"Okay, thank you very much, that was very helpful." Steve hung up as he got to his feet. He picked up the notepad and crossed to the inner office, hovering just outside the door while his partner finished his own phone call.
Mike was leaning over the desk, making quick notations on a yellow legal pad, nodding vigorously and barking the occasional "Yes." Finally the pen stopped moving and he froze briefly, his head coming up. "Yes, thank you very much, Mr. Carelli. You've been a big help… Yes… Yes… Thank you again." With a satisfied snort he dropped the receiver onto the cradle, leaning over the pad once more to read what he had written.
Steve knocked on the door before stepping into the room. When the older man looked up, he gestured towards the pad on the desk. "Good news?"
Grinning, Mike took his reading glasses off and set them on the pad. "Better than good. He was able to give me the list of everyone else who was staying at the hotel the day Goodman was killed." He looked up, nodding towards the notebook in the younger man's hand. "What've you got?"
"Costas Petrou…? That Greek merchant marine…?"
Mike's frown slowly disappeared. "Oh, yeah, that guy… sorry, I got caught up with the Goodman thing…" He sat back as Steve dropped into the guest chair and tossed the notebook on the desk, absent-mindedly flattening his tie before his hand stopped in mid-air as he froze then started to laugh; he wasn't wearing a tie.
It had gotten so hot and humid in Homicide, as it had in every nook and cranny in the grey concrete building, that Mike had waived his heretofore strict dress code. While in the office, ties were now optional, and everyone's jacket was now covering a chair or hanging off a rack.
Steve looked at his partner from under a lowered brow, trying not to smirk. He covered his soft laugh with a not very convincing cough. When Mike's brow furrowed, he shook his head and grinned. "Sorry, but I can't get used to the…" he gestured vaguely towards the older man, groping for words, "the… vest-less look… I don't think I've ever seen you in the office without a vest and a tie…" He shrugged with a chuckle.
Mike looked down at himself and smiled. "I know. It feels weird to me too, but those vests are just too damn hot right now. But don't worry, I'll be back to the old look as soon as this heat wave breaks and we're back to normal."
Steve raised his eyebrows and chuckled. "I'm not worried, believe me… I kinda like the new… casual you…"
"Ha ha," Mike's voice dripped sarcasm through a chuckle. "Don't get too used to it… or that… tieless look for yourself," he emphasized with a pointed finger. "We'll both be back to normal soon… I hope." He laughed and dropped his hand to the desk, pushing himself back in the chair. "So, what do you have on our Mr. Petrou?"
"Well, the Marine Association proved to be a virtual font of information. I got the personnel manifest from not only the Hollister Cavalier, which was the ship that docked here last week, but the two previous ships that Petrou crewed on in the past ten years. One of them, luckily enough, is based in Oakland and its most recent captain just retired last year and he's living up in Santa Rosa."
"My my my, that's handy, isn't it?" Mike grinned with a surprised chuckle. "And you know what that means, right?"
"A trip to wine country?"
"Well, a short trip to wine country, but it won't be any cooler up there, I can tell you that." The older man chuckled dryly with a woeful shake of his head, looking at his partner with what could only be described as a long face. "This can't last much longer, can it? I mean, seriously, I've lived here all my life and I don't remember it being this hot for this long…"
Steve shook his head slowly with a rueful mirthless smile, raising his eyebrows. "I don't know but I hope it stops before the dress code is down to t-shirts and Bermuda shorts…"
Mike chuckled, grinning. "That'll be the day. Listen, ah," he continued, pointing at the notebook now in the younger man's hand," why don't you give that retired captain a call and see where he lives and if he wants to talk to us about Petrou, okay? Maybe we can get up there this afternoon and get out of The City for a few hours at least."
Nodding, Steve got to his feet. "That's if he even remembers Petrou in the first place, right?"
"Yeah, there's that too," Mike agreed reluctantly as the younger man disappeared through the glass-paneled door. With a weary sigh, he put his glasses back on, ran a finger down the list of names and number on the pad before him, picked up the black receiver and started to dial.
# # # # #
"Sure is pretty country up here, isn't it?" Mike murmured almost to himself as he stared out the side window of the large sedan making its way down a residential street in the Sonoma County city. He turned to look across the front seat. "Do you know Charles Schulz lives here?"
Steve glanced over, still having a hard time not smiling whenever he caught a glimpse of his partner in dark glasses; it was something Mike rarely did but the unavoidable sun was changing everyones lives, it seemed. "The Peanuts guy?"
"Yeah, the Peanuts guy. Moved here several years ago. Bet he's got a nice place," he said under his breath, looking out the window again at the smartly painted clapboard bungalows with the large front yards they were driving past. He glanced down at the notepad in his lap. "It's number 2431… should be just up here on the right," he offered, pointing through the windshield.
Steve nodded as he slowed the large sedan then swung it into the paved driveway. "Hmm," he mused as he braked the LTD to a stop, shifted into Park and turned the engine off, "I wonder what he wants to tell us that he felt he couldn't over the phone."
# # # # #
Steve was stirring the thick chocolate milkshake with the heavy straw, his eyes on the open notebook in front of him. Across the table, Mike was staring into space, his right hand resting loosely around the base of the tall glass of iced tea sitting before him. Neither had said a word since the waitress had left with their food orders over a minute before.
Steve glanced up, then leaned over and took a long pull on the straw as he stared at his silent partner. Swallowing with an involuntary shudder as the cold liquid slid down his throat, he tilted his head and smiled slightly. "What's bugging you?"
"Humh?" Mike's eyebrows rose slowly as his head came up and his attention drifted back to the present.
Steve's smile got a little wider. "I said what's bugging you?"
Shaking his head slightly, as if to wake himself up, Mike smiled self-consciously. "Oh, ah, sorry, uh… I was just thinking about what Captain Osterman said…"
"You mean about Petrou's… proclivity for trannies?"
"Yeah," Mike nodded, his eyebrows keeping time with his head. "I'm not sure if that broadens our suspect base or narrows it."
With a dry snort, Steve leaned over his glass and took another sip. "So, ah, where do we start? I mean, I know I don't have any trannies on my short list of CI's. You?"
The older man chuckled dryly. "Not that I know of. I guess there's a couple of people I can talk to but I think it might be a good idea if you go visit your old colleagues back in Vice and see if anyone there can help us." He frowned in almost bemused confusion. "So you're telling me that in the two or so years you spent in Vice, you didn't develop any kind of… relationship with a tranny?"
With a close-mouthed smile, Steve shook his head slowly. "Like you just said, not that I know of. I mean I met quite a few of them, that's for sure. But nobody that became a regular snitch for me, you know what I mean?"
Mike nodded in understanding.
"And I never met anyone that could've, or would've, done what someone did to Petrou, I'm pretty sure of that."
"Yeah, me too. We've still gotta wait on the toxicology report to see if there was something in his system that might've allowed someone to get the upper hand but still… I mean, you know, it's not like they show in the movies or on TV. It takes a long time and a lot of strength to actually kill someone by strangling them…" Mike shook his head in disbelief, his gaze unfocusing again.
He sighed eventually and his head came up quickly. He smiled warmly. "Well, we better eat up when it gets here and hit the road. There's the chance… a slight chance, mind you… that you might be able to get home early enough tonight to spend some quality time with that girl of yours."
Steve smiled and shook his head. "Not tonight, I'm afraid. She's working the dinner shift again tonight. Seems no one wants to stay home and cook in this weather so they're going gangbusters at every sitting. She's been there till midnight or later almost every night this week."
"Hunh," Mike snorted quietly. "And here we thought we were the only ones suffering in this heat," he laughed, "and she's in a hot kitchen too, right?"
Steve nodded.
Mike threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, you won't hear me complain about our situation anymore," he chuckled, eyes twinkling. "Well, at least till we get back to The City."
# # # # #
At the light rap on the glass of the small inner office door, the bullet-shaped head with the short grey buzzcut snapped up, a black receiver pinned to the left ear. The angry frown quickly dissolved into a surprised and happy grin and the right hand, pen still between the fingers, rose quickly to beckon the new arrival into the room.
Chuckling, Steve opened the door and slipped into the small office as Lieutenant Collier's attention returned to the phone. He dropped into the guest chair, crossing his legs and folding his clasped hands over his stomach. He waited patiently while the Vice head finished his call, dropping the pen onto the pad and looking back up with a broad grin. The older man rose slightly and leaned across the table, his right hand extended.
Steve sat forward, uncrossing his legs, and grasped the older man's hand, smiling and chuckling.
"Well, sonofabitch, I haven't seen hide nor hair of you for a long time, young fella! How's it going, Steve? Mike keeping you busy up in Homicide?" he laughed as his huge paw enfolded the younger man's hand and he pumped his arm.
"Busy, enough, Barry, especially in this heat wave. We're swamped." He glanced around the bustling Vice bullpen. "Like you guys are too, it seems."
Collier shook his head in despair. "You better believe it. I'll be glad when this god damn heat finally breaks and we can get back to being chilly and cold San Francisco again. This ain't like us; this is Miami weather."
Steve laughed. "You sound just like Mike."
"Well, he ain't wrong. So, what can I do for you? I'm correct in assuming this is not a social call, am I right?"
"You're right," the Homicide inspector confirmed with a nod. "I need to pick your brain and, ah," he nodded over his shoulder towards the bullpen, "and those of your squad, if it's okay with you?"
"Sure, shoot. What do you need?"
# # # # #
Mike glanced up as Steve crossed the bullpen and headed straight for his office. "So? Did you enjoy your jaunt down memory lane?" he asked with a chuckle as the younger man dropped wearily into the guest chair and ran his hands over his face. "You were gone long enough. I was almost ready to call in the canine unit to see if they could track you down."
Steve stared at him snidely, waiting for the older man to finish, which he did with a grin and a laugh. He began slowly and quietly. "There are a lot of officers in Vice… and they all have their own C.I.'s and most of them are not really willing to share…"
Mike was nodding slowly. "Umh-humh, just like us…" he confirmed pedantically.
Steve froze briefly and stared at him almost accusatorily, then he snorted suddenly and shook his head, chuckling. "Yeah, just like us," he agreed.
Mike sat forward, leaning on his forearms on the desk. "So, were you successful?"
With a broad grin, Steve reached into his jacket pocket, slipped the notebook out and dropped it on the desk. He stood up quickly, took the jacket off and settled it over the back of the chair, then sat again and flipped the notebook open. He looked up in triumph.
"I got a list of sixteen names of possible suspects… if our suspect is a tranny… capable of taking down someone the size of Costas Petrou."
"Sixteen?" Mike asked in disbelief.
Steve nodded sagely. "Sixteen."
"Humh, that's, ah… that's more than I would've thought. And, ah, and do you know where we can locate each and every one of these sixteen, ah… women?"
Steve grinned and raised his eyebrows. "I do."
Matching the grin, Mike glanced at his watch. It was just past six, and it would be a couple of hours yet till the nightlife would begin to stir in the city. "What say you and I grab some dinner and then get to work?"
