Alarm Call

Chapter 21

Fortunately, it was a bloody enormous bed; suppose I had fancied any, I’d have had trouble finding her. I don’t know whether Prim slept at all, but I know that I did. I sat bolt upright when the alarm rang, picked the phone up and slammed it down again to cancel it.

The light on Prim’s side of the bed was on, and she was up; she was showered and sitting in front of the mirror in her bra and pants, blow-drying her hair as I’d watched her do a thousand and more times before. I wondered why she hadn’t gone back to her own room to do that, until I remembered that she’d brought all of her stuff across the night before, not just the pyjama jacket.

I got out of bed and made for the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and saw the tension still on her face, so I stopped and stood behind her, putting my hands on her shoulders and kneading the muscles at the base of her neck with my thumbs. They were tight and bunched at first, but soon they relaxed under the gentle pressure. ‘How’re you doing?’ I asked her.

‘All the better for that.’ She looked up at me in the mirror. ‘Will we find him in San Francisco, Oz?’

‘We won’t know until we get there. The first thing we’ve got to do is catch this plane.’

We’d cut it f ine. . I hadn’t allowed for US Immigration when I’d booked the car. . but we made the flight. The coach section was busy, but we were in first so we had plenty of room. We had just reached our cruising height when a guy leaned across and tapped my shoulder. ‘Hey, aren’t you Keanu Reeves?’

I’m good with people, usually, but this one was rude. I looked him in the eye, put on the accent and that deep, sincere voice Keanu’s got and said, ‘Oh, fuck, I must need a haircut.’

It was not my day for being recognised. When we rolled our luggage through the arrivals gate in San Francisco, we had to search for our chauffeur. Eventually we found a Hispanic woman in uniform, holding a sign that read ‘Mr Blackstein’. I had to do some talking to convince her that I was from the Gentile side of the family, but eventually we got under way and headed for the city.

We sat silent on the drive in, and let the driver. . her name was Carmen. . do the talking. ‘This yo’ first time in San Francisco, Mr Blackstein?’

‘No.’

‘You’ll love it.’ Clearly she was a woman who worked from a script, regardless of her passengers’ answers. ‘You got to take the cable car, now, and don’ forget go to Fisherman’s Wharf. Alcatraz ees good too: don’ worry, no prisoners there no more.’

We let her prattle on. She did it to such good effect that she missed a turn and we found ourselves heading across the Bay Bridge on an unscheduled trip into Oakland. ‘Sorry, Mr Blackstein,’ she said. ‘This ees bad. You no wanna go into Oakland.’ From what I’ve heard of the place, I was inclined to agree.

Eventually, she found a turn-off and headed back in the right direction. By this time Prim was agitated. ‘What if he’s there and we’re not?’ she muttered.

‘The message said afternoon, love, remember.’ That quietened her for a while. Eventually Carmen got her bearings and we turned into Stockton Street.

The big brown eyes widened as we stopped in front of the Campton Place Hotel. ‘This is where we stayed on that weekend we were talking about last night,’ she exclaimed, her earlier panic forgotten. ‘What made you choose it?’

‘Nothing in particular,’ I told her. ‘I knew it, so rather than ask the guy on Granville Island to find us something I just told him to book here.’

‘Are you sure you weren’t remembering that weekend too?’

Maybe I was. . but I wasn’t going to admit it.

I didn’t expect our accommodation to be ready at ten thirty-five in the morning, but it was. Their two best bedrooms were contained within a corner suite, with a view over Union Square itself. The Campton Place calls itself one of the world’s leading small hotels, and the fittings and furnishings live up to that claim. We settled in, and I was able to have the shave I had forgone in Vancouver. Once I was done, I appraised myself in the mirror. There were a few creases around my eyes that I didn’t like; crossing time zones does that to you, and when you’re nearer forty than thirty, they don’t go away. I really did need a haircut too. But what the hell? There would be people in Vegas to take care of all that stuff.

I surrendered the bathroom to Prim and went to my bedroom to call Susie. At first, she wasn’t best pleased when I told her we were in San Francisco. . it’s on her places-to-see list, but we’d never got round to it. . but she calmed down when I told her why we had gone there. ‘Do you think he’s ready to hand the kid over?’ she asked.

‘That’s what I’m hoping, but it won’t be that easy. Union Square’s a public place and it’ll be at its busiest at three o’clock. I’m guessing he’s picked it for his own security, reckoning that I won’t go for him if there are crowds around, but I’ll be amazed if he brings Tom with him. Prim would just go berserk and grab him.’

‘But where would he leave him, if they’re alone?’

‘Any number of places. He could be in a hotel with a baby-sitting service. There are big stores around here; there might be a creche in one where you can leave your baby to be looked after while you shop. Or. .’ I hadn’t really considered this before. ‘. . he might not be alone. He might have an accomplice.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Sure. His dear old mother, for one; she’s had time to jump on a plane and get out here.’

‘Whatever it turns out to be, just you be careful. You’ve got a position to protect, so don’t go getting involved in any rough stuff.’

‘Who? Me?’ I laughed. ‘I won’t get in any fights, Mummy, I promise. Let me speak to Janet.’ I had another earnest conversation with my daughter, in which I promised to take her to California as soon as Jonathan was big enough to come with us, then spoke to Susie again. ‘Anything else for me?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Is there something wrong with your cell-phone? Mark Kravitz has been trying to get through to you, and so has the general manager of the Merchant’s Hotel in Minneapolis.’

‘What the hell did he want?’

‘He didn’t say.’

I dug out the Sony Ericsson and tried to switch it on. I’d been so busy using my international adaptor to power my laptop that I’d forgotten to charge it. The thing was as dead as Kelsey’s nuts. . that, incidentally, is a popular American saying, and no, I have no idea who Kelsey was, or what killed them, although I’ve heard some interesting suggestions.

‘I’ll get back to him,’ I told her, ‘when I’ve got time, once this bloody thing’s charged up again.’

‘Okay. Let me know how you get on.’

‘Will do. Love you.’

Prim was waiting in our sitting room when I went back out. ‘What are we going to do?’ she asked.

‘We’re going to relax.’ I checked my watch: it was just short of midday. ‘We’ve got three hours to kill, and my stomach’s still on Central Standard Time, so I’m going to fancy lunch soon. Let’s go to the seaside.’

She saw the sense in that, so we left the hotel and walked a couple of blocks, where we jumped a cable car and rode it down to Fisherman’s Wharf. We walked around for a while, breathed in a lungful of the sea air. . I cherished it, for I knew how dry it would be in Vegas. . then ate lunch at Ana Mandara, Don Johnson’s place on Beach Street: sweet blue crab soup, then wokked beef tenderloin with onions and peppery cress, and a side order of steamed jasmine rice.

The cable car got us back to Union Square at two thirty. I suggested that we go back up to the suite, where we overlooked the square and could see everything and everyone, but Prim vetoed that idea. ‘Maybe he won’t show himself until he sees us,’ she said. She had a point, so we found ourselves a seat near the Manila Bay monument and waited.

Her eyes were everywhere, scanning every face in the crowds, but recognising nobody. As three o’clock drew closer she became more and more restless, but in the circumstances I forgave her that. Eventually she could sit still no longer. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get up and go nearer the monument; maybe he can’t see us down here.’

I knew that if he was looking, he could see us well enough; at that moment the square was full of Japanese tourists. . that nation is full of tremendous, energetic and very well-organised travellers. . so we were liable to stand out. I went along with it, though, because I didn’t want her blaming me for anything that went wrong.

We rose from our bench and walked towards the white stone pillar, mingling with the crowd of Japanese. I realised that some of them actually looked Chinese, and decided that two different tour groups must have converged on the square at the same time. There were a lot of them, but I was quite a bit taller than most of them, so I reckoned we were visible. As I looked around, scanning for Wallinger, my eye was caught by two black guys. I’d seen them in action earlier when we’d got off the cable car, and their pitch had made me laugh. I was near enough to hear as they did it again.

One was carrying a tin with a slot in the top, but there was no doubt that he and his mate were collecting for their personal charity. His companion did the pitching. He fastened on to a Chinese couple and asked them, ‘What’s the greatest nation on earth?’ The Chinese man looked uncertain, so the guy shouted his question again, drawing quite a bit of attention, until finally he laughed and bellowed, ‘Donation!’

It was worth a buck, and the sucker duly shoved a note into the tin.

I was still looking at them when all hell broke loose behind me. A woman screamed, high-pitched, then Prim grabbed my arm. ‘Oz!’ she yelled, above the sudden hubbub. I turned and saw a man, as tall as I was, and with the same hair colouring, in the act of turning and taking to his heels, legging it out of the square.

I didn’t even think about it; I went after him. He shot off towards the corner, then swung into Stockton Street. This guy’s confident, I thought to myself. He’s running uphill. He was too, and running bloody fast at that. I didn’t yell after him or anything like that. I saved my breath and dug in.

He ran a full block, with me in pursuit about ten yards back, close enough for him to hear me, not gaining, but not losing ground either. We came to a cross street but the lights were at ‘Walk’: my quarry and I ignored them and kept on running.

I’m not as fast as I was fifteen years ago, but when I try I can still shift a bit. For all that, the gradient was beginning to hurt, and I reckon he’d have got away from me, if he hadn’t done something very stupid. He looked back over his shoulder to see if I was catching him.

When you’re running flat out, it’s important that you look where you’re going, otherwise you won’t see the fat bloke who steps out of a doorway and into your way, just like he didn’t. He knocked the obstacle flat on his arse, but he lost momentum and I was on him. I hit him in the back with my shoulder, in a spear tackle, knocking him full-length, face down. I landed on top of him, then got to one knee and turned him over.

I didn’t expect the gun at all, but there it was in his hand and it was aiming my way. I knocked it sideways just as he fired. I felt a sudden flash of heat on my cheek, and a sudden searing pain near my ear. Before the lunatic could fire again I clamped my left hand around his wrist, and hit him, awkwardly, but seriously hard, with my right. The punch was half hook half uppercut, and not even Iron Mike ever threw one with more lethal intent than I did then. The guy’s head snapped back, hitting the concrete of the sidewalk. He went out like a light, but that didn’t stop me hitting him again, just for luck.

I tore the gun from his unresisting hand, flicked on the safety and stuck it in my belt. Then I stood up and put a foot on his throat, in case he came round and had any thoughts about going anywhere else in a hurry. Only when I’d done all that did I take a good look at him. He was my size, yes, and had the same colour hair, yes, but no way did he look anything like me or like Paul Wallinger’s picture. The big ragged scar on his forehead was a drawback for a start, and so was the fact that he was dark-skinned. I saw something else too, a gent’s leather handbag, tucked into his belt.

The fat bloke from the doorway had regained his feet and was looking on. The gunshot had sent everyone in the street diving for cover, but now that the situation was under control they began creeping out to see what had happened.

Porky looked down at the supine figure under my foot. ‘Fucking muggers!’ he snarled, then spat on the guy.

‘You do that again, pal,’ I said, ‘and when he wakes up I’ll give him his gun back and tell him it was you.’

A circle had formed around us, but it parted to let two biker cops through. I thought they might have been inclined to arrest both of us, but they were experienced officers and they knew what had gone down.

‘His gun’s in my belt,’ I told them, lifting an arm so that one of them could withdraw it. Somehow I thought it was better that way. ‘The bag that I reckon he stole is still in his.’

The other cop bent over and retrieved it; as he held it up a man in the crowd started shouting excitedly in Japanese. ‘It’s yours, sir?’ the officer asked, while his buddy rolled over the still unconscious thief and cuffed him.

‘Jesus,’ Cop One exclaimed, ‘he’s well under.’ He looked at me. ‘What did you hit him with?’

I held up my right hand. ‘This, and the pavement. Since he was trying to shoot me I thought it was the best thing to do.’

He looked at me. ‘Buddy, he was more than trying: he scored a homer. You’re bleeding.’

I put my hand to my face; it felt sticky, and I realised that the left side of my head was bloody sore. ‘Shit!’ I swore. ‘What does it look like?’

The off icer turned my head around and peered at it. ‘Looks like he’s torn up the top of your ear. It’ll clean up, though.’

‘How quick, though? I’m due to start shooting a movie next week.’

He took another look at me. ‘Hey, Keanu Reeves!’

‘Don’t you start,’ I barked at him. ‘I agree, we’re around the same height, but Keanu’s a couple of years older than me. Plus, I’m a harder puncher than he is.’

Cop Two sneered at his mate. ‘You fucking dip-shit.’ He laughed. ‘That’s Oz Blackstone, the English guy; he’s in Miles Grayson’s big-hit sports movie. I caught it last week. Nice job, Oz.’

At last! Fame in America.

‘Which?’ I asked. ‘The movie or nailing him?’

‘Both. We got grounds to charge this guy with attempted murder. You wanna proceed?’

‘Too fucking right I do. He might not miss the next guy he shoots at.’

‘He didn’t miss you, remember. One and a half inches to the right and you’d have been minus the back of your head.’

The mugger was starting to come round. ‘You want another shot?’ asked Cop One, as they hauled him to his feet.

‘Certainly.’ I hit him again. I was standing and balanced this time so I got some real leverage into the punch. It turned him into two hundred pounds of dead weight all over again. The crowd gave a small cheer.

‘Shee-it!’ Cop Two whistled. ‘You’re right. I saw those Matrix movies; Keanu don’t hit nothing like that hard.’