A Catskill Eagle

CHAPTER 6

OFF TO THE RIGHT, CLEAR IN THE LUCID predawn stillness, I could see Candlestick Park on the edge of the bay. When I was a kid the Giants played at the Polo Grounds, and the ‘49ers played at Kezar Stadium and I didn’t even know Susan Silverman.

“The cops take me to the pokey and last I see they giving Russell some ice in a towel to hold on his mouth. And Susan still frozen, weird little smile, and she crying.”

I was silent.

“There a picture of you,” Hawk said. “In her condo.”

Ahead I could see the outline of the Transam tower on the San Francisco skyline. “Boogaloo,” I said.

“Knew you’d like that.”

“You broke three of Costigan’s teeth,” I said.

“He got some left,” Hawk said.

“I know. We’ll get to that.”

“We surely will,” Hawk said.

“But first we get Susan,” I said.

“We surely will,” Hawk said.

“And then we’ll see about the Costigans.”

“We surely will,” Hawk said.

“And Mill River,” I said. “Might neaten that up a little, too.”

“While we doing all this, be better if the cops don’t catch us,” Hawk said. “Be pretty soon they figure out who you are.”

“And then they’ll check the airlines and the rental agencies and have a fix on this car.”

Hawk said, “How much bread you have?”

“About two hundred,” I said.

“Jesus Christ,” Hawk said. “Diamond fucking Jim Brady.”

“And the American Express card,” I said.

“That be a lot of good,” Hawk said. “Check right into the Stanford Court with it, sit around and have room service till the cops come.”

“Not my fault,” I said, “you don’t have rich friends.”

We went down the ramp off the expressway at Golden Gate Ave past the Civic Center and turned left onto Van Ness.

“We need to get off the street,” I said.

“Costigan will figure it gotta be you,” Hawk said. “Get that picture from Susan, show it to the fuzz we locked up, and they got your name on the wire. Mine too. Me for murder one, you for accessory after the fact, both of us for felonious escape from a sardine can.”

“Up around Geary Street,” I said. “There’s a hotel with an all-night garage underneath it.” Hawk spoke into his clenched hand. “All units,” he said, “be on the lookout for gorgeous Afro-American stud in company of middle-aged honkie thug.”

He pulled into the garage and took a ticket and cruised on down the lane looking for a slot. “Nice talk,” I said. “I gallop into Mill River and rescue you like the white knight that I am and you sit around and make honkie remarks.”

Hawk pulled the car into a slot beside a green BMW and parked and shut off the engine. I got my Tiger sport bag out of the trunk and got a clean shirt and some Nike running shoes and changed in the car. I put the .25 in my hip pocket, tucked the Mill River .38 in my belt under my shirt, and got out. Hawk pulled his shirt out and let it hang over his belt. He stuck the big .44 in his belt in front. “Hungry,” Hawk said.

“There’s a donut shop,” I said, “across the street. Opens early as hell.”

“You leaving the bag?” Hawk said.

“Yeah, less conspicuous.”

“How ‘bout I carry it on my head and walk behind you.”

“Probably be a good cover,” I said, “but it might perpetuate a racial stereotype.”

We went across Van Ness. There was a bare hint of light east down Geary Street, and an occasional car had begun to move on Van Ness. A bus came down Van Ness and stopped at the corner of Post and an elderly Oriental man got off and went up the hill past the Cathedral Hill Hotel.

The donut shop was open and smelled steamily of coffee and fresh baked goods. We each had two donuts and two coffees, and stood at the little counter near the window and ate. A black and white San Francisco Police car stopped out front and two cops got out and came in the restaurant. They were young, both had thick mustaches. One was hatless. They got coffee and French-twist donuts to go and left.

“Probably looking for a gorgeous Afro-American and a middle-aged honkie,” I said. “No wonder they didn’t make us.”

Hawk grinned. “Less see,” he said. “We got two hundred dollars…”

“Hundred and ninety-seven now,” I said. “We just did three bucks’ worth of donuts.”

“Hundred and ninety-seven bucks, ‘bout seventeen rounds of ammunition. We three thousand miles away from home and we don’t know anybody in the area, ’cept maybe that lady lawyer and I figure she can’t do much now.”

“I think the bar association gets on your ass about aiding and abetting,” I said.

“And Susan gone and we don’t know where…”

“Except we figure it’s got to do with Costigan,” I said.

“And Costigan’s papa one of the richest and also one of the baddest men in this great nation,” Hawk said.

Outside the hint of sunrise made Van Ness Ave look a pale gray and the still-lit streetlamps showed a milder yellow, as their influence waned.

“And we got no car, no change of clothes, no toilet paper, no champagne.” Hawk finished his second cup of coffee.

“Lucky it you and me,” he said.

“We’re going to find Susan,” I said.

Hawk turned his intense expressionless gaze on me. “Oh, yes,” he said.