wasn't a comic book movie or something. Black Widow. Sounds like a person who wears tights at night.
P: The way the murderer changed her identity was cool. From New York socialite to rich Texas debutant to West coast intellectual. Really cool.
D: Yeah, Theresa Russell was pretty good. What happened to her?
R: Wiki says she did a lot of indie stuff. She was in Spider Man 3.
P: Was she? I don't remember.
R: Who would? That movie sucked a__.
D: Men didn't come off very good in this movie.
R: They were all idiots.
P: Even Debra Winger's boss was a boob. Remember he tried to play the father figure and then went for the feel when he was drunk at the poker game.
R: Oh yeah! Good for him.
D: Even the last guy, Paul, the one that survives. He was kind of a douche. He's hanging out with Debra Winger, feeling her, but then all the Black Widow has to do is give it up and next thing you know they're getting married.
R: A good piece of a__ goes a long way.
P: Men don't come off very good, you're right. The movie seems to make the argument that none of us can see beyond sex, even when our lives are in danger.
R: BBD tried to warn us. Don't trust a big butt and a smile.
D: That's why this movie is so intresting. Men play the side role while women battle it out center screen.
P: Yeah.
D: Women usally fill the role of victim or damsel in distress. Black Widow puts men in that role.
R: Good point. Are we gonna do this again?
D: Yes, but just turning on the TV and hoping that a good movie will come on isn't going to do it.
P: I have Netflix. I could bring movies.
R: As long as you promise it's not Ghost.
D: We could start talking TV. You know what I mean? We could start watching a show and and then get together and discuss.
R: That sounds as lame as a book club.
P: It could be fun. But we haven't got together in months. How are we going to start meeting once a week?
D: It'll be hard. We could start doing it in e-mail instead of actually getting together.
P: That could work. But what show?
R: How about Justified? That shit is raw.
D: The last episode of the season was on last night. That won't work. I like Community.
R: Hell no. I ain't watching no sitcom.
D: Bob, the show is hilarious.
P: What about Game of Thrones?
R: I don't have HBO. A f__king recession is on man.
P: Mad Men?
D: Everybody is discussing Mad Men.
R: It's true. The s__t is played out. Mad Men is nothing but a glorified soap opera.
D: Harsh. But there you go, we just discussed it.
P: Maybe we should stick to movies.
R: That's what I'm saying. TV is crap.
D: We could watch an old show. One on DVD.
R: The Sopranos!
P: I can't watch that. It's way too dark.
D: I love that show but again, way discussed and way over analyzed. We would be beating on the dust of a dead horse that's been beaten to dust.
P: I got to go. Can we figure this out some other time?
R: F__k you Paul. We'll leave when we leave.
D: It's fine. We'll talk about it later and see what's what. Black Widow is good by the way. If you missed it in the 80's go back and peep it.

Taken from a transcription by Peggy Menchstone on 04/09/12

5: Crime SuspenStory

OUR STORY SO FAR: Detective Claudia DeLa Cruz is on a deadline to build a case against Leo McCarthy, the unofficial king of Vice in the City, and is meeting with her informer, a stripper named Judy July. What Claudia doesn't know is that Judy is pregnant with Leo's child. Meanwhile, Jimmy Vaughn has been flown into San Francisco by McCarthy to find and punish whoever stole from him in his own crew. Within twenty four hours Vaughn has narrowed his search down to one man, Bill "The Croat" Rodasavitch.

Based on true events.
Claudia reached their regular meeting place in Golden Gate Park a little after eight in the morning. She tried to sit down on the bench but the cold forced her up, pacing. A few joggers made their way by, their eyes frosted in place, their lungs contracting and taking in the cold painful air. The bench overlooked the field where the buffalo were kept but Claudia she saw no sign of the long mangy coats, the beasts hidden from the freezing morning with more sense then the people that passed through the park.
She checked her watch six times before Judy appeared. The girl had a black hood on with a crimson bubble goose jacket and Claudia thought of Little Red Riding Hood, traveling through the forest.
Judy sat down on the bench without saying anything, hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket.
“Golden Duck is a bar,” Claudia said.
“I thought it was in a hotel,” the girl replied.
“Why is that?”
“They’re are always talking about rooms. What they make in this room and that room. It sounds like a hotel.”
“Do you know what happened there?”
“One of the girls came by when I was getting off. She had to get paid because Golden Duck was dead, so Murph paid her out. She said Leo’s nephew came in with some guy.”
“Was it the guy you saw the other day?”
“I don’t know.”
“What were they doing?” Claudia said.
“She didn’t know really. She said one of the other girls said the place got robbed.”
“By gunpoint?”
“I don’t know. The girl said that she was hanging out after a game and two of the guys were talking about it, saying that all the money got kept in one room a week and somebody came in and took it.”
“How much?”
“A lot I guess.”
“How would somebody know the money’s there?” Claudia wondered.
“I guess that’s why everybody is all freaked out. It’s like an inside job.”
“By one of the girls?”
Judy looked at her funny and it annoyed Claudia.
“I doubt it,” Judy said. “Why would they know where it is?”
“So it’s one of Leo’s people? One of his men?”
Judy stomped her feet on the ground. Claudia looked off at the buffalo field, her mind stretching out and the mug shots from the case file clicking through one by one.
“Do you know any of those guys that work at Golden Duck or at the clubs that might be willing to talk to me Judy? Separate from you.”
Judy shook her head.
“They don’t talk to nobody except themselves.”
“Have you heard that any of them get upset or angry? Maybe at Leo or at one of the other guys?”
“They don’t look angry when I see them.”
“But have you heard anything?”
“They look bored. To be honest, if there’s anything going on then it’s those guys that do it. Leo probably doesn’t even know about it.”
Claudia narrowed her eyes. She was about to speak when a man with a dog jogged by and looked both women both up and down before nodding at them.
“I hate guys like that,” Judy said.
“What do you mean Leo probably doesn’t even know about it?” Claudia demanded.
“I mean Leo’s a business man. He’s probably a decent guy. All this other stuff you talk about is those other guys: White Charlie and Dick and them.”
“What are you talking about? Those guys are bad and they work for a bad man.”
“We don’t even know though. If you knew him you would see that he’s not even…..able to do the things you think he’s done.”
“You don’t know him either. The guy says hi to you and smiles and you think he’s decent. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Judy shut her mouth, pushing her hands deeper into the pockets of her jacket.
“He exploits women,” Claudia explained in a flat voice. “He exploits you.”
Judy looked up, her face a resentful blank.
“How does he exploit me? I’ve been dancing since I was sixteen. It’s just dancing. It’s a job.”
“What about the other girls? The one’s that prostitute themselves?”
“That’s their choice!”
“Don’t give me that shit. You know it’s not always their choice.”
“It’s not Leo who makes them.”
“Who then?” Claudia demanded.
“Marvin. The junkie prick pervert.”
“And who does Marvin work for?”
Judy looked away. They both had taken their hands out of their pockets, having warmed up in the exchange.
“I don’t fucking care either way. I just don’t think you got the right information sometime,” Judy said.
“Then get us the right information. Go to work and keep your ears and eyes open and get us what we need to take Leo McCarthy off the street.”
“What if I can’t? Why can’t you just go in and get these other guys. Lock up Dick and Marvin and the rest of them.”
“Leo is the head Judy. You cut off the head.”
“Are you even sure he knows what’s going on with these guys?”
“Who do you think was behind what happened to Alex Martinez?”
Judy had gone silent. She sat at the bench, staring down at the grass with the hood pulled lower over her face.
“Do you remember Alex Martinez?” Claudia asked.
“I didn’t know him.”
“I know that. Do you remember what I told you?”
“You told me a lot of stuff.”
Claudia felt her face heating up. She looked back towards the buffalo field, trying to smother her temper. She almost wished Dan was there.
“For the next few days keep your ears and eyes open. If you find out that any of Leo’s guys are bad mouthing him or there’s some sort of beef or anything like that, I want you to contact me right away.”
There was no response. She bent down close to Judy’s hooded skull, fighting the urge to rip the hood back and force the face towards her so she could look into the girl’s eyes.
“Did you hear what I said?” she growled.
“I heard you,” the voice replied through the hood.
Claudia stood for a moment with her arms crossed; looking down at who she had thought would be an asset but was turning more and more into the liability. In the back of her mind she had probably known it would turn out this way. It wasn’t really Judy’s fault; it was her own fault for putting too much into one witness. When she had found Judy’s file and traced her back to the Catnip she had seen a break that seemed bigger than it really was.
Then again, maybe the girl was smarter than Claudia had ever given her credit for. Maybe she really could see the danger they had been putting her in for the last few months, dragging her feet in an unconscious effort to stay clear of Leo McCarthy. Whatever the reason their case needed another card to play and Claudia was determined to find it.
“If you hear anything about who may have robbed this place Golden Duck you let me know right away too. Me and Dan will need to get to that person before these guys do.”
Judy kept her head down and didn’t reply. Claudia gave her one more glance and then walked off into the park, leaving Little Red Riding Hood alone on the bench.

He was running. It was a jungle or forest or something, the branches and leaves of trees swinging at him, almost hitting him in the face. He tried to look back and see his pursuer but there wasn’t time because he had to keep his eyes forward to make sure he didn’t run into something. He could feel whoever was chasing him getting closer. He knew he was either slowing down or they were getting faster and the panic swelled up inside him.
He heard a shot come from behind and then his right leg gave out. He was on the ground, except it wasn’t the ground, it was the floor of the warehouse in Richmond. He held his leg where he had been shot, trying to spot his pursuer. The warehouse was empty, he was alone until he saw the garbage bags sitting off to his right. He knew they were the bags they had put Alex Martinez in. He wanted to get away from them, then a phone was ringing. It was coming from somewhere in the warehouse. He looked around in the dim light, trying to pinpoint the sound, until he realized the ringing was coming from inside one of the bags.
Oscar woke up in the bed with a start, sucking down breath to get his bearings. The sheets below him were drenched with sweat. He threw them off and picked up his cell phone which continued to ring on the floor next to the bed.
“Hello?”
“You go to my mother’s house you mother fucker?! You go to her house?! I’m going to kill you!”
The Croat’s voice from the other end was hoarse, the words slurred.
“Calm down. I just went there trying to find you,” Oscar said.
“Bullshit. I swear to fucking God I’m going to kill you.”
“I would never hurt her. What do you think I am?”
“Why are you hunting me?”
It sounded like the Croat was sobbing but Oscar wasn’t sure.
“We’re not. It’s this guy from out of town. Leo brought him out to find out who robbed the Duck.”
“Somebody robbed the Duck?”
“Yes.”
“And you told him I did!”
“No.”
“That’s not what I heard you fucking liar! I hear everybody is looking for me.”
“They are now because you disappeared. You know how that looks?”
“I was sick! And then Javy calls and tells me that you and this guy are looking for me and this psychopath got a gun for me.”
Oscar turned his body so his feet were on the floor.
“Listen to me: the best thing you can do is get out of town for now. You understand me? Just get out until this thing blows over.”
“How the am I supposed to do that? I got nothing. And where the fuck am I supposed to go?”
“Anywhere.”
“With what money?”
Oscar looked over at the clock on the bedside table, seven thirty four. There was already light coming through the blinds.
“I’ll give you some money. Enough to get you out of here,” he said.
“You’ll give me the money?”
The Croat was calm now, the tone of his voice lower.
“Let’s meet up in an hour or so. I’ll get you out of here for at least a month. Where can you meet?”
Oscar listened to the sounds of breathing on the other end, then silence as the line went dead. He looked down at the phone and checked the number, it started with 510. The Croat was calling from somewhere over the bridge and hopefully the idiot would stay there.
Oscar pushed himself up from the bed and made his way through the door and over to the kitchen. He poured some water into a glass from the faucet, drank it, then reached up for the whisky bottle, filling the glass half way with that. He drank and the dream went through his mind, the memory of it already breaking up into pieces. He thought Bill may call back, the Croat was just scared, paranoid, and he had every reason to be. If he didn’t call Oscar would need to figure out the girl he was hiding with. The Croat was going to let him help him whether he liked it or not.
He put the glass down on the counter abruptly when he heard the knocks on the door. He stepped over to the couch and snatched the gun from his jacket, then paused. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. The only people that came knocking that early were the cops. Oscar pulled one of the couch cushions up, shoving the P32 into the back and replacing the cushion.
He went over to the door, opened it slightly, and found Vaughn standing alone in the hallway.
“Let’s go,” the man said.
Vaughn put on his glasses and Oscar went back to the bedroom to get dressed.

There it was, clear as day. The paint was chipped away on the wall but it still clearly read “Golden Duck”. It was right on the corner, blending into the street, and Claudia had never noticed it before in the thousands of times she had driven up and down Columbus. She picked up the camera from the seat, taking a picture through the driver side window. She snapped the sign and the door and the one dark window that faced her. It was barely eight thirty, the place probably didn’t open until the afternoon, especially if it was just a front.
She had driven there right after leaving the park. The whole ride she had thought about Judy and had become more and more uneasy. There was something going on with the girl, she knew it. Judy had become closed off, much more guarded in the last few weeks. The idea that she might be using again had occurred to Claudia but there was no physical evidence to back it up. The girl was hiding something, that was certain.
Claudia got out of the car and walked along the sidewalk, stealing glances over at the bar. She came to the corner of Columbus and Pacific and studied the building from that angle. It was an odd little place, shoved right into the corner of the intersection with one entrance on the Columbus side. What kind of brothel or gambling den or whatever it was could the McCarthy mob possibly run out of a place like that?
The light turned green and Claudia crossed the street, keeping an eye on the bar. She didn’t stop as she made her way by the entrance and on to Pacific but she glanced close enough to see the small plastic bubble that held a camera inserted into the overhang above the door. It was possible a place like that would have a security camera but c’mon, the set up looked top of the line.
She walked along Pacific, passed a small bodega and a Chinese restaurant. There was an alley following the restaurant and she peered in at a few of cooks and waiters smoking cigarettes, sitting on crates. The building west of the alley seemed to be abandoned. It was old, made of brick, and the windows were all frosted. She studied it as she walked along the street and saw a sign that had a number for a real estate company. She typed that into her phone.
She took the corner and made her way along Grant. After the vacant building she found an entrance to an under ground garage that had a steel pull down gate closing it off. She crossed the street, made out like she was looking in the window of a café, and took a good glance at the garage. She spotted another plastic bubble hanging above the garage exit. She walked along Grant and took in the entire building. It looked to be four stories all together and while the bottom three stories of windows were frosted the top floor windows were tinted.
She walked back across Pacific Avenue, continuing to scan the building. She came parallel to the alley and saw the men had vacated. She reached Beckett Street and turned around, peering into the alley. It took a moment but she finally spotted two more camera bubbles built into both sides of the brick wall.
She took out her phone, miming texting while taking a picture, when a girl came out of one of the doors in the alley. The girl walked out of the alley quickly, making her way up Pacific in high heels. Claudia snuck a glance at her and snapped a picture. The girl’s hair was partly braided and she walked stiffly in a long coat that covered her entire body. Claudia followed for a moment until she sensed someone coming out of the alley behind them and looked back. It was a man wearing a derby cap and an old leather jacket, walking with a limp.
Claudia quit the girl and turned back, following the man from the other side street. Even with the limp the man walked quickly, it took a moment for Claudia to catch up to him without drawing attention. She was finally parallel to him and when she could see his profile clearly, recognizing Marvin Rollins, the manager of the Catnip and a long time McCarthy associate.
Rollins got to Columbus and crossed to Kearney. He continued across Kearney and Claudia followed a half a block behind him. It was still not nine o’clock but foot traffic was picking up. Claudia tried to watch Rollins from the corner of her eye in case he looked back at her. He reached a Mercedes parked on the street and began to rifle through his pockets for the keys. Claudia immediately turned around, walking back towards Columbus. When she was around the corner she broke into a run towards her car and unlocked the door. As she shoved the keys into the ignition she glanced into the rearview and caught sight of the Mercedes turning right onto Columbus. She pulled out of the parking spot and flipped a u turn, cutting off two cabs, their horns blared. The Mercedes was gone until she took the slight right onto Montgomery towards downtown and caught sight of it again.

To be continued 04-18-12

Paintings of Empty Rooms

This story originally appeared in Dublin's World on January 21st. Since then it has been edited by my good friend Richard Handel and polished by myself. Many of the changes are subtle but contribute to the flow and, I feel, improve it very much.

1
Paul has always painted well but never introduces himself as a painter since his work has never sold or been hung for public enjoyment. He sits behind the counter at Best Regards Flower Shop, where he works, and day dreams of being an artist whos name people might one day recognize and possibly respect. Calls for flowers interrupt his thoughts, but once he has filled out the orders and passed them to Clare in the back for assembly he retakes his position behind the counter and falls back into the vision where he left off.
Six o’clock comes and he dons his black jacket and slowly walks around the lake in the center of the city to return to the apartment he shares with his girlfriend Helen. He walks slowly, dragging his feet, and takes his time because once he gets home he will have to paint. The problem is that he has no idea what. His mind is devoid of inspiration, dragging him down, his feet barely coming off of the ground.
When he gets in the door of the apartment he takes off the jacket, and after a beer, stands in front of a blank canvas on his easel. He’s proud of himself for the discipline he shows by always going to the easel and standing before it. He stares at the canvas for some time and then looks around at the rejects and half painted sketches that sit around the room gathering dust. Many of them are recreations of scenes from magazines with mythological themes added. He examines these failures for several minutes, waiting for their value to reveal itself, until he decides he will try something in a fresh direction and turns back towards the canvas. He stares again, looking deeper and deeper, probing into its very fiber, waiting for what he will paint to sprout from his imagination until he hears Helen’s key turn in the lock of the apartment and she is home from work.
Together, they sit at the small yellow dining table in the kitchen nook and eat dinner. They take turns cooking but have run out of ideas, their meals having become a limited series of five different dishes. They talk, at least Helen does, mostly about her job and her brother who is having problems with his wife and is suffering in a dysfunctional marriage. Paul listens but not closely because he has heard it before. He and Helen have been together for two and a half years and rarely go out for dinner because they have agreed to save money to get a house.
They go to bed after brushing their teeth and both of them fall asleep quickly. On occasion, they stay up, and Helen will turn towards Paul while he attempts to make love to her. He tries not to think of his painting and lack of inspiration but it always enters his head and he performs poorly. She looks away from him, at the wall, waiting for something significant to happen.

On his days off Paul walks to the park near the apartment and sits on one of the benches waiting for inspiration. He watches the Goldeneye ducks make their way around the park’s pond. He enjoys them but has no interest in painting them and he watches the mothers push the strollers and the children play along the grass and the old Filipino man drop pieces of bread for the birds. The park is comforting to Paul and he spends hours there but never leaves with any inspiration or an idea for a painting.
One day, while he is sits at his regular bench, he sees Alfred, an acquaintance from high school he has not seen for many years, jogging along side the pond. They realize what a small world it is when Alfred reveals he has a friend who works at the same company where Helen works. Paul is happy to hear that Alfred himself works as the manager of a new art gallery in the warehouse district, one that Paul has heard of but not attended. The two men discuss the current state of art with much agreement and shared passion and Alfred relates to Paul that he remembers his paintings from school and was always impressed by them. He is glad to hear that Paul still paints and asks to see some of his work.
They take the four block walk back to the apartment and every step is one of dread and regret for Paul. He wishes he had never mentioned his painting at all. He knows that as soon as Alfred sees his work he will recognize it for all its cliche and lack of inspiration. He tries to think of an excuse not to go home but his mind is as blank as the new canvas and soon they are in the main room looking over his old work.
Alfred stands very still and keeps a respectful silence with his arms crossed, rubbing a finger along the length of his mustache. When he speaks he is honest and describes the work as rather dull and uninspired. Paul is impressed by the frankness of the criticism and is grateful when Alfred tells him that, although it’s not ready now, he senses something developing in Paul’s work that just hasn’t arrived yet. He gives Paul a sleek looking business card with a phone number and an e-mail before leaving the apartment.
Paul is spurred on by Alfred’s criticism and begins to paint on the blank canvas. He randomly applies different colors and he throws strokes of blue and green within flares of yellows and reds and violets. He doesn’t hear Helen when she comes home and he doesn't smell the dinner she cooks or notice when she has gone to bed. He works all night and when the sun begins to creep up in the window of the main room he stops and looks at all the colors and random marks spread about the canvas and knows that he has not painted something good or original, just a mess of colors forced together in desperation.
He goes to work pale and bleary eyed and cannot concentrate as customers come in and the phone rings with orders. People order flowers for retirements and baby showers and birthdays and Paul is slow and overwhelmed. He is too tired to conjure up any day dreams or think of painting at all and each passing minute is torture. When six o’clock comes he is relieved to shuffle into his coat, but when he gets out the door and begins to make his way along the street he realizes that the bad painting will be waiting for him in the apartment. He slows his pace and decides to take the long way around the lake even though it is cold outside and he is very tired.
When he gets in the door he expects the painting to be the first thing he sees but is surprised to find Helen’s face looking at him from the main room instead. She has come home early and Paul senses something strange in the room. She does not kiss him but instead takes a deep breath before informing him that she is leaving him. He can stay in the apartment, she will find her own place, but she wants no drama and doesn’t want to discuss it.
Paul demands to know why and she waits to answer, looking him in the eye, trying to decide if he is worthy of a reason. She says that it is time for a change and they both have become complacent in the relationship. Paul tries to argue, tries to think of something that will prove that he at least has not become complacent and is therefore not at fault. He stutters over his words and as he stutters he comes to realize that he doesn’t much care if she leaves or stays. He stops short and tells her that he is unhappy with her decision but accepts it and they hug awkwardly, both proud of the maturity they show the other.
That night she sleeps in the bed and he sleeps in the lazy boy chair in the corner of the main room, among his unfinished paintings. He has vivid fantasies of himself as the spurned lover, the tortured artist, and he can not sleep, almost giddy with the possibilities. He will paint beautiful models and they will spend the night with him and talk about art; not their job or their brother’s awful marriage.

The next day is Saturday and Helen moves out with all of her belongings including the small yellow dining table that they have always used for their dinners. She says she will store her things and stay with her friend April until she finds her own place. April stands at the door, waiting as Helen looks at Paul with a forced smile that fails to mask her disappointment. Paul resents the look. It’s not his fault she feels like she has wasted the last few years. He was put on earth to paint, not to be a boyfriend.
He watches through the window in the main room as the two women drive off in April’s Scion and then he goes to the easel. Now it is only him and his painting. He walks to the art store downtown, buys a new canvas, and marches it back to the apartment. He places it on the easel and the whiteness of the new canvas makes him feel refreshed and ready for the future. He doesn’t want to just throw colors together like he did after Alfred’s visit. He stands in front of the canvas and waits for a real idea to come. He watches it, waiting, and then sits in the lazy boy chair to rest his eyes. When he opens them again it’s the next day and he has to go to work.
He finds himself enjoying the flower shop, chatting with the customers, and being pleasant and steady with Clare. The idea of going home and painting is always waiting on the perimeter of his mind but when he returns to the empty apartment he is exhausted. He looks at the canvas and then looks around the surrounding room which seems larger now without Helen’s belongings. When the apartment no long interests him he goes to the window and watches the people go in and out of the bar across the street.
On his days off he goes to the park and although he enjoys it there he still does not leave with any ideas for a painting. He eats his meals alone in the lazy boy chair in the main room. He finds it boring eating alone and drags out some of the books about artists that he bought in school. He reads them while he eats. Some of his favorite artists lived lives filled with adversity and tragedy and it makes him wonder if that is why he can not paint, that his life has been too easy and monotonous.

2
A month goes by and the canvas remains blank. Paul continues to enjoy his time at the flower shop but realizes the enjoyment comes from the job distracting him from painting. The neighbors down the hall in his building, Adena and Raul, invite him to dinner and he is glad to go since it will take him away from the blank canvas. At dinner Adena describes the preparations for her and Raul’s wedding in the spring and then becomes solemn because she thinks it may depress Paul after his break up. He appreciates her sentiment but thinks it silly. Their wedding does not upset him because he is free and soon he will be painting.
Without someone to help with the rent and other expenses Paul is forced to live on an even tighter budget. He gets some satisfaction out of this because his school books describe many of his favorite artists as living modestly. He eats noodles out of Styrofoam and watches the canvas, waiting for ideas. He moves all his old paintings and sketches into one corner of the main room and piles them up on top of each other which makes the apartment seem even bigger and makes him feel freer.
One day, while sitting at his regular park bench, he sees Alfred jogging by the pond again. When Alfred asks about his painting Paul lies and says that it is going well. Alfred tells him he was sorry to hear about his break up with Helen through his friend at the company and Paul says it’s fine, it’s freed up his time to get more work done. Alfred asks if he has met Helen’s new boyfriend and Paul has to take a moment before saying no. It’s obvious to Alfred that Paul was unaware of the relationship and he apologizes.
Paul walks home, letting the idea that Helen is seeing someone new fully develop in his mind. He tries to tell himself that he’s happy for her. For a while he doesn’t feel much of anything and then, with a pang, he thinks of the little yellow dining table that they always ate on and he pictures someone else sitting with Helen, talking over dinner. He tells himself that it is just his ego that is hurt, nothing else. Sure, she is talking to someone, but all she is talking about is her work and her brother’s bad marriage and at least he doesn’t have to listen to it. When he tells himself this he feels better.
That night he goes to the little bar across the street and has a few drinks by himself. There is a girl sitting by herself just down the bar from him and he starts a conversation with her. She is nice enough to smile and nod and reply to his questions and statements. He orders them both a round and then another and then another. Paul moves to the stool next to the girl and he is speaking loud when he tells her love is a myth that was created by movies and advertising. He tells her that he is free and that others lock themselves into prisons made of delusions and false expectations.
Paul has two more drinks before he realizes that the girl has gone and the bartender is telling him that they are closing. He stumbles home, his vision going in and out of focus as he climbs the stairs of his building. He passes out in the lazy boy chair. When he awakes the next morning his head pounds and his tongue feels and tastes like a piece of leather. He is too hung over to paint or do much of anything and when the sun goes down he goes to bed as well.
He wakes up at five o’clock that morning thinking of Helen. He has the distinct impression that he was dreaming of her but he can’t remember. He lies in the bed, sweats, then feels cold, and then sweats again. He has never been unable to sleep before and it irritates him. The sunlight gradually begins to stream into the apartment and the dread of the morning forces him up and out of the bed.
He goes to a coffee shop and has to wait for it to open because it’s Sunday and nobody is up or on the street. While sitting with his coffee he decides to call Helen, and on the way home, he does. It goes to voice mail and he hangs up. He sits in the apartment and waits for her to call back. He goes to the park and sits with his phone on the bench next to him. He goes home in the evening and sits in the lazy boy and tries to remember what Helen was really like as a person but he hadn’t paid enough attention the last year or so and it’s hard to remember.
He wakes up the next morning and checks his phone but there are no missed calls. He is paralyzed in the bed and calls into work sick. He stays in the bed until he forces himself up to make coffee and to send Helen an e-mail. He writes that he is sorry about what happened and that he would like to talk about it. This makes him feel good enough to eat ramen noodles and macaroni and cheese and he spends the day looking out the window at the people walking by. Some of the girls look a lot like Helen with similar hair and walks. He turns away from the window and the apartment no longer seems big, just cold.

Two days later Helen replies to his e-mail. She writes only two sentences; the first saying it is good to hear from him and the second saying it would not be a good idea to see each other. He goes to the bed and stays there until the morning but can’t remember if he slept or not. He curses Helen out loud and is ashamed. He forces himself up and off to work. He sits behind the counter and is able to distract himself with orders until they run out and the day becomes slow.
It begins to rain outside and at six o’clock, he dons his black jacket and walks around the lake in the rain. When he gets home he removes all of his wet clothes and stands in the main room. The rain has picked up and is pounding against the window. He feels thin and empty but not hungry. He thinks of Helen and feels like he is wasting away.
It is very cold in the room and he takes a few steps forward and begins to sketch on the blank canvas with a pencil. He sketches out three walls of a room and then mixes some paints together and begins to color it. He paints until he has created an empty room but it doesn’t look quite right. He paints in the yellow dining table with two plates, one clean and the other covered in a half eaten meal. The sun is up when he finishes and he looks at the canvas in the morning light and recognizes that he has painted something very sad. It makes him feel better; like a weight lifting inside him.
He goes to work and counts off the hours until he can return to the apartment. When he gets home he paints over one of his old sketches and creates another empty room, this one with the slight shadow in the corner of someone leaving. He works all night again and when he goes to the flower shop the next morning he can barely keep his eyes open. He makes mistakes on orders and receives harsh words from Clare in the back who has never raised her voice to him.
He spends money he doesn’t have on new paints and brushes and fresh canvases. Weeks go by as he paints through the night and comes to work late, bleary eyed and always exhausted. This goes on for almost a month until the owner of Best Regards shows up and tells Paul that he is being let go. Clare comes out from the back to tell him that she will miss him but he barely notices, his mind already taken up with the next empty room he will paint.
He works all day and night now, coming up with ideas on how to create scenes of people’s loneliness and failures with out showing the people themselves. He paints books left open on chairs, empty bottles neglected under tables, photographs on dressers left face down in their frames, and he continues to play with the shadows of human figures leaving the frame.
He has no income and is dangerously low in his savings but all that matters is the work. He goes to the park for fresh air and thinks of painting and when he is not thinking of painting he thinks of Helen. He imagines her in her new relationship and that she is unhappy and lonely and that she thinks of him.
One night he paints another empty room but adds a photograph hanging from the far wall. He paints Helen’s face onto the picture, half covered in shadow. He makes her look sad and dejected and realizes that the face looks more like his own and less like Helen.

3
One day Paul sees Alfred again in the park, jogging alongside the pond. Alfred is surprised by Paul’s appearance, he looks much thinner and more pale than he looked the last time they saw each other. Paul tells him he would like Alfred to take a look at some of his new work. Alfred is hesitant at first, saying that he doesn’t have a lot of time, but Paul is desperate, almost begging him until he agrees. They go to the apartment and the main room is filled with paintings. Paul makes his way around, taking in each scene individually, rubbing his finger along his mustache. At first many of the new paintings seem similar, some almost identical, but as he takes his time and concentrates on each one individually he sees that every scene is intriguing in its own way with its own unique life and story.
Alfred does not speak for a long time and finally looks away from the canvasses and sits down in the lazy boy chair. He continues to sit in silence and Paul becomes overcome with shame, realizing he has allowed another person to see his fears and pathetic loneliness. He is surprised when Alfred finally speaks and tells him it is some of the best work he has ever seen. He offers Paul an exhibit in a new art show going up that very week. He reveals that by presenting Paul’s work he will be bumping another artist who is more established and better known than Paul but that he thinks it is important that people see the paintings of empty rooms.
In the few days leading up to the gallery show Paul is filled with doubt. He looks at his new paintings and tries to imagine if anyone will understand them. He’s not sure if he understands them himself. He wonders if Alfred is letting him into the show solely out of pity. When people see the paintings, what will they think of him, the person that created them? Will they think his is pathetic, wallowing in self pity and fear, even crazy? He thinks about calling Alfred to ask if it is necessary that he be there at the opening but decides against it. He thinks about calling Helen and asking her to come and even picks up the phone with her number on the screen but decides against it as well.
The night of the opening is heavily attended. One of the other three artists featured in the show is well known for his paintings of animals made out of machines and many people come to view his work. The crowd streams in the door, queues up to the flinty wine, and then files towards the established artist’s work before scattering around the gallery to view the lesser known paintings.
As the night goes on, more and more people gather around Paul’s paintings, until there is a congestion in that part of the room. Older men look the paintings up and down until they seem to have some sort of realization and they go back to the first painting to start the series again. A young woman looks at a painting of a room with the shadows of an adult and child in the bottom corner and tears begin to flow down her cheeks. A group of students get into an animated discussion with an older couple about the meaning of one of the paintings until the couple become angry with the students and buy the painting out of spite.
Three of Paul’s painting are bought before Alfred suggests that they knock the price up. Even with the higher price four more paintings are purchased until there is only the painting with the photo of the girl left. An older woman approaches Paul and asks if he is the artist and when he admits that he is she takes his hand and looks into his eyes for a full minute until black tears are pushing through her mascara. Other people seek him out as well and use words like “profound” and “honest” when praising his work. He nods in appreciation and swallows, trying to dislodge the lump of disappointment in his throat that has developed from Helen not showing up.
Alfred introduces Paul to a man that wants to show Paul’s work at a private function in his home the following month and Paul agrees. He works tirelessly for the next twenty days, creating new paintings of rooms that feature the same mysterious and indefinable loneliness that defined his previous work. He is paid handsomely for the gallery show and is paid well again for showing his work at the man’s home which is a loft in a high building overlooking the lake.
Paul has bought a new suit and stands around drinking champagne as people with expensive clothes and jewelry mill around the loft conversing and taking long looks at his paintings. He notices a woman watching him from across the room and when they make eye contact she approaches him and introduces herself as Christine. They talk about his work and she confides to him that it is hard for her to describe it except to say that it evokes a deep rooted sense of loss and yearning that she has not felt for years that she thought was buried long ago. She half jokes that she’s mad at him for unearthing that feeling in her and they drink champagne together for the remainder of the evening.
He goes home with Christine and, while lying next to her in bed while she soundly sleeps, he watches the moonlight stream through the window blinds. He thinks of Helen and imagines her doing simple things in her new home, like sweeping and cooking breakfast. It makes his chest hurt.

Although Paul and Christine begin to see each other regularly, Paul slowly realizes that she irritates him. She is very beautiful but she comes from money and speaks in a flamboyant way, using words that Paul isn’t familiar with. She sometimes accompanies him on walks to the park but instead of enjoying the day in silence and watching the ducks she feels the need to talk about a restaurant she went to or a pretty dress she is going to buy. Too often, when he is alone and painting with inspiration, she interrupts him with a call just to say hello. This is especially irritating because he is stuck on a new painting that he can’t quite finish. It is of an empty room, and just as good as his past work, but there is something missing.
They have been seeing each other for two months when Paul has some of his work shown at a large exhibition downtown. Christine stays on his arm all night and her voice and topics of conversation grate on him. At one point the gallery owner and her partner are speaking to them near the entrance and Paul thinks he sees Helen coming in the front door. He steps away from the conversation in a panic and when he gets near the bar he sees it’s another girl with dark hair.
He does not pick up or return Christine’s calls after that night. He continues to work on the new painting but there is still something missing. He stands in the main room of the apartment staring at the half finished painting for a week before putting it to the side and starting on a new one.
A month later the wealthy man with the loft overlooking the lake asks Paul to show his work at another event and he agrees. He regrets it when he sees Christine in attendance. She makes her way over to him and demands to know what happened to them. He almost tells her about Helen but it has been nearly a year since Helen moved out and it feels ridiculous to admit how much her leaving has isolated him. He stands mute and Christine continues to wait for an answer until the stone in her face breaks away and Paul recognizes the unmasked devastation in her eyes as she leaves the room.
That night he picks up the canvas he had put to the side and paints in a mirror on the wall of the empty room. He paints a woman’s reflection into the mirror and he tries with all his skill and talent to recreate the look Christine gave him at the loft. The next day a journalist from the city paper comes to write a profile on him and she takes a picture of the painting with the mirror in it and Christine’s face. She asks him what he will sell that painting for and he tells her that he will keep it for himself.

A prestigious gallery dedicates an entire wall to Paul’s work and he attends the opening with Alfred who now serves as his representative. People Paul has never met approach him throughout the night and praise his work. Everyone explains to him their own interpretations of his paintings and they are much more complex and interesting than anything he could have thought to say. One man says it invokes a family and the collective grief over the death of one member. An old woman tell him that it seems that they are all about searching for a true home. More and more explanations are brought to his attention, all of them different and personal to the individual offering them up.
Paul drinks wine until his lips are numb and then makes an excuse to Alfred that he is not feeling well. He escapes the gallery through the front entrance and while he is preparing to cross the street he finds Helen walking up on the sidewalk.
“Hello,” she says.
“How are you?” he asks.
“Pretty good. You?”
“Not bad. Doing alright.”
“I was coming to see your show.”
“Really? That’s nice.”
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes.”
She nods and he wants to hold her close and explain all the pain and emptiness he has felt for the last year and how much he needs her and how much he regrets having ever lost her at all.
“I guess I’ll see you later.”
He turns and begins to walk away but she calls out to him and suggests they have coffee. All the cells in Paul’s body fall into place and he feels whole and renewed as they walk through downtown. They find a diner where they order coffee and pie and Helen talks in length about her job and her brother who’s marriage is still dysfunctional yet still undissolved. Paul takes in every word and responds with answers he’s thought about late at night when he couldn’t sleep and Helen is surprised by his insight and renewed interest in her life.
They laugh like the old friends they are and the world makes sense to Paul again. He feels like he felt when he was a young boy and his whole life was ahead of him and full of possibility. It doesn’t bother him when she mentions the boyfriend she is returning to that night. He doesn’t want to know the man’s name or what he does or what he looks like, all he cares about is the person in the booth with him. They talk for an hour, until Helen leaves, and Paul watches her disappear down the street and wonders to himself why he didn’t tell her anything.
He walks through the city alone and the world is as terrible and as beautiful as he ever imagined it to be. He enters the apartment and can’t remember how he got there. His mind is overcome with thoughts of a long and pitiless future. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he fills them with a brush and paints a new picture, a new room, all gray with the light of early morning. He paints himself in, sitting in the chair, alone in the corner, and he paints a sun in the window, red as blood. The sun could be coming up or it could be setting, Paul has no opinion, and the painting is his masterpiece.
When morning arrives he walks to the park and watches the Goldeneye ducks push their way through the pond, the mothers push the strollers, the children play along the grass, and the old Filipino man drop pieces of bread for the birds. Everyone is alone he decides, it is only how you deal with it that matters. He walks the long way home and picks up a new canvas, an afternoon of painting laid out in his mind in the day ahead.
He is surprised to find Helen waiting outside the apartment. She blurts out that she has left her boyfriend to return to Paul if he’ll have her. She follows him up to the apartment where he places the new canvas on the easel in the main room and they spend the next day and a half in bed. Helen takes the next week off from work and Paul uses some of his earnings to pay for two plane tickets to Miami where they take a cruise around the Caribbean. They lie on the beaches of the Cayman islands and hike through the Mayan ruins on the Yucatan peninsula. They spend two days in Jamaica where Helen asks him how he spent his time away from her and he explains that he did nothing but paint. She says that she is proud of him and he believes her, and for the first time Paul feels that they are equal in their relationship, both in love with the other for the first time.
They spend the last few days in their cabin, floating in the boat together. When the ship gets into port they catch a taxi to the airport and spend the flight back home drinking and enjoying the present moment. When they return to the apartment they make plans to retrieve Helen’s things from storage so that she can move back in, then she prepares and dresses for work. He kisses her at the landing and watches her descend the stairs, disappearing through the front door and out into the street.
The apartment feels more empty than it has ever felt before and Paul picks up a brush to make himself feel better. He stands in front of the blank canvas and holds the brush up but does not touch the canvas. He lets the brush fall. He waits for an idea to come, staring into the canvas. He waits and stares into the very fiber of it, oblivious to the noise outside on the street and his own hunger. He stares until the sound of Helen’s key can be heard from the door as she returns from work. The canvas continues to sit, blank.

THE END

Four: Crime SuspenStory

OUR STORY SO FAR: Detective Claudia DeLa Cruz is on a deadline to build a case against Leo McCarthy, the unofficial king of Vice in the City. Meanwhile Jimmy Vaughn has been flown into San Francisco by McCarthy to find and punish whoever stole from him in his own crew and restore order. The list of suspects is narrowing down and the smell of blood is in the air.

Based on true events.
The only light on in the office was the desk lamp, Dan and everyone else had left and Claudia was alone, sifting through the files in front of her, eyes exhausted, unfocused, but refusing to close. She was determined not to leave until she could see the path forward clearly, without having to depend on luck or Judy.
She opened the folder with the profiles they had collected, peering down at the picture and the report typed next to it. Bobby Flores sat on the top of the stack. The picture was old, dating back to 2002, but she had seen Flores since then, when she and Dan had spent the first two weeks scoping out the paint store and snapping pictures. He still had the mustache back then, a relatively good looking guy she thought.
She scanned over the report: five years for transporting methamphetamine was the big one, but that had been ten years ago. All they had pulled up since then was a couple parking tickets and the extortion of a hydroponics store in the Haight where his name had come up. Nothing beyond that. Like so many others the case had fallen apart and Bobby Flores seemed to get smart. She turned the page.
Ray Richardson, AKA Cabbagepatch. The big dark head smiled out from the mug shot clipped on to the report. Convicted for attempted murder when he was nineteen, that was out in Florida. Held in suspicion of assault with a deadly weapon there in the City in 2005 but it didn’t stick. Ron Harvey had made sure of that. Good old Ron Harvey. The esteemed lawyer had represented four of the men on the McCarthy Paints payroll in about eleven separate cases over the years.
Bill Rodasavitch, AKA the Croat, or Croat. A few minor drug offenses. A year for auto theft. Assault when he was twenty. Shortly after that was when it was believed he was recruited into the group. Most likely recruited by Pat McCarthy, who was his high-school pal. McCarthy had done eight months for a decent amount of cocaine as a first offense. DUI in 2002. Six months for an unlicensed firearm. Drunk in public a few times which probably should have got him another DUI. Suspended sentence for fighting at the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade. The picture was from that day, a black eye and a wobbly grin.
Claudia flipped the page and came to Oscar Rayne. Multiple robbery charges as a minor. Assault as a minor that put him in the Boy’s Camp twice for a combined sentence of almost two years. As an adult he had been fingered for assault by a businessman from Chicago but the charges were later dropped. Claudia looked down and studied the face.
Judy had never really mentioned anything about this one. He had the right look about him, in the picture he showed a steely mug with a faint scar that came down from half way through the forehead and down through the brow, stopping at the right eye. It was a mean face, almost ugly, except for the eyes, the eyes had softness about them. Claudia found herself studying them longer than she meant to.
She flipped the page, coming to a face that was anything but soft. Richard Fagin, better known as Dick Fagin, born in Belfast Ireland in nineteen seventy two. Did three years for aggravated assault in the eighties right after he got off the boat. Did six more for attempted murder in nineteen ninety four. Charges dropped in the beating of a Chinese Immigrant at Golden Duck in Chinatown when-
Claudia stopped short and reread it. Golden Duck. Judy might have misspoken. Claudia had meant to follow up on it but hadn’t had a chance. She woke up her laptop and typed the name Golden Duck San Francisco into Google. The name came up, showing the location. There was no web-site or photo or much of anything except a few yelp posts that described the place as a true dive but “not quite cool enough to be a real dive”. There was no mention of a casino. Claudia felt foolish. When in doubt just Google it, she needed to remember that for future police work.

They had been watching video footage for almost three hours. Pat had to look away again, his eyes strained and watery. He had tried to look away all night, letting his eyes rest, his mind wander, but then Vaughn would ask who that was or if they had seen that person go out the exit already. Pat would have to lean forward, Charlie would rewind the video. Then Pat would identify the person or answer the question and Vaughn would scribble in his note book. This had gone on for nearly; check that, three hours exactly as Pat looked at the time on his phone.
There was a knock on the door and a voice said: “Charlie. C’mon, it’s me.”
Charlie looked from the screen over to the door, then got up, making his way bleary eyed.
“What are you doing?” Vaughn said.
Charlie unlocked the door, revealing a heavy set man with a mustache. The man blinked, looking around the room. His mind was so numb it took Pat a moment to focus and recognize O’Neil in his cheap suit and tie.
“What the hell you guys doing? Watching a porno?” O’Neil cracked.
Vaughn looked up at the mustache and the double chin. His eyes steeled up, irritated.
“I’m gonna ask you once,” he said. “Get out.”
“Whoa now,” O’Neil grinned at him “You must be new around here.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Relax. I got my VIP pass right here.”
O’Neil went in his pocket, his hand coming out with the detective shield. He held it a foot from Vaughn’s face. The other man barely glanced at it, keeping his steel eyes directed on the mustache.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Vaughn asked the fat man.
Pat watched the confrontation, mildly curious about where it would lead. He disliked both men immensely. He hoped the moment would stretch out and end with the two of them destroying each other right there. Then the reality of the situation took hold, Pat realizing he had to take some responsibility if they were ever going to get out of there.
“Listen Bobby, we’re caught up in something right now. What do you need?” he asked O’Neil.
The cop had returned his badge to his pocket, still locked into the battle of wills and steel eyes with Vaughn. He adjusted his tie, looking over at Pat.
“Shoot Pat. I was just coming around to shoot the shit. See if Mai Ling was in tonight.”
“No. She off,” Charlie said.
O’Neil nodded, the good humor returning.
“Okay, well maybe I can spend some time with one of the others up there?”
“Go up. Have Maggie give a room,” Charlie told him.
“With Mai Ling gone I think ought’a get a little discount-“
“No discount. We don’t run charity,” Charlie replied.
Pat sighed, wishing the fat man would disappear. Vaughn still stared with murder in his eyes. O’Neil seemed unaware of it, impending sex distracting him.
“Its fine,” Pat said “Go upstairs Bobby. It’s on the house.”
“Good man. You all be good now. You especially,” O’Neil said, nodding his wide head at Vaughn.
The fat man went out the door and Vaughn turned his gaze towards Charlie.
“What the fuck are you doing you stupid chink? I don’t care who’s knocking on the door. You don’t answer it unless I say you do.”
Charlie simply nodded, unfazed. He clicked play on the screen and all three of them watched as Fran Flores made his way down the hall and out the motel entrance on the monitor. Vaughn wrote on the note pad. Pat could see that the only names remaining on the page without lines drawn through them were Oscar and Bill.
Vaughn told Charlie to fast forward. They watched the video stretch and ripple until a figure flashed across. Charlie rewound it a bit with the mouse. They watched as Oscar come out of Golden Duck’s front entrance on the monitor.
“You see anything in his hand?” Vaughn asked.
“I don’t see shit,” Pat said coldly.
“No,” Charlie agreed.
Vaughn put a line through Oscar’s name and Pat felt anger boil in his chest.
“What did you expect?” he said. “You thought one of our boys would just pop out with a fucking bag?”
Vaughn ignored him, telling Charlie to fast forward. All the video panels stood still, the minutes zipping by as seconds on the time code. The frames of video brightened as the sun came up on camera. The three men watched as Tek walked up in panel three and unlocked the Golden Duck’s front entrance on November twenty first.
Vaughn leaned back in his chair and said: “I never saw the Croat come out.”
“We probably just missed it,” Pat replied.
“No. I didn’t.”
“Garage exit,” Charlie said.
“He probably parked in the garage. You’re not supposed to but he might have. That’s why we didn’t see him,” Pat said.
“Why would he do that?”
Vaughn lit a cigarette.
“I don’t know. He just might have.”
“And he’s the only one?”
“So what? It doesn’t prove shit.”
“It proves everything.”
Vaughn turned around in his chair and looked at Pat.
“You’re guy’s disappeared. Usually the most obvious answer is the answer. No matter if you want to believe it or not,” he said.
There was another knock on the door. Charlie looked over at Vaughn warily.
“I’m trying to get out of here,” a voice said through the door.
“It’s the drop,” Pat muttered to Vaughn.
Vaughn nodded at Charlie and the other man got up and unlocked the door. Javier came in and handed an envelope over, rubbing his eyes. The right side of his head was a slightly different color than the left. He looked around the room, taking in Pat and the video monitors. When he got to Vaughn his eyes widened and he took a step back towards the door.
“How game?” Charlie asked him.
“It was just two douche bag tourists and a couple of immigrants. Brown gave them the number from the St. Francis. They had some money. The immigrants won a little and then we put Ping in the game to clean them out.”
Pat noticed Javier staring at Vaughn.
“Javey, this is the guy from out of town,” he said.
“We’ve met,” Vaughn said. “How you doing Javey?”
Javier didn’t say anything.
“You hear from Bill yet?”
“I’m going home,” Javier replied.
He exited the room as quickly as possible.

Oscar pulled the whisky from the glove box, sipping it, looking out at the lights of South City. The twinkling and illusion of calm took the edge off the stale tension in his stomach. He had been waiting there in front of Javier’s house for two hours and every minute that ticked by increased the distinct feeling that he was going to miss something, or was missing something at that moment. It made him jumpy, on edge. He took another pull from the whisky.
His phone rang on the seat, the number blocked. He answered and heard Vaughn say: “What do you have?”
“Nothing,” Oscar replied “His mother said she hadn’t seen him in weeks.”
There was silence on the other end. He thought the call may have been dropped before he heard one of Vaughn’s sighs.
“You believe her?” the man asked.
“She seemed worried.”
“Worried because you were there, or because he was missing?”
“Because she hadn’t seen him.”
Vaughn went silent again for a moment, then just hung up. Oscar put the phone back down in the passenger seat, watching as the headlights of a car came up along the street and pulled into Javier’s driveway. He waited to make sure. When he saw Javier gets out of the car he got out as well.
He had hoped that Javier would notice him before he got to the car but the idiot’s head was bowed as he made his way towards the house, off in his own world. Oscar called out to him from the street. Javier almost jumped out of his skin and looked ready to sprint for shelter. He twisted his head around, jerking like a bird to pinpoint the sound. When he saw Oscar he stopped short.
He stood very still before blinking the surprise out of his face, replacing it with anger. Oscar could see him square his shoulders before coming forward.
“You mother fucker,” Javier growled “You mother fucker!”
Oscar could see the man’s hands had turned to fists. He stopped back into the street and let Javier approach him until they were fifteen feet apart, then pulled the gun from his coat and pointed it at Javier.
“Take it easy,” he warned.
Javier stopped and began to pace back and forth, the gun stopping all forward progress but the anger not allowing him to stop moving.
“I ought to fucking kill you!” he cried. “You come in my house and fucking-“
“Shut up. You want the neighbors to hear?”
Oscar kept the gun on him but lowered it slightly. Javier watched, still pacing. He spat on the ground between them.
“What the fuck did I do to you?” Javier demanded.
“Nothing.”
“You brought that piece of shit in my house!”
“He told me to.”
“Fuck you.”
Javier stopped moving, he looked around at his neighboring houses, finally realizing how he and Oscar might appear. Oscar took the moment to lower the gun completely, holding it at his side.
“Did Bill call you?” he asked.
“No,” Javier said
“I know Bill didn’t have anything to do with what happened.”
Javier watched as Oscar spoke. He spat on the asphalt again and said: “Bill would never steal from Leo. He’s like a father to him.”
“I know that.”
“Leo stepped in when that cop tried to fuck Bill over last year. You remember that? Bill would never do nothing to Leo.”
Oscar nodded
“He would never do a fucking thing to anybody with Leo.”
“Did you talk to him?” Oscar asked again.
“If I did would you go run off and tell your cousin? The sick fucking bastard.”
“He’s not my cousin.”
“I thought you were my friend until you and that piece of shit stuck that gun in my face.”
Oscar shoved the gun behind his belt along the small of his back.
“You could have done something,” Javier muttered.
“Did you talk to Bill?”
Javier looked down at his feet, then back at Oscar with contempt. He sniffed at the night air. A car came up behind him and they both had to move out of the street. They stood on the sidewalk watching the car drive off before Javier said: “I talked to him.”
“And what’d you say?” Oscar asked.
“I said get the fuck out of the Bay. I said there’s some crazy bastard that’s going to come around looking to shoot your balls off.”
“And what’d he say?”
“He said he couldn’t but that he was going to stay low.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No,” Javier muttered.
“Does he have a girl? A black girl?”
Javier turned his head, his round brown eyes squinting into the light of the street lamp.
“I’m pretty sure he was messing with that chick Shimiya, I don’t know for sure. He mentioned it once. A while ago.”
“Who is she?”
“She works at the Nip.”
“There’s a few black ones there,” Oscar said.
“She’s the one that isn’t fat.”
Oscar tried to place her. He did pick ups at Cat Nip rarely and hadn’t worked there in years.
“You speak to him again you have him call me.”
Javier nodded but Oscar could tell he wasn’t listening. He was off in his own world again.
“I’m done with this shit. Who needs it? Me and Anna are gonna head down to Mexico and live our life.”
Oscar left Javier on the sidewalk and walked back to the Cadillac.