Savage Noir

Chapter 26 Joy Rollins lived in a loft  in Mission Bay, an area in the midst of a comeback. In its heyday it was a big shipbuilding center during World War II. Trains chugged in with steel, and trucks hauled produce out of the San Joaquin Valley from places like Visalia and Tulare and Sanger. Now most of the factories were closed and sat like grey ghosts along the water. Their cracked windows gazed out at rusty oil barrels and empty yards. Other than being an easy walk from the Giants stadium I couldn’t see the appeal. I suspected Joy Rollins was paying a bundle for the place, even after splitting costs with her roommate.          She buzzed me in. The new elevator sped to the second floor so fast I didn’t have to check my fly or run my index finger across my teeth or anything else guys do before meeting a pretty woman. Bang. I was there.          Ms. Rollins was at her door to meet me. I walked along the long cement hall, my crepe soles squeaking loudly. As I got closer I saw

Chapter 25 Something troubled me that night  as I drove away from the campus and headed down Geneva Avenue. Something besides the pain from the knife wound I had patched up with my first aid kit. I sensed that I was being followed. I quickly checked my mirror. A big SUV turned left onto Geneva, as I had. I slowed down so I could get a look. I was sure it was the big guy in the Black Escalade. Yes. Still wearing his yellow shades. I took a circuitous route to Dolores Park. Then I slowly eased up a hill along Church Street, where I could look down on the park. Luckily I saw a spot to park and jumped out. I skittered down the grassy hill and into the park. I saw a couple of stoners, two girls, under the bridge. They were sharing a joint. “Yo!” I called. “What’s up?” They didn’t know what to make of me. One of them dropped the joint, stomped it out. Finally the taller one said, “S’up.” “You waiting for Zack, too?” I asked. They exchanged a quick look. Again the taller girl spoke.

Chapter 24 It was 9:20 pm, ten minutes before the end  of a night school session at Lowell High. I had been waiting in my car, hoping to see Zack Tyler so that I could question him. A long ten minutes crept by. I heard a loud buzz from inside the school. Seconds later I saw students leaving one wing of the main building. Many more students streamed out of the portable classrooms.           Most were tapping their smart phone buttons. Some dug out cigarettes. No Zack in this bunch. Then came the laggers, stupefied with boredom, shuffling ahead like zombies. They were pulling out cigarettes or joints and sticking them in their mouths to taunt the campus cops. The cops did not bother them unless they actually lit up on campus, which seemed to extend as far as the sidewalk.          Confident that he would be in this bunch, I got out of my car.          I saw a kid that resembled the picture I had and caught up with him. His Levis’ hung precariously above his knees. One deep in