But of course these remaining two nitwits didn’t know when to quit.
The jackass in the flannel shirt stood up and glared at us. A trickle of blood ran down his wide forehead. He balled his hand into a fist. “You’re going to regret that, you frog piece of shit.”
Alain held up his hand at the man like he needed a break. He turned to me and said, “I’m not sure what that insult meant. Is he calling me excrement or a small amphibian?”
I realized Alain had been toying with these guys all along. If he had time to make a joke, he wasn’t too worried about these morons. I was still a little concerned, though. The second man was off the ground now and standing shoulder to shoulder with his friend.
From the end of the alley I heard a booming voice. “Cal, Marty, leave those people alone. They’re friends of mine.”
I turned and saw that it was Barry Seifert: the Duke of the Tenderloin.
CHAPTER63
GINA SCRITTORI HADcome into San Francisco for the afternoon, and Cindy was happy to see her. Gina told her all about the tour of the youth center she’d given Lindsay Boxer and her new French partner.
Gina said, “He’s an older dude, but that accent? Holy cow, is it great.”
Cindy nodded. “We had fun with him last night.”
“Ooh, do tell.”
“Just a night out, listening to his stories. He seems like a good guy.”
They were standing near Pier 39 on the Embarcadero. Cindy figured that the Tenderloin was pretty thoroughly covered. This was another area where there was a lot of activity. Granted, most of it was tourists, but the people who worked at the restaurants, shops, and kiosks saw a whole lot. Maybe someone would recognize Nicole from her photo.
Cindy had gotten lucky on stories over the years by talking with local workers. One waitress had witnessed a big-time attorneymeeting with a candidate for mayor. It had turned into a major story of the candidate trying to hide a past arrest for indecent exposure. Cindy had published the story a week before anyone else.
It was a bright day and Gina squinted in the sunlight as she said, “So, what’s this big lead you have on Nicole Snaff?”
“One of her soccer-playing friends saw her at a mall here in San Francisco.”
“When?”
“Just a couple of weeks ago. Lindsay Boxer confirmed it with videotape from the mall.”
“That’s incredible. Is she okay?”
“It looked that way according to Lindsay. I just talked to the witness; I didn’t see the video.”
Gina looked excited. “Are you and I going to look for her today?”
“If that’s something you’d like to try. I have other avenues to investigate.”
“Like what?”
“Eric Snaff gave me a list of people he thinks could be suspects. Maybe he’s trying to throw the scent off himself. It’s still something I need to look at if I want to be thorough.”
Gina asked to see the list, but Cindy wanted to concentrate on looking for witnesses who might’ve seen Nicole.
The two women worked as a team. Cindy didn’t think it was safe to do it any other way. The duo started right near the Hard Rock Cafe. Cindy was strategic in not asking random people walking down the street—she went for local vendors and workers. A few people blew them off, but most people took the time to look at the photo. They stopped at a hot dog stand, a store that sold touristy junk, and even a couple of the open-air restaurants.
They were coming up empty, however, until they found a youngwoman who seemed to have parked herself beside the back wall of a family restaurant that sold mostly fried food. She was probably in her late teens, with straight dark hair that went just a little past her shoulders.
When I asked her if we could show her the photo, the first thing the young woman said was “You guys cops?”
Gina said, “Do we look like cops?”
The girl gave Gina a critical look up and down, then said, “You kinda do, but your clothes are too expensive.” Then she looked Cindy over and said, “Even in a uniformyouwouldn’t look like a cop.” The girl stood up from her place on the concrete and glanced past them, toward the busy lanes of the Embarcadero, gauging traffic and people. “Look, I’ve got places to be. If you guys want to show me the photo, make it quick.” She grabbed the strap of a small canvas pack and slung it up onto her shoulder.
