Wolf in the Shadows (15 page)

“So what’s going on?” he asked. “You in trouble?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well, you’re looking worse by the minute. Let me get you some breakfast.”

“I don’t want—”

“Just a glass of milk and some toast.” When I started to protest some more, he made a shooing gesture. “Go on, the sun’s burned
off the fog now; we’ll talk on the patio. I’ll be with you in about three minutes.”

I slid off the stool, picked my way through the cartons to the patio door, and stepped out into the warming morning. A small
tiled Jacuzzi took up one corner of the patio; I approached it cautiously, alert for alligators. At Christmastime it had contained
a primordial stew that promised either to give rise to a strange new species or to effect a cure for any number of previously
untreatable diseases. There was no telling what might live there now. But surprise—the water was clear and smelled faintly
of chlorine.

So why did that depress me? I wondered as I flopped on a lounge chair. My brother’s life was on track, and it
depressed
me? Too much evidence of change in too few hours, I supposed. I hadn’t been prepared for it, so now I was resisting.

Then my spirits took a further downhill slide as I remembered other changes, and that I’d promised to give All Souls an answer
about the promotion by close of business today. No way I could cope with that—not in my present state. Maybe I should call
Rae and ask her to pass on a message that as a result of my alleged illness I required more time….

John delivered the milk and toast, sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi, and watched me like a prison guard until I’d drunk every
drop, polished off every crumb. When he took the plate and glass away, his smug expression reminded me of my mother’s when
she’d duped one of us into swallowing some particularly odious medicine. And I had to admit I felt better, just as I’d always
felt better after Ma’s ministrations.

John came back and sat on the Jacuzzi wall again. “Now,” he said, and waited.

“Before I go into it, let me ask you: do you ever hire illegals?”

“Well, sure. There’s not a small contractor in the county who doesn’t. I’ve done it personally, and as far as I know, my foremen
still do.”

“Don’t you consider that exploitation?” It was off the subject, but I wasn’t tracking too well and, anyway, it interested
me.

“No,” he said flatly. “At least they’re eating, and cheap labor makes it possible for me to stay in business.”

“But what about their rights?”

“What rights? They’re here illegally.”

“In case you don’t know, there’s been a series of court decisions that in essence say that once undocumented immigrants are
in the country, they have the protection of our laws.”

“Yeah, well, isn’t that always the way? Protect the guy who’s here illegally at the expense of the one who was born here.
Protect the criminal’s rights at the expense of the victim’s. I’m getting damned sick of it.”

“I understand why you’re—”

“No, you don’t, Shar. You’re not a small businessman who’s struggling to give his kids a decent life. And I know what you’re
going to say to that: the illegals are trying to give their kids a decent life, too.” He paused. “Hell, you know I feel for
them. We’re all getting fucked by the people who run things. And I’m not claiming I’m running a charity here, but the guys
who hire on with me get treated good and can at least put food in their families’ mouths. A square meal’s a damn sight more
nourishing than some rich politician’s yap about rights.”

“You have a point there.”

“You bet I do.” His eyes narrowed. “Why the questions about the illegals? You on an immigration case?”

“I’m not on any case at all, at least not officially.” And then I began to tell him about it. Soon the words were spilling
out so fast I could barely catch my breath, fast and with too much emotion—an odd mix of anger and fear and determination.

John didn’t say a word the whole time, but his face grew grim. “So that’s why the questions,” he commented when I finished.
“The Holiday Market.”

“You know the place?”

He nodded. “In the past year we’ve been doing a lot of jobs in the South Bay. Cops run the illegals off from the Holiday now
and then, and they go down the street to the parking lot of a taco stand. When the cops run them off of there, they’re back
at the market.”

“John, I’ve got to find out if Hy went there, and what happened. Is there any way you can get the guy who runs the place to
talk with me? Or do you know anybody he might trust?”

He considered. “Two of my foremen, Al and Pete, are Hispanics, and I know they’ve done a lot of hiring there. Maybe one of
them. I’ll ask.”

“Would you?”

“Of course.” He frowned, pulling at his lower lip—a childhood habit when he was worried. “But look, kid, aren’t you getting
in over your head?”

Kid. Years ago he called me that. When had he stopped? Somewhere around the time I shot and killed a man. With surprise I
realized it had taken him all these years to accept it and acknowledge that deep down I was still his baby sister.

Truthfully I replied, “Maybe I am, but I’ve got no choice.”

“This Ripinsky guy means that much to you?”

“Yes. It’s … an odd relationship. I don’t know exactly how to explain it. But he’s the only person—with the exception of
Ma, maybe—who’s ever understood who and what I am and not judged me because of it.”

“
Ma?
” John stared at me as if I’d taken leave of my senses.

“Yes, Ma. She said some things to me last fall when she was visiting that made me realize she knows me better in some ways
than I do myself. Maybe knows all of us better than we think.”

“What did she say?”

“Oh … that there’s a side of me that’s kind of … wild, is how she put it, that isn’t going to fit into any of the convenient
little niches that society uses to confine people.”

“You know, that’s interesting, because she said something to me, too, around the same time. What she told me was that under
all the craziness I was really conventional as hell and just waiting for the time to come along when I wouldn’t be too embarrassed
to let it show.”

“
You?
”

He grinned. “Well, look at us. Who’s the one who showed up here at the crack of dawn looking like something the dog dug up?
Who’s the one who made the other eat breakfast?”

“True. God, if she saw those things in us, I wonder what she saw in Charlene and Joey and Patsy?”

“We ought to ask them.”

I leaned my head back, suddenly feeling it was too much trouble to keep my eyes open.

“Hey, stay awake for a few more minutes,” John ordered. “Can I borrow this Ripinsky’s picture?”

“Sure, but what—”

“I’ll have some copies made at the one-hour photo, and if Al and Pete think they can do something for you, I’ll give them
the pictures and have them ask around. In the meantime, you get some sleep.”

“What?” I sat up. “I’ve got to—”

“You
don’t
got to. Until one of them comes up with something, there’s nothing you can do. So give me the picture, go in the boys’ room,
and sack out.”

I had to admit the idea appealed. “You’ll wake me up as soon as you know something?”

“I’ll wake you up. Go!”

“You promise?”

“Yes! I swear to God, you remind me of my kids.”

“I swear to God, you remind me of Ma.”

“Well, everybody needs some mothering now and then, kid. Everybody.”

When I woke in the narrow kid’s bed, afternoon sunlight had made the small room unbearably hot and stuffy. I lay there for
a moment, groggy and filmed with sweat. The phone rang somewhere and was abruptly cut off by the answering machine; I heard
my brother’s recorded voice intone something about having reached Mr. Paint, and a woman left a mostly garbled message.

Finally I got up and opened the one window. Outside was a high-fenced area full of tall plants—John’s dope garden. Solid
evidence that my brother hadn’t been taken over by an alien, after all. But what did he do with the plants when the boys stayed
here? Surely he didn’t allow them to gaze at a marijuana farm through their bedroom window. Or did he? Well, that was his
business; where the boys were concerned, at least, John seemed to know what he was doing.

I wandered out to the kitchen; the only noise was the faucet dripping. The mentality of the drought years persisted among
San Franciscans; I went over and tightened the knob until it stopped. In the fridge I found a can of ginger ale vastly outnumbered
by six-packs and drank it thirstily while contemplating the problem of how to get in touch with Rae. By the clock on the stove,
it was one thirty-nine; she’d probably be at her desk. Trouble was, I couldn’t be sure the All Souls line didn’t have a tap
on it. By now RKI’s operatives would be mounting a full-scale search for me.

Finally I went to the phone on John’s desk and dialed All Souls. Pitched my voice higher than normal when Ted answered and
said I was calling for Tony Nolan, the client for whom Rae was performing a number of background checks. Rae came on the line
and immediately recognized my voice.

“Shar—” she began.

I cut her off. “No, I don’t need to talk with Ms, McCone. I need to talk with you. I’ve found the remedy to the problem, and
I want to discuss it in fifteen minutes.”

Rae was silent.

“I have the
remedy
, do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.” She sounded grave, even grim. “I’ll be there early, if possible.”

I hung up before she could say anything else.

Eyes on the clock of the VCR, I paced around the living room, went to the patio door and opened it to let in some of the afternoon
breeze. One of the neighbors’ ducks had wandered in and was contemplating the Jacuzzi with more than normal interest, so I
shooed it away. Then I went back inside and snooped idly into cartons as the minutes ticked by. One was full of photograph
albums, and I pulled the topmost out and flipped through its pages. A Christmas picture caught my attention: John, Karen,
Johnny, Billy, and little Kimmy, who had died of leukemia when she was two. They sat on a couch, the kids on their parents’
laps, everyone smiling, their eyes shining from the glow of the tree—mercifully unaware of all the bad, sad days to come.
I’d often wondered how things might have turned out for John and Karen if Kimmy hadn’t died….

Time to call Rae. I looked up the number of the Remedy Lounge in my address book, dialed, and identified myself to owner and
bartender Brian O’Flanagan.

“No,” he said formally, “you need to call the office number for that. Do you have it?”

If Brian had installed Rae in his office, which was also his home at the back of the bar, it would mean she’d been followed
there. An RKI operative might be within earshot of this conversation. “Is it listed with Information?”

“That’s right.” I detected a note of relief in Brian’s voice as he said good-bye.

This didn’t sound good, not good at all. Neither Rae nor Brian was the sort to imagine things. I called Information, got the
number, and dialed. Rae answered in the middle of the first ring.

“Shar?” Her voice shook slightly.

“It’s me. What’s going on?”

“Plenty—all of it bad. Gage Renshaw was at All Souls this morning asking if we’d heard from you. God, he’s got mean, cold
eyes.”

“You talked with him?”

“Yeah, Ted had me come up front and deal with him. I went into the song and dance about you being sick, but he didn’t buy
it. And at noon when I went over to your house to feed the cats, somebody followed me. I shook him, but when I got to your
place, they had somebody on it, too.”

I felt a touch of panic—a flashback to when my house had been vandalized two weeks before. “Is everything all right there?”

“Except for Ralph puking on the couch, I think so. But, Shar, now somebody else has followed me here.”

“I thought as much. Is he outside in the bar?”

“A couple of minutes ago when Brian came back here, he was. I spotted him coming down Precita and speeded up, so Brian managed
to get me into the office without him seeing, but he knows I came in here. I’ll sneak out the back way when we’re done.” She
hesitated. “Shar, what the hell’s going on?”

“I gave them the slip last night and they’re trying to find me, that’s all. I’m perfectly safe now, but I don’t think it’s
a good idea for you to know where. Listen, I don’t like to keep asking favors, but I need another.”

“Sure.”

“Tell Hank that I’m too sick to make a decision on the promotion yet.”

“Oh, Shar!” Her wail made me hold the receiver away from my ear. “That’s the other awful thing. He knows. They all know.”

“Know what? That I’m not sick?”

“Worse, even. When I told Renshaw you were sick he said, ‘Don’t give me that. She went to San Diego on a job for us last night.’
And of course Hank and Mike Tobias chose that moment to walk through the foyer.”

Well, that did it, I thought glumly. “They say anything to you?”

“Not Mike, and Hank didn’t say anything at the time. But later on, he called me into his office. You know how he never reads
you the riot act but you always feel like he has, anyway? Well, he said he was very disappointed in both of us—me for lying,
and you for asking me to lie. And he
was
, Shar. You should have seen him.”

How well I knew Hank’s disappointed looks. “Go on.”

“He asked me what was happening, and I said I couldn’t talk about it. He said he’d respect that, but when I was ready to tell
him, he’d be there.”

“Then you’d better tell him.”

“But—”

“No, go ahead and tell him. I don’t want you taking the blame for me. Besides, I’ve screwed myself where All Souls is concerned,
so it doesn’t matter.”

“What about the promotion?”

“I assume it’s no longer an issue. But you might tell him …”

“What?”

My anger had begun to rise: At the unfairness of the partners, who were trying to force me into a job they knew I didn’t want.
At the new order they’d created at the co-op, which had made me feel I couldn’t go to Hank and ask him to allow me the time
to deal with this crisis. At their petty new regulation against employees accepting outside jobs, which had made me ask Rae
to lie. I wanted to give Rae a particularly unkind, wounding message to pass on to Hank.