Savage Noir

  Chapter 34 Jason Powers’ panel truck was cruising north  along Highway 101.  Cocoa was listening to music with her headphones. Rhonda had a desultory conversation with Sheena about dangerous “shelters” for the homeless.           After that the two were quiet for a while.          “What do you guys hunt?” Rhonda asked.          Jason checked her in his rear view mirror, then glanced at Sheena, who said nothing.          It was going to be up to him.          “Depends on where we are,” said Jason. “Down in the desert we hunt wild pigs. They call ‘em  javelina .”          She had heard the term before.          “Do you hunt in the forest? That’s where your camp is, right?”          “Right. It’s No Hunting were we camp. But up the coast a ways there are deer. I take it you’re not into hunting.”           The E.S.P. again! Uncanny!          “Hunting is okay, it’s just not my thing,” she said. “I have bad associations around it.”          “Did you kill someone?” asked Sheena.          “No

  Chapter 33 Inside a sunlit Starbucks in Petaluma,  Rhonda Stone was thinking: This is the second time we’ve met and he still hasn’t tried anything. When Sheena introduced them, he told Sheena to take her shopping for clothes. He obviously cares for me, she thought that day.          “He” was Jason somebody.          The three of them smoked some dope together, then Jason drove them up to Petaluma. At first she was leery. Jason resembled the guy whom she glimpsed on Haight Street that day. She suspected that he was pimping the Indian girl. But that could have been her imagination. She didn’t get a good look at him, after all.          Jason possessed big dark eyes that seemed to stare into her soul. Shorter than Rhonda by three inches, he was barrel chested and burly. She was disappointed that things were moving so slowly. Other than his hello hug, Jason had hardly touched her. That was at odds with the intimate compliments he had bestowed on her. He said he loved her muscular calves.

  Chapter 32   The following day I got onto the northbound L  Taraval streetcar and transferred to the Number Six bus, which went through the Haight -Ashbury District.          It had been a while since I had walked along Haight Street. It was as colorful and lively as I remembered it. Head shops were still the big thing. Many of them sold cigarettes and hookahs and tacky items strictly for tourists.          I turned left on Cole Street and walked slightly uphill on the even-numbered side. Across the street was a deli that looked inviting.  I was famished. I had eaten nothing in Starbucks, actually nothing since a meager breakfast of corn flakes. I crossed the street and entered the deli. A cute brunette, maybe thirty-something, came up to the counter.           “How big is your club sandwich?” I asked.          “Our turkey club is like so high…” She showed me.          “Perfect.”          I found a seat by a window, which looked out to the street. There was something weird, aside fro