The Crooked Street

46

“A truce?” Herb asked.

Frost nodded. “That’s what he said.”

“Interesting. Do you believe him?”

“Not for a moment,” Frost replied.

Herb drank coffee from his silver thermos. It was midmorning the following day, and the two of them leaned against the base of the Willie Mays statue outside AT&T Park. Herb had just completed his latest three-dimensional sidewalk painting near the stadium gate, in honor of the Giants returning home for the season opener. The portrayal of hometown baseball legends, some in black and white, some in color, was already attracting a crowd.

“So it’s true,” Herb said. “Lombard exists. In the flesh.”

“He does.”

“What were your impressions of him?”

“I still don’t know anything about him at all,” Frost replied. “Honestly, he could be standing right there in the crowd and I wouldn’t even recognize him. But you know how you can hear intelligence in someone’s voice? That’s Lombard. He’s brilliant.”

“A brilliant sociopath,” Herb said. Then he noted the braces keeping Frost’s right index finger in place. “What’s the report on your finger?”

“The surgeon thinks I’ll get full use of it back. The break was pretty clean. Vicodin and I were pretty good friends on day one, but it’s better now.”

“And the rest of you?”

“Bruised but intact.”

“Well, that’s excellent news.” Herb drank more coffee and wiped sweat from his brow on the warm morning. He smelled of paint and pot, as usual. “As it happens, I wouldn’t entirely discount the idea of Lombard wanting a truce. He may be sincere.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“Do you remember the threat that was hanging over my head? Silvia’s disappearance all those years ago and the lawyer who seemed to think I was involved? Strangely, that all went away yesterday.”

Frost’s eyes narrowed. “How so?”

“The lawyer sent a follow-up letter. He said Silvia’s brother is no longer interested in pursuing the circumstances of her disappearance. His condition has worsened, and he has to focus on his health. So there will be no investigation, no interrogation, no more innuendos about my guilt. At least for the time being.”

“That sounds like a good thing.”

“It is, although I have to say, they piqued my curiosity by bringing it up again. After all these years, it would be nice to know what really happened to Silvia. Anyway, the fact that the lawyer backed off strikes me as a peace offering. This wasn’t directed at me, but at you.”

“Lombard is using a carrot instead of a stick,” Frost said. “He gives me what I want as an incentive to let it go.”

“I think that’s about the size of it.”

Frost glanced at the crowd around them. From now on, he had to assume he was always being watched. “I woke up to another goodwill gesture,” he said.

“Oh?”

“The real Fox — Mr. Jin’s teenage son — was dropped off at Human Services overnight. He’s unharmed. The social workers are trying to track down his mother in China.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

“So am I.”

Herb lowered his voice. “I’m curious. If the offer of a truce is real, why do you think Lombard is so anxious to keep you on the sidelines?”

“I assume he’s planning something,” Frost said.

“But you don’t know what?” Herb asked.

“No, but given who he is, it must be something important. He wants me far away from it.”

“Or perhaps he’s simply baiting a trap for you,” Herb suggested.

“Yes, that’s possible, too.”

“So what do you intend to do?”

Frost had thought about little else since the meeting in the Bugatti. He felt as if a spider’s web were being spun around him, entangling him limb by limb. The more he fought it, the tighter the bonds grew. “For now, all I can do is what Trent Gorham did.”

“Which is?”

“Go underground,” Frost replied.

“Can you really do that? That doesn’t sound like you.”

Herb was right. Frost didn’t like fighting in the shadows, but that was where his enemies lived. If he shined a light on them, all they would do is scatter and hide. He had to stay in the darkness.

“For now, I don’t think I have a choice,” Frost said. “As far as the world is concerned, Lombard can stay a myth. In the meantime, I can pursue him behind the scenes. It may take time, but sooner or later, I’ll get him.”

“Well, my advice remains the same. Be careful.”

“Always.”

“Even if you try to hide what you’re doing, Lombard seems to have eyes everywhere.”

“Yes, he does.”

Herb gave him one of his penetrating stares. “Meanwhile, what about your personal life? How are things in that regard?”

“No change.”

“Have you talked to Duane?” Herb asked.

“No.”

“And Tabby?”

“No, not her, either.”

His friend sighed long and hard. “I did warn you about all this, Frost.”

“I know you did.”

“It seems to me you’ve ended up with the worst of all possible worlds, haven’t you? You’re estranged from your brother, and you don’t have the woman you love in your life.”

“Yes, I’m setting new records even for myself,” Frost agreed. He was reminded of his mistakes every time he went inside the house on Russian Hill. There were no messages on his phone. No care packages in his refrigerator. No perfume in the air. Even Shack looked lonely without Duane and Tabby.

“My mother called me from Arizona,” he added. “She heard what happened.”

“How was that conversation?”

“Loud,” Frost said.

Herb chuckled.

Frost laughed, too, because there was nothing else to do.

Then he dug into his pocket when he heard the text tone on his phone. His forehead wrinkled with concern. It was another number he didn’t recognize, but he suspected that it had come from the man in the Bugatti.

Below the text was a link to the San Francisco Chronicle website.

“What’s that about?” Herb asked, noting the frown on Frost’s face.

“I don’t know, but let’s find out.”

Frost clicked the link and found himself on the newspaper’s home page. He spotted the breaking news article immediately, and he read the opening paragraphs of the story aloud.

Frost stopped reading.

Herb whistled in surprise. “Well, well, well. Apparently, Mr. Filko outlived his usefulness.”

“Apparently so,” Frost agreed, his lips pushed together in thought.

“Another gesture of goodwill?” Herb asked.

“Murder isn’t exactly goodwill, no matter who the victim is.”

“Well, in this case, I can’t say I’m sorry. Based on everything you told me, Mr. Filko had to go. The mayor and the city still get the Zelyx jobs but none of the awful baggage of its CEO. Everybody wins.”

Frost read the article again, and he could hear Prisha’s voice in his head. I know it’s not the choice you’d make, but it’s the best thing for everyone.

“So this was the deal they made,” Frost said.

Herb’s eyebrow cocked. “What?”

“Prisha and Zara paid Lombard to get rid of Martin Filko once and for all. As you say, with Filko gone, everybody wins. Fawn gets her revenge. That’s also why Prisha wasn’t worried about Lombard coming after them. They have as much to lose as he does if Lombard gets caught. They’d wind up in prison for murder.”

Herb frowned. “Is it brave or foolish to get in bed with the devil?”

“It never ends well,” Frost replied.

“No, I can’t say I approve of their methods,” Herb agreed, “even if their hearts were in the right place. It’s a dangerous thing to assume the ends justify the means. However, I’m not going to cry over the loss of Mr. Filko.”

Frost shook his head. “Except for every Martin Filko, there’s also Trent Gorham. And Mr. Jin. And Carla and Denny and who knows how many others? This man is a monster. He has to be stopped.”

Frost stared at the crowd again. His eyes went from face to face, wondering if Lombard was right there, looking back at him. He’d made a promise in the Bugatti, and sooner or later, he’d keep it. It didn’t matter how long it took. The two of them would meet again. He knew when they did, only one of them would walk away alive.

Herb had the look of a man who could read his mind and didn’t like what he saw. “I’ve lived long enough to be sure of one thing, Frost, although you may not want to hear it.”

“What’s that?” Frost asked.

His friend took him by the shoulder. “Sometimes the road to justice is a crooked street.”