My Nick in Time

I went up and down the alley, only business that caught my eye was a dark doorway with a small sign above it, gold letters on a black background, titled "Hades Hellkittens" in uneven Gothic lettering.

I looked around for Jimmie's bike but it was nowhere, and he'd either brought it into wherever he was going, or had just used the alley as a shortcut. Could he have picked up that I was following him?

I went to the end of the block and looked both ways, but there was nothing to see beyond the afternoon work traffic.

I was on my way back down the alley when a couple fellows appeared out from a doorway.

"Well, if it isn't O'Leary. 'Trouble' O'Leary he tells us."

It was my two dockworker pals from Pier Thirty.

"Hey fellas, didn't think the union office was down here."

The big guy looked down at me, eyes narrow.

"You know what O'Leary? It turns out Dave Jenkins never heard of you. Didn't know no 'Trouble' O'Leary."

I waved a hand. "He probably doesn't remember every fellow he's met in his line of work. I talked to him up in Seattle, at a dock strike a few years ago. Not surprising."

The big guy got into my face and I braced myself, reaching for my .45. But the other guy had been watching closely and was too quick for me, grabbed my arms and pinned them to my side.

"Not so fast 'Trouble.'"

The big guy looked me up and down. "That suit of yours doesn't exactly look like something someone unloading cargo would be wearing, now does it? Nice tie? Cufflinks even?"

He pulled my hat down and gave me a solid punch to my gut. I doubled over and the guy behind me kicked my legs out from underneath me. I fell hard, on my side. Felt like a typhoon had tossed me out of a harbor somewhere.

I got two swift kicks, to my face and my crotch. I wasn't sure whether I was going to vomit.

I lay in a ball, sure that if I moved I'd get some more damage.

They stood above me. The big guy ground his heel into my face.

"'Trouble?' Stay out of it. Keep your nose where it belongs, or worse things might happen."

They picked me up like a sack of potatoes, and tossed me in an open dumpster. I heard them laughing as they walked off, unworried about whether I was in any condition to do anything or not.

====

I didn't like the wide look in Zelda's eyes when I pulled in the next morning.

"Dick, what happened? You look awful."

I told her what was up. She looked worried and put her arm around me. I wished I was in better shape to enjoy her concern.

"Who do you think they were, Dick? Were they acting on their own?"

I shook my head. "No, something bigger is behind them. Not sure what. Can't be Thrupshot, but the IWLU has their hands in a lot of side stuff."

Zelda got me a cup of coffee and I sat at my desk, looking out the window, thinking.

Rat called around eleven.

"Dick, you free for lunch? Got some info you might want to know about."

We met at a quiet diner on Mission.

Rat squinted at me over some hashbrowns.

"You've had some adventures, I gather."

His face was grim when I gave him the story, but he shifted topic anyway.

"I may have some interesting developments on Mrs. Thrupshot."

I was all ears.

"I'm not sure yet, waiting for some confirmation, but it may be she had some difficulties with the law back in New York. I was on the phone with my counterpart in Brooklyn. He perked up when I mentioned your Ukrainian beauty. Picked up on the 'Ukrainian' part. Said there was someone who sounded like Kira who posed some issues for them some years ago. Not homicide, so not his department, he thought maybe vice."

I quizzed him but that was about all for I could get for the time being.

Rat said his guy would look into things and get back with any news.

After a quick walk down by the waterfront, I made my way back to the office around two. I was just about to hang up my hat when Zelda broke in.

"You heard the news?"

"Nope. What sort?"

"Jimmie."

I stopped and looked at her.

"Rat called just half an hour ago."

"Jimmie's dead. Got hit by a car on one of his runs."

I stopped for a minute.

"Deliberate?"

"I don't know. He gave me this address." She shoved a piece of paper into my hand.

"Said you should get there soon as you can." The corner of Haight and Laguna a couple blocks from Market.

I got a cab, pulled up in less than ten minutes.

Rat had the scene roped off.

A big stupid deputy wouldn't let me through even when I flashed my badge. Rat had to call over and tell him to let me pass. The guy gave me a dirty look as I went over to the mess.

Jimmie was lying in a heap, what was left of his face smeared on the curb. His bike was twisted into a pretzel and stuff was scattered everywhere.

I took it in.

"What happened?"

Rat frowned. "He was coming downhill, probably doing the weaving bit through traffic. Someone in a late model Ford, driving like a maniac, made an illegal pass and pulled right in front of a guy in a Chevy. But the driver had no room to maneuver, so had to swing hard right to avoid crashing into the Ford. Only he hit Jimmie instead."

"Mr. Speedy disappear? Anyone catch a good look at him?"

"It all happened real fast. We know it's a Ford sedan, dark color. He took off. But no one got a plate number."

"What about the Chevy driver? Can he tell you anything?"

"He's cooperating. Pretty shook up to tell the truth. Poor guy, he was minding his own business. Last thing he wanted to have happen."

I looked around, but there wasn't much more to see. Here was this kid, the day before cruising around town on his legs, pedaling his way through chaos, and now he was nothing but a lifeless heap.

====

I got in my heap and took a swing by the Thrupshot place. Daria's MG was out front, in back of it a dark blue Ford.

I rang the bell.

Their maid answered.

"Might I see Mrs. Thrupshot?"

"Who may I ask is calling?"

"Mallet, Dick Mallet. Mrs. Thrupshot has me on contract."

"Let me see, please wait here Mr. Mallet."

It was Daria who came to the door. Her eyes were wet but clear.

"Mr. Mallet..."

"Dick is fine. Your stepmom calls me that, you might as well too."

"She's not in any condition to talk right now."

"I am guessing you are here about Jimmie." Her eyes were wide.

I nodded.

"Do you know anything? Did Jimmie have any enemies?"

Daria furrowed her brows and thought hard. "I don't think so. If there was anyone, it was probably one of the guys in the regulation messenger outfits. Aero or Quicksilver. They tended not to like the mavericks like Jimmie. Took work away from them."

"Would anyone have wanted to go to these lengths though?"

She shook her head. "I doubt it."

"Whose car is that out front? Just behind yours?"

Daria nodded. "That's the family car. Either Daddy or Kira drives it, depends on where they're going, whether they want to drive their own car or not. It's always option two."

"Is your father home?" I had to ask.

I didn't detect any hesitation.

"I don't think so, but anyway he's unavailable. When it's a work day and he's not at the office, he holes up in his top floor study. Doesn't come out unless he wants to. Sometimes we don't know he's home until he emerges at dinnertime."

A whole lot of nothing I learned.

I wasn't able to get anymore out of Daria and made my departure.

===

Zelda looked at me closely when I came back.

"Ugly scene, Dick?"

I nodded. "Possible it was just an accident."

"You think so?"

"No. but there are no leads, no proof of anything, just a missing driver. The kind of scene the bike messengers have to deal with every day they're out there."

"Zelda, I think Jimmie was working both sides of the fence."

"And maybe a few more fences too?"

"Probably. We know Jared used him. But I also think Kira and Daria too."

So what was Jimmie's angle on all this? No matter how many bike messenger enemies he had made, it didn't seem likely that any of them would have been involved. But another drug dealer? Someone with some turf to protect? That was a different matter.

Not much to go on.

===

A week went by. Rat hadn't found out any more. Some days Thrupshot didn't come to his office at all. It all was quieter than it should have been. The Chronicle had Jimmie's death on the front page the first day after the accident, the headline "Bike Courier Dead in Hit and Run," but the story had gradually receded, with pleas for anyone with more information to come forward.

Rat was frustrated, but all the leads had drawn blanks.

So I was surprised on Friday to get a visit from Mrs. Thrupshot.

"Mr. Mallet, I should like to bring our business to a close." She didn't waste any time.

And I was back to being "Mr. Mallet."

I tried not to look surprised.

"Oh? Are we one big happy family again up on Jackson Street?"

Her smile was tight and forced. I wished there was one more button undone on her blouse.

"I have appreciated your efforts on my part, and I have learned something. But this endeavor has gone far enough."

She pulled out her purse and checkbook, wrote and eased a check across my desk. It was for five big ones.

"Is this sufficient for your troubles?"

It was more than enough, and that fact alone troubled me.

"Thanks, Kira." I wasn't going to call her "Mrs. Thrupshot" yet.

"But there's the little matter of a dead bike messenger."

Her mouth tightened.

"I'm not going to say anything about that. It's terrible."

She leveled those wide blue eyes at me. "I can't stop you from doing anything, Mr. Mallet, but nothing from now on is going to be on my dime. And it would be best if you just pursued your other business interests."

Of which there wasn't much else.

She stood up abruptly and shook my hand. It wasn't the same sort of handshake as when I first met her.

She turned and went out the door.

After she left I stood there like a sheep staring at a gate that had just closed.

===

Rat called about half an hour later.

"You might want to stop in, Dick. Got something you might wanta see."

"Be right over."

Rat was sitting at his desk. Paper and folders were everywhere. I had no idea how he ever found anything when he needed to.

Rat tossed over a small notebook, one that would fit in a back pocket.

"Looks like this is Jimmie's logbook," he said casually.

I looked through it. A ledger arranged chronologically. A separate line with a date, a name, usually abbreviated, and a specific address when he needed one.

Most of the entries were fairly easy to figure. "T" had to be Thrupshot. "K" was Kira, more than Daria had let on. More than one "D" too. An equal-opportunity family resource. Plenty of others, although I noticed there were no records for the days when I had seen him stop down at the piers and tailed him.

Off the books then.

A bunch of deliveries went to "HH." I had to thumb back a ways for the first time it appeared. The address was on Langton Street. I had to ask Rat for a map. It was an alley between Howard and Fulsom between Eighth and Ninth Streets, the alley I knew too well.

===

My face must have told a story because Zelda gave me one of those looks the moment I entered the office the next day just before noon. I hung up my coat and the moment I turned towards her she spoke.

"What's up, Dick? We got another bike messenger murder on our hands?"

"Maybe worse than that. Our little family drama may have changed into a full blown civil war."

"Yes?"

"Just talked with Melli. Sounds like Thrupshot has cut the Missus out of the will, completely. One of his lawyer pals seemed to know this. Daria too. It's a wonder they can stay together under the same roof. Maybe they don't, I don't know."

"Rat also is now sure that Kira may have had some run-ins with the police back in New York. If so, she might have brought some of her Ukrainian friends out when she came west. I'm pretty sure now that when they tried to rough me up, one of them was hers. Same accent and everything."

"So what is she protecting Dick? It doesn't make sense. She was sitting pretty up there in Pacific Heights. Nice little mansion, the opera to keep her occupied. There isn't a tennis club or civic organization in town that wouldn't have welcomed her with open arms."

"I don't know, kitten. Puzzles the hell out of me. Maybe Thrupshot found out something about her past that he hadn't known before? Maybe they each have some dirt on each other, and everything has gotten toxic all of a sudden? Maybe Jimmie was the glue holding everything together, and his adhesive is gone?"

I continued. "For some levels of high society, reputation is worth more than a million shares in US Steel. Any sort of threat is serious. Sometimes they'll scrap tooth and nail for the smallest advantage, the most minor perceived attack on their status or situation."

I had some questions for Daria. When I phoned her, she told me to meet at her studio Wednesday evening.

====

Daria's place on Florida Street was a typical cheap artist studio place in that section of the Mission. She rented space in the upper floor of an old converted warehouse.

She met me at the street and led me in. Costume was jeans and a blue chambray work shirt. The way she moved suggested there wasn't anything on underneath the shirt. Parts of me tingled. We went up a rickety staircase at the back and she opened a door to her workplace.

There was a small oxy-acetylene set-up and a bench with a small vise and hand tools where she did her jewelry.

"Look, your stepmom has called off the hunt. I want to ask you a couple questions." She regarded at me evenly.

I didn't wait for her to reply. "Do you know why?"

Daria's expression was cool.

"I think what Kira told you was right, and what she wanted. Doesn't look like Daddy is doing any philandering, which I didn't think was the case anyway, and the whole family is pretty shook up about Jimmie. Seems like a good time to call it quits."

"Right, except for the 'Jimmie' bit. The guy's dead, Daria. The police think it's an accident, but I'm not so sure."

She shrugged.

"Tell me more about Jimmie," I pursued. "I know he did stuff for your dad, not all of it necessarily on the books. And I think the rest of you took advantage of his services from time to time."

Her eyes weren't exactly evasive, but I could see gears turning in different directions.

"Jimmie was an excellent messenger. Fast, reliable, you knew he'd get whatever you were sending where it belonged."

"But I think you knew him better than you're letting on, Daria. Your car was in front of his place more than once."

Her gaze was level.

"Okay, you're right. I wouldn't call Jimmie a friend, but we did stuff together from time to time."

"Tell me more."

"Alright, I'd see him at concerts, at festivals in Golden Gate Park. We both like music, the scene. I boffed him a few times."

I was not sure which part surprised me more. I'd never heard the word 'boffed' before, although its meaning was clear enough. Or that it was just how casually Daria had said it, and she was the one doing the 'boffing.' I tried to imagine them doing the deed but couldn't.

The conversation didn't improve much after that. I think I was getting the truth out of her, or at least what she said was accurate, as far as it went. Huge gaps remained and it still didn't make sense. I don't know if I expected her to be more upset over Jimmie or not, but she didn't seem overly worked up.

"Look Mr. Mallet. Just please honor Kira's request. There is no need to dig up any more stuff, for any of us. It's not going to do any good."

I was back to "Mr. Mallet" with her too. I reached for my hat. There wasn't much point in talking further.

"Thanks for your time." I was short but even.

She let me out the door and followed me to the staircase.

"A moment please, I have something for you."

I wasn't sure what her arched eyebrows meant, but her fingers began unbuckling my belt, undoing my fly. I almost stepped back but didn't.

Then down on her knees, her mouth started doing wonderful things to me, things that probably shouldn't be written about, too precious for words.

For a couple moments I watched as her head moved, those long strands of hair, immaculately combed, like parallel rivers, weaving sinuously, side to side, up and down.

Then I just leaned back, happy to relax and receive.

I didn't think, didn't do much of anything except focus on the moment.

It was the highlight of the week, by an impressive measure.

After she finished and looked up at me with those lovely blue eyes, I had to ask.

"Is this a quid pro quo thing? An incentive to your request?"

She smiled. "Maybe. More like a cum pro quo."

Alright, she had me there.

I walked gingerly down the stairs and out to my car. This business was getting stranger and stranger.

It took me two quarts of Anchor Steam before I could get to sleep that night.

====

I woke up the next morning with a headache. I splashed some cold water on my face, and still didn't like the look in the mirror. I was feeling lower than a mole's ankles.

Did some eggs and bacon, showered and shaved, dragged myself to the office, but not before a couple conversations downtown.

Zelda cocked an eyebrow.

I knew I didn't look too good. I handed Zelda a want ad I'd clipped from the Xpress, a fringe local weekly I'd grabbed at the newstand that morning.

"What's this, Dick?"

"They're looking for work. I want you to apply. Get hired if you can."

She squinted at the print and made a face.

"Attractive females wanted?"

"I'm pretty sure you qualify."

"I already have a job," she retorted.

"We may need you to have another. But here's a request, kitten. Cut your hair, change your look a bit. Something different. I think it would be better that way."

Her eyes went from me to the ad, quizzical.

I shifted quickly into a different gear.

"Look, I'm gonna have to lay low for a few days. Tell anyone who asks I'm down in Fresno. I'll call if I need to."

"Another thing, I wrangled an appointment with Thrupshot himself Monday afternoon. I'd like to hear his side of the story for a change. Kira made not seeing him a condition of her investigation, which is an even more interesting request now looking back on it, but there's no impediment any more. Even more, what he might have to say about Jimmie."

I had no intention of going to Fresno, but wanted anyone who might come looking after me to think so. There was important stuff to do.

Before heading home, I stopped down at the precinct to see Rat.

"Dick, I was just going to call you. Take a look at this."

He pulled out an envelope and shoved a photo towards me.

"Been talking with Frank Cox over in Brooklyn. Does this mugshot look familiar?"

There it was, two photos of Kira, face-on and profile. Unmistakable. But the name wasn't right.

So she had gone by "Alexandra Kiroslovna."

"She got herself arrested?"

"Yep. She was arraigned but the charges, for operating an illegal escort service, never stuck. Two witnesses changed their mind and didn't offer testimony. Not enough evidence. She pretty much disappeared from sight after that. Not sure when or how she got to San Francisco afterwards, did the name-change thing and reinvented herself."

I stared at the photos carefully. Even in the situation, the harsh light, the stern line her mouth took while staring at a police camera, she was stunning. Big eyes, high cheekbones, defiant chin.

I was dealing with a resourceful woman, but I knew that already.

===

Friday was a complete bust. It had been unseasonably warm for a spell, and it was a quirk of nature in the city that it never stayed hot, or even close to it, more than three days in a row. The heat would pull in the fog hovering over the Pacific, and the temperature would plummet. Sunglasses got replaced with overcoats and hats.