She shrugged. “Not really. Just enough to say that it’s about as far from San Julio as I ever want to get.”
I looked down the quiet street with the hills in the distance. I could understand why she felt that way.
CHAPTER61
I’D ENJOYED SHOWINGAlain Creasy the beautiful areas outside San Julio, seeing the appreciation in his eyes when he gazed at the rolling hillsides dotted with trees. Now I was almost embarrassed when we drove into the Tenderloin. Literally, the first thing we saw was a fat guy with a shaved head peeing on the side of a building in plain view.
I was hoping Alain didn’t notice, but he chuckled and said, “To be honest, I was expecting worse. There is a joke about people in the US defecating on the sidewalks. I don’t know if it’s true, but I’ve been preparing myself for it.”
“I’m sorry to see any of it. I grew up in San Francisco. It hasn’t always been this way. But it’s not quite as bad as TV news reports would have you believe. As a whole, San Francisco is one of the most beautiful big cities in the country.”
I found a place to park near the diner where I thought I’d find the Duke of the Tenderloin.
Alain said, “This person we wish to meet is… How should I put it? An aristocrat?”
I didn’t mean to snicker; it just struck me as funny. “No, it’s just a nickname he likes. He’s been helpful, and it’s not a big deal here to call him ‘Duke.’ He’s just a smart guy who flamed out of mainstream life.”
“‘Flamed out’?”
“Overcome with stress. Now he lives on the street, but he sees everything.”
“An informant?”
“Yes and no. He’s not looking for money. And he’s not a criminal who needs to barter information. I respect that he doesn’t hurt anyone, and he has a sense of right and wrong. I think he really is trying to make the neighborhood better in his own way.”
“So this is more than just part of my San Francisco tour. You are actually conducting an investigation here?”
“We need to talk to the duke, but I’m also looking for a girl named Elizabeth Nunez.” I stopped and pulled her photo up on my phone. I showed it to Alain, who nodded. I told him her story.
Alain said, “I see. Pretty, approached by a tall man. You could be right. She could be a missing part of your investigation.”
We continued on our trek. I was surprised that Alain was able to keep up a very fast pace despite his belly and a slight limp. I was having trouble reconciling his cop background with his grandfatherly tourist behavior. He wore a vintage-looking checked jacket that could have come straight from one of his beloved old TV detective show costume departments. And he kept looking up at the taller buildings and following all the pedestrian traffic rules. It was all I could do not to hold his hand like I do with Julie when we’re walking through the city. It was maddening.
We checked in a couple of places for the duke. In one alley, three men gave us the stink eye as Alain looked over to see what they were doing. Just as I was about to turn him around, one of the men shouted, “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
I tried to pull Alain in the other direction, but we were too late.
CHAPTER62
AS THE THREEmen approached us, Alain said to them, “We are sorry to intrude.”
Now the men spread out. The biggest was a guy in his early forties, around six feet tall, with a shabby mohawk. He wore a loose, red flannel shirt over a T-shirt. He said, “Tourists. Great. Just what the city needs.”
I debated identifying myself or reaching for my pistol under my jacket. Somehow I didn’t see either one de-escalating the conflict. Besides, I preferred to maintain my anonymity when in the Tenderloin.
Then the man in the flannel shirt said, “All tourists have to pay a tax.”
Alain looked at me for a moment, just to confirm this was a shakedown. Then he shuffled slightly to the side, away from the men. I shadowed his retreat. He stopped when a building’s wall and a stack of old, empty crates blocked any further progress.
All three men closed in on us at once. I didn’t like how this wasunfolding at all. My right hand dropped to my side. I started to reach for my pistol.
The man in the red flannel shirt reached for Alain’s arm. Just before he’d extended his hand completely, Alain grasped the man’s hand and twisted it backward quickly. The man squawked in pain and turned awkwardly. Alain released him, and the man tumbled onto the grimy asphalt of the alley.
A second man rushed Alain. The Frenchman simply pushed the stack of crates a few inches with his foot. The ruffian tumbled over it and also fell on the alley’s rough surface.
Alain calmly looked up at the third man, who shook his head, then simply turned around and left the alley.
I was hoping the entire confrontation was over. Clearly Alain had been in a scrape or two during his long career and knew how to handle himself.
