Blue Twilight (13 page)

“Watch out for the white mop lying outside by the door. He may look harmless, but the pooch has the soul of Genghis Khan,” I warned.

True to form, Tony Baloney growled and lunged for our legs as we hurried past. Emitting a couple of yaps to clear his throat, the mutt circled around and around before settling back down, fully satisfied that he’d protected his territory.

We walked toward Washington Square, turning at Mario’s Bohemian Cigar Store, a closet-sized café with the best focaccia sandwiches in town. Its outdoor tables were already filled to capacity hosting bohemian wannabes busy arguing politics, intellectual wannabes armed with horn-rimmed glasses and poetry, and artist wannabes furiously drawing away on their sketch pads. Come to think of it, I was also a wannabe. I wanted a jolt of Mario’s super-strength industrial caffeine more than anything else in the world. I needed a second wind after my crack-of-dawn shopping excursion with Mei Rose. A couple of shots of espresso and I was raring to go.

We strolled down Columbus until we came to the infamous Condor Club, the first topless bar in America. This was where Carol Doda had descended from the ceiling on a grand piano, displaying her silicon splendors. Two years later, the club also went bottomless, causing a flurry of imitators to spring up along the Strip. The Condor stayed open until the early eighties, when a dancer and her security guard were caught
in flagrante
on top of that same grand piano. It wasn’t the act itself that caused a problem, but the hydraulic elevating mechanism which became jammed. The piano unexpectedly rose to the ceiling, killing the security guard and pinning the dancer beneath him for hours. The club closed soon after and eventually reopened as a sports bar. Now there was only an historical bronze plaque outside to recall its former glory days.

“Just think. This is where it all began.” Terri sighed nostalgically. “Who would have guessed that expanding a pair of boobs with silicon from thirty-four to forty-four inches would ever set off such a craze? God bless you, Carol Doda.” He kissed his fingertips, and gave the plaque a pat.

We opted to save time by cutting over to Powell, and hopped on a cable car with a group of giddy tourists. Shades of Hitchcock’s
Vertigo
took over as we climbed up, up, up before plummeting down, down, down toward Market Street. My heart soared with the rancorous clanging of its bell as the car rattled along like a mechanical toy on steel wheels. Standing on the bottom step, I clung to a pole and threw back my head, hoping to catch a whiff of distant sea breeze. We got off at the final stop and took a short walk west, drawing closer to our destination.

The downtown surroundings slowly deteriorated, going from dingy to shabby to downright decrepit, as we entered the Tenderloin. A seedy, drug-infested pit, the district was
filled with porn shops, massage parlors, and a dilapidated homeless shelter. Hotel rooms were rented by the hour, serving a “professional” clientele who constantly used the same soiled sheets. Walking the streets were drunks, hookers, and runaways, along with their exploiters.

“What has Lily gone and gotten herself into?” Eric muttered under his breath. “Half of me hopes that I find her here, while the other half doesn’t.”

I couldn’t say that I much blamed him. The Tenderloin boasts the highest rate of rape in the city, and is a dangerous place for a woman of any age. I could only imagine what a teenage girl living on its streets would have to endure.

We headed into the first shop, where Eric pulled out Lily’s photograph and showed it around. Though a look of shock passed over each face, there wasn’t a hint of recognition.

“Sorry, but we don’t know her” was the standard response heard over and over from every store owner, as well as those people who we questioned on the street.

Runaway girls? They’re a dime a dozen in this area. Just look around and take your pick.

We knocked on locked doors behind which senior citizens had barricaded themselves, too poor to move anywhere else and too frightened to step outside.

“Trust me. I’d remember that face. I haven’t seen it before. Now please go away,” each implored.

By the end of the day, Lily’s photo bore multiple sets of indifferent greasy fingerprints, and Eric’s spirit had hit rock bottom. We’d met with little success, other than to see what we were up against, and the odds weren’t encouraging. We decided to pack it in and head back to North Beach until tomorrow morning.

“You know the hardest thing? Imagining that Lily might be out here somewhere. She could be hurting right now, and
there’s not a damn thing I can do about it,” Eric said, his frustration building. “That’s why I hate to see the sun go down. I try to stay busy during the day. It’s the nighttime that kills me. All I’m left with then are my thoughts and fears. It’s gotten so that I can’t stand being alone anymore.”

“Then you won’t be,” Terri said, slipping his arm through Eric’s. “That’s what friends are for. Don’t worry about the couch. You can sleep on the bed and I’ll borrow a futon from Mei Rose.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Eric demurred.

But Terri firmly insisted. “Oh yes, you can and will. At least until we find Lily. Isn’t that right, Rach?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, knowing how helpless Eric must feel. Because of that, I also made a suggestion. “Maybe it’s time to check in with the San Francisco police.”

Eric swiftly dismissed the idea out of hand. “Ellen’s parents already did that. Besides, whatever for? Do you really think the cops out here are going to be any different from those in New Orleans when it comes to runaways?”

I didn’t respond. What was the point, when we both already knew the answer?

“All they’re going to do is advise me to be patient and wait. And I swear, if I hear that once more I’m going to scream. I don’t care what anyone says. I know in my heart that something has happened to Lily. I never realized what it was like to be a father before, but now I know that we’re truly connected. Can you understand that, Rachel?”

I nodded, wondering what my sister might look like today, and if she ever regretted having run away.

“I can’t sit around wasting time until Lily is found dead somewhere and her name is splattered across a newspaper.”

Eric was right. That’s when the police would finally kick in and try to track down her killer.

His chest heaved in a silent sob, making his shoulders bob
up and down. That simple movement was enough to cement my determination.

“It’s all right, Eric. We’ll look until we find her,” I promised.

I only hoped that I could keep my word.

W
e arrived home to quite a sight. A number of small octagonal mirrors had been hung in every window of the house. They reflected the sunset in a crazy patchwork of light.

“Lordy, Lordy. What’s
this
all about? Did Mei Rose finally lose her mind and sell the place to a bunch of carnies while we were out?” Terri questioned, shading his eyes from the blinding glare.

I put on my sunglasses, wondering what Su Lin Fong across the street must be thinking right about now. “It’s just this little superstitious thing she has going on at the moment.”

“What? More with the
chi
? Like the tree standing in the middle of the hallway isn’t enough?” Terri retorted, with a shake of his head.

We headed upstairs, where I could already smell the delicious aroma of a Chinese meal. Opening the door, we found Santou sitting at the table digging into a plateful of steamed fish, white rice, and Chinese broccoli.

“Sorry to start eating without you, but I didn’t know when you’d all be home.”

“I just hope there’s more of that for the rest of us,” Terri said, taking a deep whiff.

“There is, though no thanks to Rachel. I had to charm Mei Rose into leaving the remainder of the food in the fridge. She’s pretty mad at you, chère. From what I understand, you
were supposed to help her with the cooking tonight.”

I tried my best to fight the onslaught of guilt, but it was like a tidal wave pulling me under.

“What? You mean it’s not enough that I was dragged out of bed at daybreak, and had to schlep all the groceries home like a mule? I’m then expected to rush back after work in order to wash, chop, and prepare an entire meal?”

“Uh-huh,” Jake grunted, sticking a forkful of fish in his mouth.

Damn. I hate when I feel like a slug. I’d have turned back around and gone out to eat, if only my stomach hadn’t protested.

“Okay, I’ll apologize to her later,” I agreed, hungrily eyeing the food.

“Oh, I think you’re gonna have to do a whole lot better than that,” Santou said, with a grin.

“Fine. I’ll spend my next free weekend slogging away in the kitchen, pretending to be the Chinese version of Julia Child,” I retorted, having no intention of doing any such thing.

“Oh for chrissakes, Rach. Just tell her to give up the ghost already. Now lets zap the food and eat,” Terri said, heading for the microwave.

I had to admit, the meal was delicious. I just didn’t want to spend the rest of my life cooking.

“So, how’d it go today? Any luck?” Jake asked, as we finished dinner and piled the dishes in the sink.

“Not unless you consider being dissed by a bunch of lowlife pimps in the Tenderloin to be an uplifting experience,” Eric glumly reported.

“We seemed to hit a dead end with everyone,” I conceded.

“Maybe you just need to go about this differently.”

“What? Leave it to the police, like hundreds of thousands
of other parents, while I sit back and let the years roll by? No thanks,” Eric sharply retorted.

“Okay, handle it your way. But why don’t you tell me a little about your daughter?” Santou suggested.

Eric slowly nodded and pulled out Lily’s photo, his fingers gently caressing the image as if it contained a hidden message in Braille.

“She’s not a big girl, but small-boned with delicate features like her mother. Her skin is the color of fine porcelain where it isn’t scarred.” Eric’s eyes crinkled, as if picturing her in his mind, and his lips parted in a smile. “When Lily was younger, she liked to say that her eyes were brown as chocolate pudding.”

“Where are some of her favorite places to go?” Santou questioned, so seamlessly that one would scarcely realize they were being interrogated.

“To the local ice-cream store. The flavor she loves best is Rocky Road. She’s also crazy about videos and movies. I bet she must have watched the film
Cinderella
a hundred times while growing up. Lily liked to pretend she had a fairy godmother who was going to change her into a princess.”

“What about TV? Does she watch much of that?” Jake casually inquired.

“Sure. What kid doesn’t?”

“Any shows in particular?”

Eric stopped and thought about that for a moment.

“You know, she watches things like
Smallville
,
Friends
, and
The Gilmore Girls
. Oh, and she’s a really big fan of the show
Buffy
.”

So far, Lily sounded like any other young girl. Eric then listed the things she didn’t like, such as gym class, the beach, and going to museums. I continued to listen as every
facet of her life was exposed and scrutinized, wondering how my own would hold up under such close examination.

“Does Lily have many friends?” Jake continued to question.

“She tends to be a loner. But then, Lily never quite fit in with the other girls. Her scars always made her feel different.”

“What sorts of things did she take with her when she left?”

“Let’s see. Some jeans and shirts, along with her favorite pair of sneakers. Oh yeah, and her
Buffy
collection.”

“What’s a
Buffy
collection?” I asked.

“You know, DVDs of the entire series. What can I say? Teenage girls seem to be into looking hot while pretending to kick demons’ asses these day.”

Made sense to me. Who said it was only teenage girls that were into such things?

“Now fill me in on her boyfriend,” Santou instructed.

“Don’t get me started,” Eric snapped. “What kind of nineteen-year-old goes after a girl who’s only fifteen? I’ll tell you. A guy that wants someone he can easily manipulate. Obviously he’s intimidated by girls his own age. For the life of me, I don’t understand what she sees in the creep. It’s not as if Randy is all that good-looking. I mean, he’s got this horrid pasty white complexion because he refuses to go out in the sun.”

“Maybe he has allergies and needs to take care of his skin,” Terri suggested.

“Oh please! Allergies my ass. The kid likes to pretend that he’s some sort of freakin’ vampire.”

Terri’s hands flew up in the air like a pair of doves that had been released. “That’s it!
Buffy
. Vampires. Now it’s all beginning to make sense.”

We turned and stared at him, having absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

“Don’t you see? If Lily’s hanging around with this guy, then where we should be looking is in a vampire’s den.”

We continued to gape at him in disbelief.

“What? I watch
Buffy
. I know what it is I’m talking about,” Terri said, with an indignant sniff.

“Okay then. Explain to me exactly what a vampire’s den is,” Santou responded.

“All right, so it’s not an actual den, but a nightspot that caters to the vampire scene. Remember when I went to SOMA the other night, to look for a job at one of the transvestite clubs?”

I knew of SOMA as the industrial neighborhood south of Market Street. It had become a trendy new hot spot, attracting musicians, artists, and filmmakers to live and work in its warehouse lofts. The result was that chichi clubs and restaurants had begun to spring up.

“Anyway, I passed by this club, Poison, and took a peek inside. We’re talking a heavy-duty vampire scene. It was enough to have given Dracula a serious hard-on.”

“Then let’s go there right now and check it out,” Eric eagerly said, beginning to get up from the couch.

But Terri took hold of his arm. “It’s only nine o’clock, sugar. The place doesn’t start rolling till midnight. You don’t want to go too early and take the chance of scaring Lily away, do you?”

“No. Of course not,” Eric reluctantly acquiesced.

“Then why don’t we go upstairs and watch some TV to pass the time?” Terri suggested.

“Just make sure you stop by here on your way to the club, because Rachel and I are coming along,” Santou called out as the two headed for the door.

“You’re on,” Terri replied, flashing an okay sign with his hand.

I couldn’t have been more pleased if Jake had said we were hopping a plane to Paris. But I also didn’t want to act too surprised. Instead, I took it in stride.

“Great. So, would you like me to make some tea while we wait?” I knew Jake hated my coffee, considering the primo brew that was available in the local cafés.

“Sounds good. After that, why don’t you give me a run-down on what you’ve been up to for the past few days.”

“I’m sure I’ve already told you. Nothing terribly exciting. Just some work with butterflies, is all,” I responded, not wanting to jinx things by revealing too much at this point. Not that there was all that much to reveal. “It’s certainly not like the big cases that I worked in the past.”

“I hate to say it, chère, but you’ve got a bad attitude.”

“What do you mean?” I shot back, instantly on the defensive.

“For chrissakes, listen to yourself. You’re being negative just because you’re not dealing with a grizzly or some other carnivorous man-eater. It’s clear that you don’t put much stock in the value of bugs.”

“That’s not true,” I responded, unwilling to admit that Jake was correct.

“Let me give you a little biology lesson, chère. Butterflies are the most important pollinator of crops right after bees. In fact, you could say they’re a bellwether for what’s happening on this earth. Try thinking of them as the above-ground equivalent of canaries in the mineshaft. The amazing thing is people see them as just these pretty little things. But butterflies have one hell of a tough life. For instance, did you know that only one one thousandth of their eggs survive?”

I shook my head in surprise, having never heard Santou speak like this before.

“In a sense, they’re rather like a Greek tragedy. Butterflies have this short, brilliant flight, only to die, as their wings be
come torn and tattered. I’ll bet you also didn’t know that the Greek word for them is
psyche
, the same as the word for ‘soul.’”

I looked at Santou in astonishment. My God. The man sounded like a poet. “Where did you learn all this?”

“Oh, there are lots of things I know that would surprise you,” he joked.

I decided to reveal a bit of what I was working on, since Jake seemed to care so much about butterflies.

“Remember I told you that a consultant for Fish and Wildlife has been missing ever since he went up to Mendocino? Well, I discovered more about the butterfly that he was sent to find. It’s a species called the Lotis blue.”

“Sure. I’ve heard of it.”

I shot Jake a skeptical glance, certain he had to be putting me on.

Santou chuckled, seeming amused by my reaction. “I used to catch bugs as a kid, chère. Or didn’t you know little boys did that sort of thing?”

“Very funny,” I retorted.

“I had a pretty good butterfly collection at one time. Even back then, getting hold of a Lotis blue was tantamount to finding the Holy Grail, particularly for a museum. Come to think of it, I can name two museums here in the States that boasted specimens, only to have them mysteriously disappear. That’s how desirable that particular butterfly has always been. From what I hear, there are only a handful of Lotis blue specimens in the entire world, probably making it the ultimate butterfly to possess.”

“Who’d be most interested in getting hold of one? A museum, or a private individual?”

“Both, I would imagine. There are some pretty hard-core collectors out there. I remember reading somewhere that one in ten Japanese men is a serious butterfly hunter. Maybe
that’s an angle to consider while investigating the disappearance of that consultant. You’re absolutely certain he was searching for the Lotis blue?”

“Yes. Fish and Wildlife is on the verge of declaring it extinct.”

“Okay then, stop and think. How much would an extinct butterfly be worth to an avid collector? You’d know better than most people. It’s possible your consultant stumbled across something that he wasn’t supposed to find.”

I wondered. Trepler had said he’d kill anyone that ever tried to take his specimen. The question was, would he be willing to commit murder to get another?

“So what do you think now, chère? Do smaller species deserve just as much protection as those that are larger?”

“When you’re right, you’re right,” I admitted and gave him a kiss.

Santou never ceased to amaze me. But there were other matters that I had to focus on at the moment. I poured the tea and took my cup into the bedroom, wondering, What does one wear to a vampire club, anyway?

I nixed a blue skirt as too fancy, a gray sweater as too drab, and a red blouse as just plain asking for trouble. For all I knew, it was the equivalent of waving a red flag at a bull. Except in this case it probably meant “Come closer. I want you to suck my blood.”

I finally settled upon what usually seemed right for just about any occasion: a basic little black dress.

Santou outdid me by pulling a purple silk shirt out of the closet. I watched as he slipped it over his chest, his arms gliding through the billowy sleeves, as the collar fell gently around his neck. Then he stepped into a pair of black pants that always fit him just right.

It’s funny how quickly we learn to take those that we love for granted, certain we know all of their whims and quirks.
However, this was a man that I hadn’t seen before. The outfit emphasized Santou’s brooding nature, turning him into part poet, part pirate, part seducer. Terrific. I’d probably have to beat off every vampiress in the club with a stick.

“Ready, chère?” Jake asked, his smile indicating that he was pleased by my reaction.

“Uh-huh. I’m just not letting you out of my sight tonight.”

“That’s the idea,” he said, teasingly running his fingers over my breasts.

Terri and Eric knocked on our door at the stroke of midnight. I opened it to find Gomez and Morticia Addams standing there.

Terri was a knockout, garbed in a formfitting full-length burgundy satin dress that would have given Marilyn Monroe a run for her money. He’d accessorized with a long black wig, a rhinestone necklace shaped like a spider, and enough white makeup to have been voted Queen of the Ghouls.