Royal Flush (The Jake Samson & Rosie Vicente Detective Series Book 6) (5 page)

I graciously mumbled hello, sneaking a glance at her left hand— no rings at all— and we both turned to look up at the house’s facade. Beige. Flat. Early Sixties. It had parking, that was always a plus on these narrow roads, and the fifty or so steep wooden steps up to the lower door looked new. The lot swept up a wooded hillside spotted red with poison oak.

“The lot backs onto the ridge up there— no one can ever build above you. And there’s a trail at the top.”

She was waiting for me to say something, so I did. “Jim said it needed some foundation work.”

She nodded. “That’s why it’s so cheap.” Cheap meaning only $289,000. “Come on, let’s have a look. I haven’t seen this one myself.”

She stood back to let me go up the stairs first. After the first thirty or so, I had to work a little at not trudging. Just a little. I couldn’t help but get the feeling she would have run to the door if I hadn’t been in the way.

The place was vacant, which didn’t make it any more charming. The upstairs, the bigger unit, had a square living room with a pink stone-faced fireplace and white carpeting. There’s no way I’d ever remember to take off my shoes when I came in, and I sure as hell wouldn’t ask my friends to. There were two little bedrooms and a small front deck. The view was nice, a piece of the Ross Valley. The downstairs had one little bedroom and the bottom twin of the upstairs fireplace.

We looked at the foundation. It was bowed slightly in front.

“The drainage problem has been fixed,” she said, pointing to some black plastic corrugated stuff sticking out of the hillside. “We have an estimate for a $10,000 length of foundation wall, and they’d be drilling it into the bedrock.”

That was good.

“Tell you the truth, Sally, the place doesn’t sing to me. I like Fairfax better than San Anselmo too.”

“But San Anselmo has higher property values. It’s a better investment.”

“It’s a great town, but Fairfax, well, Fairfax…”

“Is Fairfax. Hippie-town. Musician- and artist-town. Funky and cool and…” She was laughing.

“Lower-income.”

She appreciated my humor, her eyes crinkling at me. I love a woman who loves my jokes.

“I understand. I like Fairfax too.” I could tell that she did.

“So let’s go look at that house and cottage.” And maybe have lunch? Too soon to ask that.

The property was on the mountain side of Fairfax, up a skinny, winding road five minutes above town. I followed her into the carport and down the twenty or so not-so-hot wooden steps.

It wasn’t exactly a house and cottage, in the strictest sense. More like a cottage-and-cottage. A one-bedroom on the right, about thirty paces down a dirt path from the two-bedroom directly to the left of the steps. You could barely see the neighbor slightly below the house and a couple hundred feet away, and if there were any houses anywhere near the cottage, they were completely hidden in the trees.

We went into the two-bedroom first. It was a moldy little two-level house teetering on the edge of a canyon, and it had a decent-sized living room that needed painting, a Franklin stove, and Douglas fir floors that hadn’t been refinished in a couple of decades. The deck, which could have used a few new boards, was built around a big bay laurel tree and looked down on more bay, eucalyptus, madrone, buckeye, and California live oak, and out over another piece of the valley.

Sally pointed to a dry gully down at the bottom of the property. A big gully.

“That’s a winter stream down there.”

Now, in September, it was just a ditch, but it looked wide enough to hold a small river in February. Far enough from the house not to wash away the foundation, close enough to be nice to live with.

The kitchen had a newish fridge, adequate gas stove, an old dishwasher, pretty fair cabinet space, and just enough room for a table for two. There was a small bathroom off the living room.

Downstairs, two little bedrooms and a slightly bigger bathroom. The smaller of the two bedrooms stood on stilts over the gorge. That could be my office-slash-guestroom.

Tigris and Euphrates, I thought, would love the place. Especially the big bay tree. The winter stream would scare them, but they’d flirt with the foam because they’re cats, and cats, contrary to current mythology, are idiots.

“It could use some cosmetic work, and the termite report on the stairs is not good, and the deck…” Sally was talking about details, but I wasn’t really listening. I was crazy about the place.

“Let’s go look at the cottage.”

The cottage was all on one level. It had fir floors too, its own Franklin stove, a deck, a living room that could use some new Sheetrock, a tiny bedroom, and a bathroom that needed tiles. The kitchen cabinets were pretty ratty and the sink was stained. The place sat tucked among the trees, cozy as hell, a big red-barked madrone right outside the kitchen window. I expected Hansel and Gretel to pop out when I opened the oven, which could have been cleaner.

Sally, who touched my arm twice and my shoulder once, kept trying to talk to me about termite reports and drainage, and I kept smiling. Love always believes everything is fixable. I couldn’t wait for Rosie to see the place.

I told Sally someone else had to take a look and hastened to reassure her that the someone was not a wife, although she didn’t ask. As for the contemplated lunch invitation, it seemed premature, after all, since I’d probably be seeing her again in the next couple of days and didn’t want to look over-eager.

She gave me a couple more business cards. We parted with lots of smiles and promises to be in touch, and I wound down to Sir Francis Drake Boulevard and drove the ten minutes to the office in San Rafael.

I’d forgotten that Rosie hadn’t seen my new hair.

“What happened to your head?”

I explained that this was my disguise.

“Then why are you wearing your disguise to the office? We really don’t want you leading the Gestapo here.”

She was right, of course. I’d meant to cover that eventuality and had spaced out.

“I’m going to get a wig for my non-Aryan appearances. A wig that looks like my real hair.”

“Why didn’t you just get a blond wig in the first place? Why go through the hassle of bleaching your hair?”

“I thought it would be better to use real bleached hair for my undercover work and a wig to make me look like my real self. I figure none of our regular clients are too likely to yank on my hair. The Aryan Command might not either, but if they do, I don’t want it coming off in their hands.”

She thought about that for a minute before she grinned at me.

“Okay, Jake, I suppose that makes a strange kind of sense. Fill me in on what you’ve done so far.”

I told her about Thor’s and all the great guys who hung out there.

By the time I’d finished, she had that tight-lipped, angry look I know so well. “I really wish you’d back out of this case. Leave the little Nazi hanging out to dry. And Deeanne. I think Artie should lock that girl in her bedroom for the rest of her adolescence.”

“Damn it, why aren’t the cops involved in that group?”

“Jake, maybe they are. I don’t know. They could be. Pauline might not know about it.” Or might not be able to say so. Or might not want to tell me. “She said she called some East Bay guys about Thor’s, but if she got anything more, she didn’t tell me. I’ve called Hank too. But you know how he is.” I did. Hank was with the Berkeley PD, a nice enough guy and a good cop, but no risk-taker. He helped out when he thought he should, and that wasn’t often.

“I think I have to at least find out more about them. Get something more, proof of conspiracy or something. I’m going back tonight.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Jake. You’re Jewish. You’d make a lousy martyr.”

I stared at her. “On the contrary. We make very good martyrs.”

Rosie stared back, but she blinked first. “You’re a grown man. I can’t tell you what to do. I can’t lock you in your house. But if you insist on risking your life with those morons, do it fast and get out.”

“From your mouth to God’s ear, kiddo. Now I’ve got some good news.” I told her about the house and gave her one of Sally’s cards. She promised she’d take a look.

I got up to leave, but before I could she came around her desk and grabbed me in a big hug. She even kissed me on the cheek, something she hardly ever does.

“Give me a day or two to clear away some things, then find a way to get me into this. I’m your sister or girlfriend or something.”

“You going to bleach your hair too?”

“You can bet I’m not.”

I stopped at a wig shop on the way home and picked up a light brown rug with curls. It looked pretty stupid, but did bear a resemblance to my real hair.

My striped companions were lounging on the deck. They hadn’t been fooled by the bleached hair and they weren’t offended by the wig. The minute they saw my face peering through the French doors, they started whining for food. Tigris followed Euphrates through the cat door into the kitchen. I opened a can of Friskies beef and liver and dumped the contents into two dishes. After which I checked the bowl of wildly expensive urinary-tract-healthy dry food— Euphrates had a bout with cystitis a couple of years ago— and it was full. As usual, they weren’t really hungry; they just didn’t want what they had.

I checked my answering machine. A message from Artie, asking me to call. Probably not just about the next night’s poker game. I made a ham sandwich and punched in his work number.

“Perrine.”

“Hey, Art.”

“Jake! Thanks for calling. What’s happening with that… with Deeanne and…”

He couldn’t say his name. I said it for him. “Royal.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m working the case.”

“And?”

“And unless my client says otherwise, the work is confidential. You know that.”

“Your client! What kind of crap is that? You’re talking about a twenty-year-old jackass who—”

“Yes, that’s the one. Tell you what. You talk to Deeanne, I’ll talk to them both, you stay out of the case, I’ll do my best to keep you informed.”

“I want to help you.”

“Like hell. I don’t want you anywhere near Royal’s buddies. I don’t want me anywhere near them, either.”

“Jake, I know you’re doing this for me—”

“Not just for you.”

“For Deanne?”

“Well, her too…”

“Not for Royal! I can’t believe it!”

“Not just for him, either. Look, this kid is dumb as a… I don’t know, what’s really dumb? A chicken? Anyway, he’s not evil. I think he might actually be a human being some day. No guarantees. But this group, Artie, this group looks bad.”

“I’ll talk to Deeanne.”

“Good. Don’t forget, she did come to me for help. She may be a pain in the ass, but she’s got courage.”

He grunted. “There’s a fine line between the brave and the foolhardy.”

“Who said that?”

“I did. See you tomorrow night. Prepare to lose.”

When I walked into Thor’s that night, Floyd was sitting at the same table, like he’d never moved at all. The skinny paranoid one was there too, but the guy with the fatigues and the double-lightning tattoo had been replaced by someone else. This one had curly hair, almost as blond as my new do. I’d noticed him the night before because he’d been wearing a jacket with a ten-inch Confederate flag stuck to the back. Maybe his horoscope had warned him to lower his profile today; I didn’t see the jacket, and his T-shirt didn’t threaten or insult anyone. He was about thirty and looked a little smarter than Floyd. I strolled over, casual, just to say “Hey” on my way to the bar and my cousin Royal, who was perched on a stool next to his pal, Zack.

Blondie’s blue eyes took me in, slowly and coolly. “Who’s this, Floyd?”

“His name’s Jase. Cousin of Royal’s. Jase, meet Pete Ebner. And this guy—” Floyd didn’t look at the skinny one, he sneered and jerked a thumb in his direction “—he’s Karl.” Karl had nasty, squinty little dark eyes, disco-length greasy brown hair, and a tight angry smile that matched his black clothes, but he nodded at me in a reasonably friendly fashion. Obviously, Floyd didn’t like him, didn’t even do him the favor of mentioning his last name. I, on the other hand, liked his greeting much better than I liked Pete’s frozen glare.

“Pete. Karl.” I started to walk away, but Floyd didn’t want me to.

“Why don’t you sit down, Jase?”

“Well, thanks— I’ll just get myself a beer first.”

Steve drew me a foamy one while I slapped Royal on the back. I drank an inch of beer, small-talking with my cuz and his buddy, looking around the bar. Then I took my time wandering back to the table, plunked my beer down, and slid onto a chair.

It was Karl who spoke to me first. “How come I’ve never seen you around before, Jase?”

“Haven’t been around before.”

Pete’s question matched the unfriendly look. “So you haven’t been around before, huh? How come you’re around now?”

Floyd was watching my reaction. I gave Pete a cold Clint Eastwood kind of look.

Karl snickered. “Don’t mind old Pete, Jase. He talks to everybody that way.” He stood. “Need a beer.” And I was left with Floyd and Mr. Congeniality, who was still waiting for my answer.

“Look, I’m new in town, you know? And Royal’s been telling me about some of his friends. I thought we had some things in common.” I surveyed the room with approval, then brought my eyes back to Pete. “Tell me, Pete, I see a lot of bald heads and buzz cuts. How come you got those nice curls? How come you don’t shave your head?”

“Not a skin. Skins are kids. What do you mean, things in common?”

I was betting he’d been a skinhead a few years back. “Guts and ideas. I’ve seen Royal’s tattoo. You guys stand for something.”

“We won’t stand for nosy strangers.”

“Who put a bug up your ass, Pete?”

“You got a foul mouth. Jason. That’s not what this is about. Everything clean. Everything decent. We’re white men. You want to talk like that, go to east Oakland.” Pete gave me a last suspicious glance and shoved his chair back.

“Later, Floyd.”

“Yeah, Pete.”

The blond swaggered to the bar. He wedged himself in between Royal and Zack, and caught Steve’s attention. While Pete waited for his drink, he said a few quiet words to the boys. They nodded seriously. A couple of minutes later, when the barkeep slid the glass across, Zack hopped off his stool and followed Pete to the rear of the bar. I couldn’t see where they went. I hadn’t scoped out the back hallway all that carefully the night before. Maybe there was one of those mythical back rooms. I resolved to go to the toilet again soon.