When the answering machine cut in once again, Steve slammed the receiver on the cradle and almost threw the phone on the coffee table as he shot to his feet. He pounded upstairs to his bedroom, tossing clothes out of the middle drawer of his dresser as he grabbed a fleece sweatshirt, slipping it on over his t-shirt as he jogged downstairs again. He stepped into his shoes, grabbed his keys, his gun and his jacket and shot out the door, barely taking the time to lock it after him.
He cast a quick glance at the Porsche as he sprinted to the LTD. It was wiser to take the cop car in case he needed to use the cherry in an emergency. The tires squealed as he pulled a tight three-point turn on the narrow street and shot up towards Montgomery, rolling left through the stop sign and heading south.
Traffic was moderate for a Saturday night, but the thick tendrils of fog were definitely starting to roll in and the air had gotten considerably cooler. It was going to be a cold damp night in The City by the Bay.
He glanced down at the police radio, debating whether he should call for back-up. But, right off the top, there were two reasons he could think of not to; A - he wasn't sure if Mike was still at the school in the first place, and B - he knew where it was but he wasn't sure of the street address. If he showed up, lights and sirens and with tons of back-up and it turned out to be a false alarm, not only would his partner be out of sorts, but it might also jeopardize their undercover teams. And even though they only had about twenty-four more hours of surveillance time left, a lot could still happen.
So, until he was definitely aware that things were worse that he thought, he would try to track Mike down on his own. He only hoped he was making the right decision.
# # # # #
Jake Watson was stretched out in the back seat of the beat-up Charger, a grubby and battered straw hat pulled low over his eyes, his cowboy-booted feet on the back of the front seat. He looked for all the world like he was asleep, but he was actually staring at the front door of the Steiner house.
Things had been quiet for most of the day. A few of the women had ventured out earlier to do a bit of shopping; his partner had trailed them but nothing had come of it, as usual. Brother Samuel hadn't been seen for two days but that, again, wasn't unusual.
He was trying not to fall asleep. Since Gray and Chisholm had been pulled, the remaining four now had longer shifts to make up for the absence but with only two days left, it wasn't all bad. They would have ample downtime when this little venture was completed.
Suddenly something caught his peripheral attention and he opened his eyes a little wider. An older woman with longish dark gray hair, wearing a beige cardigan and slacks, was half-walking, half-jogging up Steiner in the direction of the house. She was looking down and frowning and something about her demeanour put every one of his cop instincts on full alert.
Without missing a beat, she slowed slightly then jogged up the front steps of Brother Samuel's temple and, without hesitation and without knocking, opened the door and let herself in.
Watson sat up a bit more. He had never seen her before, he was sure of that, and in the two weeks they had kept the house under surveillance, no one not dressed like an 18th century schoolmarm had ever entered the house by the front door, especially not someone in such obvious distress.
Something was going on.
# # # # #
The fog hadn't reached the Haight yet, but it was coming. The mournful two-tone call of the Point Bonita lighthouse always sent an eerie chill up his spine, and it seemed especially disturbing tonight. He drove slowly down the street, passing the boarded-up bodega. The door was closed and the place looked deserted.
He knew the 'borrowed' electricity would usually be cut off by now but on the off-chance that the restaurant owner had known Mike and Neil were working on desks for the kids, it might have been left on a little longer.
He found a place to park further down the street and, acutely aware of everything going on around him, walked the two blocks back to the bodega. He tried the door; it was locked and through the small gap in the paper that covered the glass doors, he could see it was pitch black inside.
He took a step back, frowning. Maybe Mike had just taken Neil out to dinner when they had finished. He looked up and down the block for a payphone, wanting to call the Stone house again. He knew one had to be nearby; Mike would know where, he chuckled to himself.
There was a young couple walking arm in arm towards him and he asked them if they knew of a nearby phone. They directed him around the corner and two blocks down.
As he headed down the street, he reached into his pants pocket, hoping for a dime. He slowed, looking through the change in his palm for the right coin, when he almost slid to a stop. Mike's car was parked at the curb.
He stared at it for a long beat, then started to look up and down the street. There weren't too many restaurants open in this part of town; things in the The City had been tense, politics-wise, and some concerned restauranteurs in certain neighbourhoods had refused to stay open on Saturday nights until they could be guaranteed a regular police presence.
Both he and Mike had tried to stay out of the politics but he could see both sides of the argument.
He looked at the car again and sighed. His gut was telling him something was wrong but he didn't want to jump to conclusions. He could see a small restaurant across the street that was still open and, after waiting for a break in the traffic, jogged over. He stood in the doorway and scanned the small dining room, shaking his head with an apologetic smile at the waiter, who had gestured at an open table, before returning to the sidewalk.
He quickly checked out four other restaurants in the immediate neighbourhood; Mike was in none of them. He returned to his partner's car, debating what to do. He stood on the sidewalk near the blue sedan, slowly looking up and down the street as if for inspiration. With a loud, worried sigh, he strode back around the corner to the bodega, trying the door again, even though he knew it was a futile gesture.
He took a few steps back and looked at the front of the two storey building. There was no other discernible way to get in, from what he could see. Making up his mind, he strode around the corner again, past Mike's car, looking for the alley entrance. There had to be a delivery area somewhere at the back of the former store; maybe there was another way he could force his way in.
# # # # #
Jake Watson took his feet off the back of the driver's seat and sat up, reaching behind himself for the door handle and opening the back door. He climbed out languidly and slammed the door, then leaned against the rear fender and dug a pack of Marlboros and a BIC lighter out of his shirt pocket. He pulled a cigarette out and stuck it between his lips, stuffed the pack back in his shirt and, cupping his hand around his mouth against the increasingly strong and damp breeze blowing down the street, thumbed the flickwheel on the bright red BIC and lit the cigarette.
He was just about to put the lighter in his pocket when a tall, lanky black man with a frizzy afro, muttonchops and a dark brown leather jacket with long fringes stepped in front of him. "Hey man, can I have one a those?"
Watson looked up at him sourly and didn't move.
The panhandler smiled as he held out his hand. "Aw, come on, man, you got a full pack there, I seen it…"
Dropping his stare with a heavy sigh, Watson reached into his pocket and took the pack out. He tapped a cigarette out and handed it over. The other man took it with a happy chuckle then stared at him again. When Watson didn't respond, he raised his eyebrows, held the cigarette up and shrugged. With another put-upon sigh, the white man with the short, dark beard and cowboy hat held out the lighter and flicked it on.
After his smoke was lit, the second man nodded his thanks, turning to lean against the side of the car, exhaling smoke through his nose as he enjoyed the first puff. "Thanks, man."
"Don't mention it," Watson nodded as he put the lighter in his pocket and took a drag of his own cigarette.
Jake Watson and Alex Kendall had been partners for three years, and could read each other like books.
"Did you see her?" Watson asked softly.
Kendall took another drag on the cigarette, raising his chin to blow smoke rings that disappeared immediately in the cool breeze. He nodded once. "Umh-humh."
Watson looked down and flicked ash onto the sidewalk. "What do you think's going on?"
"I don't know but I think we oughta be prepared to move fast when it does." "I agree."
Kendall pushed himself away from the car. "Hey, ah, thanks again, man." He held up the cigarette and smiled, then drifted down the street.
# # # # #
It didn't take long to find the alley but navigating it was proving to be more of a chore than he had anticipated. Almost all the homes and businesses that lined the single lane alley were dark; those that were occupied exuded very little light. The occasional bulb above a back door was 40-watts at best and cast very little glow beyond a small yellow circle directly below.
He was kicking himself that he hadn't clocked how many buildings the bodega was from the corner but then he remembered the restaurant next door and hoped to find that to use as his touchstone. About halfway down the alley on the left the name 'Gino's' was painted in green, white and red on a back door, and Steve couldn't suppress a relieved smile. The rear of the bodega was very dark; there were a couple of aluminum garbage cans near the back door, which was metal, solid and locked.
He looked up. There was a very large window in what he assumed was the living room, from what little he remembered from his and Mike's brief visit to the second floor. But the large picture window in the centre was bookended by two smaller ones that obviously opened. He wondered if they were locked.
He studied the wall of the two-storey building with the flat roof, but there was nothing he could see that he could use to gain access to the second floor. With a frustrated sigh, he continued down the alley, looking for something, anything, that he could stack up against the wall to climb.
He was almost down to the far end of the alley when he spotted it. Lying down against the side of a building he assumed was a store of some kind was an old wooden extension ladder. His eyes widened; he couldn't believe his luck.
He took a step towards it and stopped, reaching to touch his back right pocket, sighing quickly in relief when he felt the case holding his badge and I.D. If he was caught stealing or trespassing, he would need it.
He made sure the ladder was free and clear of anything that would cause a racket when it was moved. Then, crouching and grabbing it in the middle, hoping it wasn't so heavy that it would hurt his back, he held his breath, closed his eyes, tightened his grip and straightened his legs. Surprisingly, it was lighter than he had anticipated.
Maneuvering it carefully to the centre of the alley, trying to avoid hitting anything and thereby giving himself away, he slowly and quietly marched back towards the bodega.
