Ending their workday early had been a welcome change to Steve's routine for the past few weeks and he was sure not to let the opportunity pass without enjoying a few hours of normalcy.
As such, he'd grabbed the Porsche and taken the Embarcadero to the northside of town, where a restaurant on Jefferson Street had caught his heart, and stomach, a while ago. Normally one to avoid the tourist traps, it had been the amazing assortment of seafood dishes that pulled him to the upper-class establishment…and the good-looking waitresses certainly added to the atmosphere.
Steve had chosen his usual spot at the small bar overlooking much of the dining room as well as the entrance, his deeply engrained street senses ensuring that he could keep an eye on all the comings and goings at any time.
It also brought him closer to the kitchen and the ensemble of attractive ladies that walked by on their constant journey to bring out and return trays of food, occasionally stopping by for a brief chitchat to catch up.
Standing out from the crowd of tourists, Steve thoroughly enjoyed his patron status whenever work allowed him to get out at a decent hour for some much-needed doting and tasty appetizers. Tonight, the Shrimp Scampi, one of the Northside Bistro's specialties, easily made up for the horrible rush hour traffic that had snarled its way north on that dreary evening.
"How was dinner, Inspector?", a surreptitious voice asked from behind when Steve put his knife and fork back down on the plate and leaned back to take in the scene, noticing that every table was filled.
"Wonderful as always, LouLou…", he answered without turning around, feeling the attractive waitresses' hands on his shoulders, gently massaging his tight muscles below his thin satin dress shirt.
"And yet, it looks as though you are getting ready to leave us again so soon…"
Leaning into her touch and smelling that sweet perfume, Steve yawned, relishing the feeling of a full stomach and female affection surrounding him from every corner of the busy restaurant.
"I've got a long day tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed for a case break. Then I might see you again very soon…"
"I'll tell all the ladies here to do just that, Steve."
With a kiss on his cheek, Loulou's hands moved from his shoulders to grab his dishes, before the petite brunette disappeared behind the double doors to the kitchen once again, leaving him to finish his last sip of wine before getting up and gathering his belongings.
The noise level had increased dramatically as the night went on, making him grateful to have gotten here unusually early before crowds upon crowds of tourists would descend upon the popular place. Even now, several groups stood outside, anxiously waiting in the cold of the night for one of the precious tables to open up.
With a grateful nod, Steve dropped the receipt and several billfolds off at the cashier station and made his way toward Jefferson Street, now completely parked up on both lanes. Anticipating the frenzy and trying to spare his beloved sports car additional dents and scratches from unskilled drivers; Steve had parked several yards out near a small laundromat that was now closed for the day.
The Porsche sat underneath a streetlamp, kept company only by a rusty delivery truck that had been there when he got here.
When traffic cleared, Steve crossed the street and stopped just before the sidewalk to reach for a piece of gum, then resumed his hassle-free stroll toward the car.
A menacing shadow waiting in the alley ahead would make sure that he never reached his destination.
# # #
"I gotta have a word with you, punk!"
With his mind still trying to comprehend what had just happened, Steve was powerless when strong hands pushed him against the wall of the laundromat, hidden in the darkness of the alley, a full dumpster keeping them from view.
Four men surrounded him, two in front, one to each side, their faces partially hidden in the dim light.
Suspecting an armed robbery in the making, Steve stayed quiet, hoping to keep control of the situation considering he was hopelessly outnumbered.
With his back pressed against the brick wall, arms stretched out to either side, his right foot touching something soft and fetid down below, he swallowed hard, instantly regretting his choice of a parking spot.
"Who'd have thought I'd see your face here tonight, punk…", the leader growled, his strange monologue making little sense that night.
With his chest puffed and hands balled into tight fists, he approached Steve, stopping just a few inches short of him when the face produced something in the back of his mind.
"Hernandez…"
The name dropped off his tongue and Steve clenched his jaws, as his mind made the connection to their meeting earlier in the bullpen, along with Sandy's stern words about his guilt involving Reverend Joe's death.
Apparently, as far as his violent nature was concerned, she'd been correct.
"That's right…", the taller man answered, letting the muscles on his massive chest twitch as if to impress his victim, "And I don't appreciate getting fingered. I don't care what that lady told you, I didn't kill nobody, you get that, cop?!"
"That's what you told us in the office…", Steve returned for a lack of a better answer, his words immediately rewarded when Hernandez shoved him into the wall once again, hard enough that he hit the back of his head.
"Don't you get smart with me. The rules are different up here. I don't care if you wear a shield or not, these are our streets. We've lived out here for many years, weathering the elements and watching you guys drive around town like you own this place. We're the law. We know what happens and when it happens."
As if to prove a point, Hernandez opened his charcoal dress coat and ran his hands up and down his side, looking for the revolver Steve had left at work, along with his police credentials.
When his search turned up nothing, the tall Hispanic grunted, before a wily smile spread on his thin lips.
"What? You left your toys at home?"
"What do you want?", Steve countered, raising his voice enough that somebody on the sidewalk nearby would hear him.
"To clarify something…", Hernandez hissed and leaned in closer, his nose almost touching Steve's, his cold brown eyes staring at him relentingly, "I am not a killer. I didn't kill this Reverend Joe guy. If anything, he kept crossing into our territory so we had to push him out a few times. I don't kill people. Try checking out the guy who hangs around with him. He probably killed him over something. But it's not me or any of my guys. We are not killers. So bug out."
A communal nodding went through the small group making up Hernandez' "gang" of people and Steve took a moment to look around, trying to memorize each face, each scar, their clothing and any other details he could make out in the semi-darkness.
Hernandez must have misinterpreted his reaction as ridicule and grunted in anger, before pressing his massive palm against Steve's chest.
"Don't test my patience, punk.", he sneered and flexed his fingers, " I could rip your heart out with my bare hands and watch it stop beating if I wanted to. But I don't. I just want to be left alone. All of us do. So, you tell that…that witness of yours to leave us alone. We're no killers."
"I think…you made your point…"
Steve tried to fight against the hands keeping him in place, causing the assailants to tighten their grasp around his arms. Even if somebody had heard the exchange from the safety of the sidewalk, they hadn't come to his rescue or called police, a depressing fact in his current predicament.
"You cops think you are so smart and powerful, don't you? Just cruising through town, shoving people around because you can, harassing hard-working business owners. But you're all a bunch of cowards. You're nothing without your buddies backing you up. Well, this right here is for wasting my time by bringing me to your station."
Steve looked up in time to see a balled fist heading his way, then closed his eyes, bracing for impact.
