Savage Noir

  Chapter 63 That evening Colin was investigating an off-shoot from something Francis had mentioned after he had tangled with Roy Potter. It was something the old ‘Frisco cops called The Chinese Angle. Something that is seemingly unrelated. Unbound by logic. He cruised along 20 th Street, the south end of Dolores Park. Now he could peer down at Zack’s old “store”:  The sheltered area beneath the bridge that crossed over the streetcar tracks. From his experience on the beat he knew that dealers move around a lot, but once they find a sweet location they stick there as long as possible. If they’re flushed out, they often come back to it later. He spotted a kid in a hoodie leaving, but it was not Zack Tyler. Had the kid just scored from him? Headlights in the mirror. He glanced up and saw a big SUV creeping along behind him. Colin increased his speed, then turned right onto Church Street, which led up a hill.  He stopped. Got out his binoculars. From there he could not

  Chapter 62 It turned out the homeless guy had lied to us . We spent the entire next day from dawn to dusk in or around Whole Foods.  I had a pee pot, but there was nowhere to dump it, so we didn’t use it. Terry and I had used the market’s restroom so many times that a big armed guard was eyeing us suspiciously. He could not catch us shoplifting, of course. Once he came into the bathroom, maybe figuring that I was doing drugs. It was dark outside. I had hung around all day. What the fuck was I doing? I turned on the hand dyer, hoping I would not have to answer any questions.  He waited patiently until the thunderous noise abated. The frown was gone. “It just come to me,” he chuckled. “Y’all are livin’ in your car.” It was an intelligent guess. I was not about to stand there and answer questions. “You nailed it,” I said. “If one of y’all come in here to clean your pits, you pick up after y’selves. Don’t be washin’ y’selves when it’s busy. Customers don’t wanna see you washin’

  Chapter 61 Terry looked up from his map. “It’s just ahead,” he said. I slowed down and looked to my left. It was a spot that the feds had marked on an aerial map: One section of a dirt road that ran parallel to Highway 101, where Rhonda “Country” Stone had jumped ship and fled into a nearby orchard. A yellow Merge sign stood just north of the spot. I passed the sign and continued to Petaluma, then took the off-ramp to Petaluma Boulevard. Terry had learned that there was a homeless encampment beneath the sheltering 101 overpass. Apparently the city cops raided it periodically. A thankless task; once the cops had cleared the area, the tents would reappear the following week. My spirits fell as I parked near the encampment. Only three tents were up. “I’ll bet they just got raided,” I said. One of the tents harbored a “chop shop.” Bicycle wheels, chains and other parts, mostly stolen, were bought and bartered for cash or drugs. A guy in a “man bun” was assembling a dirt bike

  Chapter 60 I stood by as Michael Rollins pedaled his exercise bike like crazy, his face pouring sweat. I wondered why any man would prefer riding that silly contraption instead of his own sleek racing bike, which leaned against a wall. He and Amy Feingold often ran together. Why not ride together, too? Finally he slowed down and came to a complete stop. He wiped his face with a towel. “Let me see that matchbook again,” he said. I held out the baggie it was in.  “It probably came from Petaluma,” I said.  “So? Someone ate at a restaurant in Petaluma. Big deal.” “It’s not just this. Terry and I heard that Powers shops at a Whole Foods store, in Petaluma.”  I decided not to mention that I had gotten that bit of intel from the Bureau. “ It’s near an on-ramp to the freeway,” I added. “Easy for him to escape from there if he has to.” He said nothing to that. Finally he said, “I see where you’re going with this.”  “Where am I going?” “You want me to pay your expenses whil