forced to register as a sex offender. That was when his first wife divorced him.
Accused by the California Franchise Tax Board in 2004 of failure to pay adequate state income tax over the previous five years. Found guilty and heavily fined.
Yeah, a scumbag.
Question was, what else was he? Just a bisexual member of the sports club? A scam victim of the phony Lucas? Or a scammer himself?
Decision time.
Doctor Easy was a solid lead, the only one she had, but she couldn’t risk bracing him herself. No way of knowing if the phony Lucas had told him about her, maybe even described her. Hawkins wouldn’t be likely to tell a woman anything anyway, especially not about the down-low club.
Like it or not, what she needed was a man-a good-looking male op who could pass for a successful, bisexual businessman.
And he had to be black.
That meant bringing in an outsider, a borrow from one of the other agencies in S.F. or the Bay Area. Trouble was, full-time field ops were usually kept as busy as she kept Jake Runyon; finding one who looked the part and had a hole in his caseload might not be easy. A part-timer was the best bet.
Well, she knew one possible-and he fit the profile. Deron Stewart. Part-timer for several different agencies, mainly Matt Bannerman’s. Good record-seven years with the California Highway Patrol, eight years with a big national outfit in their S.F. office before the economic crunch squeezed him out-but no luck so far in landing a staff job anywhere since. But did she want to work with him? The man was a pussy hound; one meeting with him and she’d known that from the way he talked, swaggered a little in her presence, and roamed his eyes over her body. Egotistical cocksman types turned her off. Sniff, sniff, sniff around every woman they met from eight to eighty, black, white, or yellow, crippled, blind, or crazy.
All right, then. Make some calls, see if she could borrow somebody else.
The calls produced zip. Either nobody employed the kind of man she was after or if they did, he wasn’t available on short notice. So it would have to be Deron Stewart… if she could get him. She called Matt Bannerman, and he said Stewart wasn’t doing any work for him right now, or for any other agency that he knew about. He gave her two phone numbers, cell and home. She picked the cell first.
“Deron Stewart here.”
She ID’d herself and the agency. “You interviewed with us for a field op position a couple of years ago.”
“And didn’t get it. I remember.”
“Not because you weren’t qualified.”
“You hired a white man instead.”
“Race had nothing to do with our decision.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve heard that before. What can I do for you, Ms. Corbin?”
“A job, if you’re interested. Short-term, one or two days probably, but it pays top wages.”
“What kind of job?”
“Fraud case. Involving African Americans.”
“Which is why you need me.”
“Yes or no, Mr. Stewart?”
“What is it you want me to do? And how soon?”
“Right away,” Tamara said. “If you want the job, come on over and I’ll give you the details.”
“South Park offices now, right? Nice location. You must be doing pretty well.”
“Two ninety South Park. How soon can you be here?”
“Forty-five minutes,” he said. “Less, if the traffic cooperates.”
Deron Stewart may not have been working steadily, but he dressed as if he were. Charcoal pin-striped suit, pale blue shirt with gold cuff links, a yellow patterned tie. Big gold and onyx ring and a gold-banded wristwatch that looked expensive. Attractive enough, if you liked your men slick. Piercing eyes almost as black as his skin, with that hungry glint in them. One of those fat-toothed smiles that probably had some women reaching to unhook their bras when he turned it on them. Pure hound. Like Vonda had said once about a guy she knew, he’d screw a board fence if the knothole was in the right place.
He looked her over pretty good when he came in, not being obvious about it-cool and practiced, sizing up the goods and his chances of adding her to his scorecard. Tamara pretended not to notice. If he hit on her, and sooner or later he probably would, straight out or sly, she could handle him. Wasn’t any man after the phony Lucas who’d mess her up again. The way she felt right now, she didn’t care if she spent the rest of her life celibate as a nun.
She sat Stewart down in the client’s chair in her office, with her desk between them. Nobody else there but the two of them; Bill and Jake and Alex were all out and not likely to come back until late, if at all. Otherwise she’d’ve arranged to meet Stewart somewhere else.
He sat relaxed and attentive, one leg crossed over the other and those glinty eyes fixed on her face, as she sketched out the case details and what she wanted him to do. Told him pretty much everything except the personal angle. Working the case for a client, she said. He may have been a hound, but he was no-nonsense when it came to business. Let her do the talking, except to put in a question now and then when something wasn’t clear to him. Quick study, too. Took it all in, processed it, read it back to her after she was done.
She said, “Think you can play the part?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Low-key. Don’t come on too strong.”
“Don’t worry; I can handle it. Long as you’re sure Hawkins and Zeller are on the down low and this sports fan club is for switch-hitters only.”
“Sure enough. One look at you in person, you’ll get an invitation. Guaranteed.”
Stewart’s smile bent downward a little. “Backhanded compliment. Do I look like a switch-hitter to you?”
“None of my business what you do in private.”
“One hundred percent hetero,” he said. “For the record.”
His horny eyes moved over her face like a caress. She ignored them. “Go ahead and make the call. I’ll listen in in my partner’s office. Get a take on Hawkins’s reaction.”
“Suppose he won’t talk to me.”
“Then you’ll have to get in to see him at his office. Or hang around and brace him when he leaves.”
Stewart made the call on her phone. Asked the woman who answered if he could speak to Dr. Hawkins on a personal matter. “My name’s Stewart, Deron Stewart. Tell him we met at the sports show at Moscone Center last month.”
Three minutes passed. Come on, Easy, Tamara thought, pick up, talk to the man. And there was a click and a reedy voice said, “This is Dr. Hawkins.”
“Deron Stewart, Doctor. You probably don’t remember me-”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. We met at the Moscone sports show, you said?”
“That’s right. I talked to a lot of people that day and I guess you did, too.”
“Yes. Very crowded event.”
“You said to call you Doctor Easy.”
“Did I? Well.”
“You were with a friend, a man named… Heller, was it?”
“Zeller. Yes.” Pause.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Stewart?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that club you mentioned.” Stewart cleared his throat. He was playing it just right. Softened his voice, put in a little nervousness but not too much. “The one you and Zeller belong to.”
Ten seconds of silence. Hawkins trying to remember. Then, “Yes?”
“Five members and there was room for another man. I said I didn’t think I’d be interested, but… I’ve changed my mind. If there’s still room.”
“There is. For the right man.”
