Desperate Enemies 3 (7 page)

Funny, he thought, how few gulls he saw in Wonderland, despite the fact that their homes were situated on a bluff overlooking the ocean. Who knew? Maybe they knew that there was a better opportunity to find food in the city or maybe, he thought bitterly, they knew something about the place that the humans had yet to figure out. He shook off this feeling and walked over to the edge of the roof, resting his hands on the chest-high wall. He peered out across the rooftops of countless homes, apartments and businesses and down at the busy streets below. Directly in front of him, on nearby Green Street, was Club Fugazi, home of the venerable Beach Blanket Babylon and, to his right, high atop Telegraph Hill, was Coit Tower. The Art Deco edifice, built in 1933, stood like a giant phallus overlooking North Beach and shone white in the dazzling sunlight. Edgar suddenly wished that he had brought Jack along, just to enjoy a day together in the city where they had first met nearly twenty years earlier. He quickly squashed this feeling, however, reminding himself of the true nature of his visit. He turned and briskly walked toward the elevator.

* * * *

As soon as he was on the street Edgar was quickly swept up with the throngs of tourists and locals headed in a million directions. As he walked in the direction of Columbus Avenue, he passed shops and bakeries and smiled at the scents that filled the air. . . rich coffees, baking pastries and, somewhere nearby, the unmistakable smell of Chinese food. As he continued up the street, though, he was reminded of the city's not-so-charming side. Garbage from an overturned refuse container lay in a heap on the corner and, for the first time that morning, he saw a homeless person begging change from tourists, two things that would never happen in Wonderland. Sure, he thought, the city has a dark side. . . muggings happen, cars get broken into. . . but isn't that part of living in a city? And is that really any worse than what was happening in Wonderland? At least a thief might steal your wallet, bad yes, but was that worse than having your home stolen out from under you?

At Columbus, Edgar crossed the street and continued south, in the direction of Broadway. The Condor Club, his destination, was just ahead. Originally Carol Doda's Condor Club, thusly named for its star performer, the Condor Club was famous for being the first topless and bottomless strip club in the United States, with a plaque on the front of the building commemorating this fact. Opened in 1964, the club had gone through numerous changes over the previous decades, beginning with a California law banning bottomless dancing in clubs that served liquor and culminating with the removal of its famous sign, which featured a forty-foot-tall Carol Doda, complete with red, blinking nipples. Although Edgar had never been one to frequent strip clubs, he had viewed the removal of the sign with sadness. In his opinion the sign was a city landmark and, with its removal, a bit of old San Francisco died. But this part of San Francisco was the seedy side of the city, home to strip clubs and the closest thing there was to a red light district. Things had always been fluid here. The old things that went away would eventually be replaced by something both different and yet still the same, just in a new wrapper.

As he neared the corner, where Broadway and Columbus intersected, Edgar spied other familiar landmarks, City Lights Books, Vesuvio Cafe and, further down, the Sentinel building. Lost in thought, he almost didn't hear the voice behind him.

“Edgar!”

Edgar turned to see the familiar face of the man he only knew as Miller. He was a little older, sure, but it was definitely him. Edgar guessed that Miller was probably somewhere in his mid-to-late-fifties, based on his gray goatee and hair that he kept cropped extremely short, but he seemed to keep himself in relatively good shape, with a chest and biceps that a twenty-year old would be envious of. Miller had a boxer's nose and striking blue eyes and constantly wore an expression akin to one of mild amusement. This had always been unnerving to Edgar, who wasn't sure if Miller was laughing at him or not or even what the joke was. One thing was certain, however: Edgar never wanted to see Miller angry, so mild amusement was fine.

“Miller,” he said, extending a hand, which Miller accepted, squeezing it just once.

“You look well,” he said. “What the hell are you doing in Wonderland?”

“That's why I'm here,” replied Edgar. “I need your expertise in a touchy matter.”

“I'm all ears,” said Miller. “Care to step into my office?”

With this he gestured to the doors of the Condor Club, allowing Edgar to enter first. Inside, Edgar paid the entrance fee for them both and they went in search of a drink.

* * * *

Back on Eldon Court, Jack was growing restless. It seemed as if he was consulting the clock on the wall every five minutes, and it was barely moving. He should have been at his yoga studio but decided he was too nervous with Edgar in San Francisco, so he got one of his employees to cover for him instead. After a couple of hours of pacing the floor, Jack decided it might be a good idea to take the dog for a walk. That, he reasoned, would at least kill some time and get his mind off of Edgar and whatever he was up to. So what that Edgar told him to lock himself in the house? He was an adult and could handle himself. Grateful that the rain had stopped, Jack attached the leather leash to Ollie's collar and the two stepped out onto the porch. A quick glance up and down Eldon Court told him that he was alone and he stepped down off of the porch and onto the empty sidewalk.

As he walked, Jack admired the handsome Victorians that lined their street, such beautiful, sturdy old houses. It was amazing that anyone would want to demolish the old gems, not to mention the well-manicured lawns and the sturdy old trees that lined Eldon Court. Jack considered a stand of Cypress in the distance and a thought occurred to him: if the residents of Eldon Court were unable to beat Danvers Converse through normal channels, why not pursue a more unorthodox route? Surely
some
organization would be opposed to the developers cutting down these magnificent trees and, hell, if the street's residents were lucky, maybe their street was the winter nesting ground for some endangered species! Jack smiled at his own cleverness. Okay, the endangered species, he realized, was probably pushing it. . . or
was
he? Jack started making a mental list: he would go online and research endangered species. . . maybe call the Sierra Club. . . god, he needed a pen and paper!

“Come on Ollie,” said Jack, tugging at the confused dachshund's leash. “We're going to go online and do some research.”

Just as he was turning back towards his house, movement in the back yard of Number Two Eldon Court caught his eye. Jack could hear Edgar's earlier admonishment to lock the door and answer it for no one, but curiosity got the best of him and he found himself veering from the sidewalk and onto the grass toward the backyard. As he got closer, he heard a familiar sound, although at first he couldn't quite place it. Then it occurred to him, the “hiss, chink” sound he was hearing was the sound of a shovel digging into earth and, as he peered around the shrubbery, his suspicions were confirmed. Standing in his back yard, shirtless and in flimsy-looking shorts, was Parker St. John, looking sweaty and gorgeous. In his hand was the shovel Jack had heard and Parker was standing in the midst of multiple holes, as if he had been digging all morning and looking for something. Jack didn't want to imagine what or
who
he was looking for but felt glued to the spot out of fear and, well, Parker was just so damned mesmerizing, especially with his shirt off, thickly furred chest on easy display. He stood there for a moment longer, finally reminding himself of his terrific idea to save their homes. As he turned to make a silent retreat, Ollie let out a single bark.

Shit
, thought Jack.

Parker looked up from the hole he was standing over, unsure of where the barking had originated. He wiped his brow with the back of his forearm and stepped forward.

“Who's there?” he demanded.

To Jack's horror, Ollie let out another bark leaving Jack no alternative other than to play along.

“You're in big trouble when we get home,” he mumbled to the dog.

Then he dropped the leash and, as if on cue, Ollie darted into Parker's back yard. Jack waited a beat and then darted after him, feigning fatigue.

“Ollie!” he cried. “Come here, you bad. . .”

Jack stopped in his tracks, pretending to see Parker for the first time that day.

“Oh, Parker,” he said. “I'm so sorry. . . Ollie was chasing a squirrel and got away. . .”

“I didn't see any squirrel come this way,” replied Parker, obviously in a foul mood.

“Oh, well,” said Jack, snatching up Ollie. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

“Jack,” said Parker, calling after his neighbor, “don't you want to know why I'm digging up my back yard?”

“Not particularly, no,” replied Jack.

“Not even a bit?”

Jack narrowed his eyes at Parker.

“I'm assuming you lost something,” he said, pointedly. “But it's really none of my business.”

“No,” replied Parker, “it isn't your business.”

“Like I said,” replied Jack, “I'm sorry to have bothered you.”

With Ollie in his arms, he turned to go, but was stopped by Parker's voice.

“Where's Edgar?” he asked. “Off doing some more snooping?”

The question caused Jack's face to redden, but he didn't reply.

“Since you're all alone,” said Parker, winking insidiously, “why don't we make a fun afternoon of it?”

Parker may have been physically beautiful but this was enough for Jack.

“You may have fucked everyone else on this street into the sad state it's currently in,” he said, his voice steady and low, “but I happen to love my partner and we're going to get rid of you if it's the last thing we ever do.”

Parker, who was obviously not accustomed to having his advances spurned, looked truly shocked. Taking advantage of having the upper hand for the first time since being detected, Jack turned and marched back to his house.

Once inside, he locked the door.

* * * *

Edgar followed Miller into a cavernous room, which was dark save for the flashing lights just at the foot of a stage punctuated by brass poles. These reminded Edgar of the brass railings he had seen on his drive over, except he knew that these had a far different use than the ones in the front of apartment buildings. Wall sconces, positioned here and there on mirrored walls provided the only other light in the room. As soon as they were seated a twenty-something brunette with a pierced septum approached them carrying a tray.

“What can I get you?” she asked, smiling.

“Scotch,” replied Miller. “Neat.”

He looked their server up and down like an old dog sniffing out a ham bone, but his face remained expressionless.

“And you?” she asked Edgar.

“A draught,” he replied. Then, as soon as the server was gone, “I have to drive back to Wonderland.”

Miller acted as if he hadn't heard or didn't care.

“What is it you wanted to see me about, Edgar?”

“I need your help getting some information on someone,” replied Edgar, “hopefully information that will get rid of him for good.”

“I'm listening.”

“This person claims to own the land where my home and the homes of our neighbors are built,” said Edgar. “He wants to force us out so that he can re-develop the land for a business venture.”

“And what makes you think that I can help?” asked Miller, his voice emotionless.

Just then the server reappeared carrying their drinks, which she placed on the table in front of them. Edgar passed her a twenty.

“Keep the change,” he said.

As soon as the server was gone he turned back to Miller.

“You were always a good source when I worked at the
Chronicle
,” he said. “Considering this guy's been around for a while and no doubt involved in all kinds of illegal activities, I figured you were the right guy to call.”

Miller gave Edgar a sideways glance that suggested a punch in the nose for the ‘illegal activities’ crack, but took a sip of his scotch, instead.

“What's this fellow's name?”

“Danvers Converse,” replied Edgar.

Edgar took a sip of his beer and was surprised to hear Miller laughing a real, hearty laugh. It was the first time, to Edgar's recollection, that he had ever seen Miller laugh.

“What's so damn funny?” he asked.

“Danvers Converse?”

“Yes,” replied Edgar, “why?”

“Edgar,” said Miller, “Danvers Converse is one screwed up motherfucker. Do you know how many people he's made disappear? And I'm just talking about California. God knows how many people in Nevada. . .”

“Surely there's got to be some way to get to this guy,” argued Edgar.

“Have you thought about killing him?” asked Miller.

Edgar glanced nervously around the bar, which was beginning to fill up. He suspected that the next show was about to begin.

“One of my neighbors already had that idea,” replied Edgar, his voice low, “and that didn't go so well.”

“Really?” asked Miller, taking another sip of scotch. “What happened?”

“He got into a scuffle with another neighbor and the gun went off, killing him and badly injuring the neighbor.”

Miller's shoulders made a little jerk and he exhaled sharply, as if amused.

“Too bad,” he said.

“Yes,” replied Edgar, hotly, “it was.”

Their conversation was interrupted by pounding dance music. Edgar looked up to see three young women, in varying states of undress and suspect ages, take the stage. Miller seemed hypnotized by their gyrations and surprised Edgar when he spoke.

“So, you want me to get rid of him?”

“What?” asked Edgar, “No, Miller, that's not what I'm asking. . .what I need is to find any information regarding that land and who really owns it.”

Edgar looked back at the stage, his hands sweaty from the uncomfortable conversation. One of the dancers was feigning licking another dancer's exposed nipples. Edgar cleared his throat and took another sip of beer.