A/N: A wink to Sylvia for the opening line!
"It's doesn't make any sense Mike. Whoever did this knows I'm not dead. What's the point of going through with the funeral?" Steve took a bite of his sandwich. The two detectives sat in a booth at Mike's favorite diner eating a late lunch. Norm and Bill were meeting them there to share information on the faux Steve.
"I just have a feeling this character, whoever he or she is, won't be able to resist showing up." Mike took a sip of his coffee. "After all the planning and waiting, they'll want to see the proof of the mayhem they caused."
"Which means I need to be there, too," Steve responded, thinking of how bizarre it would be to attend his own funeral.
"Exactly, buddy boy. I think they will be expecting it and I want you to have eyes on all the mourners," Mike paused knowing the reaction his next comment would incite, "but I think a disguise is in order."
"Aw, Mike, you know how I hate playing dress up."
"Somebody say dress up?" Norm chimed in as he dropped into the booth next to Mike. Bill slid in next to Steve.
Steve groaned inwardly at the detectives' ill-timed arrival. Anxious to change the subject, he pressed Norm for information, "What can you tell us about our mystery man?"
"Terry Mumau, age 42. He's been a regular in the Tenderloin for the past five year or so, in and out of the drunk tank. He did a stretch on the Rock in the late 50's early 60's, was transferred back to Leavenworth when they closed the prison in '63 and got out in '67. I'm waiting on his package from the feds for the rest of his story. They're sending prints so Bernie can make a positive ID."
The mention of Alcatraz brought raised eyebrows from both Mike and Steve. Only a special kind of felon got sent to the Rock. Maybe there was more to their victim then they first thought. It also gave them another avenue to investigate.
Steve and Mike had been involved in the discovery of Charles Anglin, one of the infamous 1962 Alcatraz escapees* a few years back at a high school in the city. They hadn't pulled the file because the man in question was dead, but now it was certainly something worth looking into. Steve made a mental note to grab the case file. Even without this new wrinkle, now they had an id and an idea of the victim's stomping grounds. They could narrow the focus of their exterminator search to the Tenderloin area of the city.
The men ceased their discussion when the waitress came over to the table to refill Steve and Mike's coffee and get the orders from the two new arrivals.
"Who made the ID, Norm?"
"Couple of stellar citizens who make their homes in the alley behind Geary Street." Norm wrinkled his nose, "By the way, thanks for that little job, Mike. Seems he was flashing around a lot of bread the past week or so and then poof, no Terry. They figured someone rolled him for the cash."
Mike looked at Steve, "Name seem familiar at all to you?"
"Nope." Steve replied, "Doesn't mean a thing, but he was on the Rock the same time as the Anglin Brothers. We'll definitely have to check that out."
Mike nodded his head in agreement as Norm piped up, "So what's this about dress up, Mike?" Norm asked with a wide grin, "You sending our boy undercover?"
Steve cringed and looked pleadingly at Mike. He did not like where this conversation was heading. Nothing would make Norm happier than the chance to craft an embarrassing disguise for Steve.
"Hey Norm, leave the kid alone. He's had a deadly few days, although," he said with a pat to Steve's arm, "maybe this is a path to his rebirth!" Bill said with hearty laugh.
"I'm surrounded by a bunch of comedians," Steve moaned as he attacked the remains of his lunch."
00000
There was a message on Steve's desk when they got back to the office. The name and address of the lawyer Gerry suggested was neatly written on a small scrap of note paper. Knowing it was a long shot, he dialed the phone. A pleasant female voice informed him that he had reached Mr. Mallory's answering service and that he would return the call on Monday.
He picked up the tablet with the exterminator information and started crossing off names. The list rapidly reduced to a more manageable number. He picked up the tablet and ambled into Mike's office. Mike looked up from the report on Steve's adventure at Mission High.
"I've got it down to 2 exterminators and 6 buildings, Mike," Steve said as he placed the tablet on the desk. Mike looked at his watch. It was going on 4 pm.
"I think it'll have to wait until Monday, buddy boy. No chance we are getting anybody on the phone to find out who owns the buildings and paid for the contracts on a Saturday night." Mike paused a minute considering another option, "Do we have the addresses of the buildings that were treated?"
"Yeah, maybe we can check them out tonight. If we split them up, we'll be done quicker." Steve said hopeful of getting out from under Mike's vigilant watch.
Mike hesitated. He still was a little worried about Steve's safety, but he also wanted the buildings checked before too much time past, hoping to find evidence of the primary crime scene.
"OK, but I want you checking in between every building, you hear me hot shot?" Mike got up and grabbed his coat and fedora. Steve tore the paper in half and gave part to his partner, resisting the urge to reply to Mike's over the top concern with a snarky remark.
"Meet me back at DeHaro Street when you're done, we still need to work on your disguise for the visitation tomorrow." Mike added as they headed for the garage. Steve rolled his eyes at the mention of the viewing.
00000
Mike made quick work of the addresses on his list. All were questionable, but legitimate, businesses that were locked up tight on an early Saturday evening. He was just getting into the car when he heard Steve radio in at his third stop. Still uneasy about the situation, Mike started the LTD and headed to Steve's location, 7909 Willow Street.
He pulled up behind the light green Galaxy that Steve had checked out from the motor pool. The building, which appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, was a definite possibility. Seeing no sign of Steve, he grabbed a flashlight out of the glove box and headed for the entry. The door was ajar. He pushed it open and switched on the flashlight, sweeping the beam left and right over empty shelving and assorted debris.
Mike took a few steps into the building and the door swung shut behind him, leaving him slightly startled and totally dependent on the narrow beam of illumination cast by the flashlight. He heard a light scritching noise off to his left. Apparently, the recent fumigation hadn't done much to deter the local rodents. Not wanting to make their acquaintance, he walked to his right, calling out to Steve, but he got no response. Unsettled by the lack of reply, Mike picked up his pace. His light caught on what looked like make shift bedding to his left. Evidently, the rats weren't the only tenants.
He followed along until he reached the right-hand wall and continued in a direction toward the back of the building, calling out to Steve, but silence was the only reply. As Mike moved further into the cavernous area, he spotted a small office against the far wall, but no sign of his young partner. Where the hell are you Steve?
15 minutes earlier…
Steve pulled the Galaxy up to the front of the vacant warehouse, calling his location into dispatch. The windows of the building had been boarded up at some point, but the front door still appeared functional. He walked up and was surprised to find it unlocked and slightly open. He considered calling Mike for backup before he went in, but dismissed the idea as playing into his partner's paranoia.
Oddly, he heard what sounded like music coming from the back of the building as he entered the darkened space. Clicking on his flashlight, he headed toward the sound. He shook the image of horror movie haunted houses from his thoughts as he followed the thumping baseline deeper into the large room.
The music seemed to be coming from what looked like a small office. His light did little to penetrate the gloom as he moved in the direction of the sound. He pulled up level with the door and stopped. The source of the music was definitely in the room and he could now identify Mick Jagger's gravelly voice bellowing out the chorus of "Sympathy for the Devil." Moving forward, he tumbled over an unseen obstacle stretched low across the doorway and was buried in an avalanche of crates. Steve lost his grip on his flashlight, which extinguished with a resounding thump as it hit the ground. He heard a mirthless laugh as the darkness swallowed him.
*For the rest of this story see "Hall Duty" on FF.