and I damn well hate the ones who do the hurting. This pair that beat you up, put Joshua’s roommate in critical condition… if they’re not stopped, they’re liable to kill somebody. I don’t want that to happen.”
Zalesky said, “Commendable,” and seemed to mean it. “I wish more cops felt that way.”
“So do I.”
“I’ll do anything I can to help, of course, but you already know that. What is it you’d like to know?”
“To begin with, where were you attacked?”
“Just up the street from here, on the park side. I’d just come home from visiting a friend, just parked my car and gotten out.”
“What time?”
“After one A.M. Close to one-thirty.”
“They followed you?”
“No. They were parked a couple of spaces away, across from my house.”
“As if they were waiting for you?”
“It seemed that way.”
“But they were strangers?”
“Oh, yes,” Zalesky said. “Definitely. I suppose they spotted me somewhere, some other time, and followed me then. One of those random things. It’s quiet up here late at night, I must’ve seemed like a good target. I don’t know. With men like that… who the hell knows?”
“They were in a pickup truck?”
“Yes. Black or dark blue, I’m not sure which.”
“Could you identify the make and model?”
“I don’t know anything about cars, much less pickups.”
“Did it seem new or old?”
“More old than new.”
“Anything distinctive about it that you can remember?”
“Distinctive…” Zalesky’s brow furrowed, smoothed again. “Well, there was a Confederate flag in the back window. I noticed that when they came out at me.”
“A real flag or some kind of decal?”
“I think it was real. My God, you don’t suppose they could be Klan members? In San Francisco, of all places in this country?”
“Anything’s possible,” Runyon said. “So they came out and then what? Just attacked you, or did they say anything first?”
“Oh, they had a lot to say. The usual run of gay insults. One of them called me sweet thing… Christ. The other one said something ridiculous about teaching me not to mess with boys and then they started hitting me.”
“They use weapons of any kind?”
“One of them had a pipe or club made out of metal. Aluminum, I think.” Zalesky shuddered. “I can still hear the sound it made when he hit me with it.”
“Little League baseball bat?”
“I suppose it could’ve been. The other one hit me with his fists, kept kicking me when I was on the sidewalk. They were both laughing. The whole time… laughing, as if they were really having a fun time.”
“What can you tell me about them?”
“Not much. It was dark and I couldn’t see their faces clearly. One of them wore a jacket with a hood and the other a cap.”
“What kind of cap?”
“I’m not sure… it might’ve been a baseball cap.”
“Was he the one with the aluminum club?”
“… Yes, I think so.”
“How old were they?”
“Early twenties, maybe twenty-five.”
“Big?”
“The one in the jacket was. Over six feet and… what’s the word I want? Not fat, but… burly, chunky. Pale skin, at least it seemed pale in the dark. He may have red hair.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Freckles,” Zalesky said. “On his forehead and cheeks.”
“You’re sure they were freckles, not blemishes?”
“Freckles, yes. And I remember a lock of hair hanging out from under his cap. Light-colored, but not blond… it didn’t look blond to me.”
Runyon said, “Good. That helps. What about the other one?”
“Tallish, slender. Average-looking. That’s all I remember about him.”
The white cat reappeared and began to wind itself around Zalesky’s legs, purring, making little burbling noises in its throat. Zalesky said, “What’s the matter, baby? You need a little love?” He bent, slowly and with evident pain, and scooped the cat up with his good hand and hugged it against his chest. The purring got louder. And louder still when Zalesky buried his face in the animal’s thick fur.
Private moment; Runyon looked away. The cat wasn’t the only one who needed a little love right now.
He was looking at the wall tapestry, trying to make out what the scene depicted on it was all about, when Zalesky put an abrupt end to the private moment. “I keep having the feeling I’ve seen him someplace before.”
“Who?”
“The tall, slender one.”
“Before that night? Where?”
“That’s just it, I can’t quite recall.”
“Someplace around here, this neighborhood?”
“No.”
“Near where you work?”
“The Transamerica Pyramid… no, not there.”
“Try it this way,” Runyon said. “Day or night?”
“I’m not… Night. It might’ve been at night.”
“Where do you go nights? Public places, I mean.”
“That’s not an easy question to answer. I go out frequently. Concerts, plays, the cinema. Dinner with friends. The Castro scene, too, of course-bars, clubs. I’m not really into cruising, but now and then… well, never mind, you’re not interested in that.”
“Could that be where you saw him? Over in the Castro?”
“He’s hardly the type to frequent gay bars, Mr. Runyon.”
“Maybe not the bars themselves, but the neighborhood’s a good possibility. The two of them have to know the general area well enough to go hunting for victims. That might include the sections where the bars and clubs are.”
“I suppose so, but… it wasn’t in a car or pickup that I saw him. I’m sure of that much.”
“On foot, then. Walking the area alone or with his buddy.”
Zalesky nuzzled the Angora again. It was still purring, but making twitchy movements now as if it had had enough attention. “I don’t think so,” he said, and kissed the cat on top of the head and then let it jump down.
“All right.” Runyon wrote his home phone number on the back of one of his agency business cards. “If it comes back to you, give me a call, would you? Office or home.”
“I will. If you think it might be important.”
“The more information I have, the easier it’ll be to find them.”
Zalesky nodded. And then frowned again, tapping the business card against his lower lip. “Outside one of the clubs,” he said abruptly.
“Say again?”
“That’s it, that’s where I saw him. Outside one of the clubs. He was arguing with somebody…”
“How long ago was this?”
