Burn Out

Ted sounded clipped, irritated. I said, “I’m sorry. I’ll charge it up right away.”

“That would be helpful.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing except we got a notice from the Port Commission about a big rent increase. As did all the other tenants. I think they’re trying to force us out so they can demolish the pier.”

Twenty-four and a half was one of a string of piers along the southern waterfront occupied by businesses; none of them measured up to the glitz of the refurbished Ferry Building and upscale restaurants; the city had plans for the area and they didn’t include us.

“When do we have to respond?” I asked.

“Not till after the first of the year.”

“That gives us some leeway.”

A pronounced sigh. “Shar, can I be frank with you?”

“Of course.”

“This is urgent. It’s hard to find decent space for an operation of our size in the city. And there’re other things here that need your attention.”

“Such as?”

“Adah Joslyn is fed up with the SFPD and considering a move to Denver.” Adah was an inspector on the department’s homicide detail and the live-in love of my operative Craig Morland.

“So if she goes, Craig does, too,” I said.

“Right. Also, morale is at an all-time low here. Mick and Derek have put up a sign on their office door saying ‘genius room’ and it’s pissing off everybody else.”

“For God’s sake, Ted, it’s a joke.”

“It would be if you were here. You’d put an X through the ‘genius’ and write ‘asshole’ instead, and that would be the beginning of a long string of jokes. But without you, everything’s kind of edgy. The staff meetings suck; Patrick’s so… earnest.”

They need me.

But do I need them?

“Look, Ted, just tough it out a little longer. I’ll talk to Mick, tell him to tone down the nonsense.”

“You need to talk to him about more than that. He’s kind of in a bad place.”

“I thought he was over the breakup with Charlotte-”

“No, he’s not. And he’s engaging in self-destructive behavior.”

“Such as?”

“Booze. Long, dangerous motorcycle rides at night.”

Shit. “I’ll call Rae and Ricky. Maybe they can straighten him out.”

“Wouldn’t it just be better if you came back and talked with him yourself? I don’t know anybody he respects more.”

Why me? Why am I always the go-to person in a crisis?

“Okay,” I finally said, “I’ll come down and talk with him. Attend Monday’s staff meeting, too. But I’m working on something up here, and I’ll need to get back pretty quick.”

“When’re you planning on coming down?”

“Well, it’s almost the weekend. I could drive there tomorrow, talk with Mick on Sunday, attend the staff meeting on Monday.” An idea occurred to me. “Actually, I have a project for Mick which may take his mind off his misery.”

“Good. Because he’s becoming a major pain in the ass.”

After I ate my neglected sandwich, I went for a ride across the meadow on King. In spite of the splendid, clear day, I couldn’t keep my mind off the Perezes: Ramon’s strength in the face of various tragedies, past and present; Sara’s love that enabled him to go on. Amy’s disappearance, so long ago now that the sheriff’s department had effectively back-burnered it. I’d promised Ramon and Sara I’d try to find her and had run around gathering information, but all that had resulted in was the unearthing of yet another tragedy.

And now things were falling apart in the city, and I’d promised to go down there and try to set things right…

King seemed to sense my melancholy mood. He stopped by some shoots of green grass that were pushing their way through the brown, put his head down, and munched. I stared out across the meadow. Even as winter was closing in, new life was claiming the high desert. After a while I clicked my heels against King’s flanks, and he trotted obediently toward the stables.

What was it Ramon had said to me about horses?

What you need to do is show them that you’re in control, and that you respect them. Then comes the love.

I was in control, and I respected King.

But love? For a horse?

When I returned to the house, the answering machine was still doing its chicken imitation but my cell had recharged. It rang soon after the machine gave a final shriek that sounded-to mix a metaphor-like the chicken’s swan song.

“McCone? No new machine yet?” Hy.

“Sorry. Busy day. Where are you?”

“SFO, about to grab a cab for home.”

Home. I could sleep next to him in our own bed tomorrow night, see our cats…

“I need a favor.”

“Anything.”

“Will you fly up here tomorrow and take me back?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks. There’re some things I need to take care of in the city. And I really want to see you.”

“Me too. Here’s a suggestion: why don’t I come up tonight?”

“Aren’t you tired after that long flight?”

“Not any more.”

“Well, if that’s the case, just phone with your ETA.”

“I’ll do that, darlin’.”

Saturday

NOVEMBER 10

We lazed in bed till almost noon-it had been another nightmare-free sleep for me-and then Hy went over to see how the Perezes were doing. He came back quickly; no one had been there, but he’d left a note of condolence.

“They’re probably still in Sacramento,” I said. “This is so much for one couple to bear. I wish I could help more…”

Hy hugged me. “You already have, McCone.”

“I feel bad, leaving at a time like this. But the situation in the city-”

“I know. And Ramon and Sara will understand.”

“But, Ripinsky, what about King?”

“Who?”

“King Lear.”

“Lear Jet?”

“No, King. Who’s going to take care of him?”

“One of the sheepherders. They know when Ramon’s gone, and they pick up the slack. How d’you think Lear… uh, King’s survived all these years?”

“Are you sure the herders know Ramon’s not home?”