Death in North Beach by Ronald Tierney Page A

first few pages of the paper to see what moral crusade they were on at the moment. There were several articles on a rumored new hotel in North Beach. The Voice was vehemently against it. He finished his coffee and walked back toward his place. Though it would be autumn officially in a few weeks, there was no hint of it in the air.
    Two guys stood in front of his door. As Lang got closer, he saw who they were. Rose, a black guy and the smaller of the two, leaned back against the building, one foot up against the wall. He smiled. His partner, Stern, was a big white guy in his fifties, the strain of alcohol and general disdain etched on his face. He wasn’t smiling. He stepped toward Lang as Lang approached.
    â€˜The party was last night,’ Lang said. ‘Next time.’
    â€˜You know, you’re not as smart or as funny as you think you are,’ Stern said. The guy’s suit was two sizes too small.
    â€˜Of all the cops on the force why is it always you?’
    â€˜We miss you,’ Rose said, coming forward to join the conversation. He had a casual attitude and a well-pressed look.
    â€˜No we don’t,’ Stern said.
    â€˜Stern doesn’t appreciate sarcasm,’ Rose said.
    â€˜He has a lovely childlike quality,’ Lang said. ‘I’ve long admired it.’
    â€˜What are you doing sniffing around the Warfield killing?’ Stern asked.
    â€˜Who says I am?’
    â€˜Gratelli says so,’ Rose said.
    Lang thought that Gratelli must have come in the bar after he left. The bartender wasn’t as tight-lipped with the homicide inspector as he was with Lang. And Lang had given the barkeep his card. In retrospect, maybe that wasn’t a good idea.
    â€˜It’s a murder investigation,’ Stern said.
    â€˜I would think so,’ Lang said.
    â€˜And you?’ Stern moved closer to Lang. It was his way of intimidating people. That and ‘the look’. The cop look.
    â€˜I have nothing to do with it. Hope you find out who did it,’ Lang said. ‘I leave it entirely in your capable hands.’
    â€˜That’s very nice of you,’ Rose said.
    Lang looked at Stern. ‘More sarcasm.’ When Stern didn’t respond, Lang said, ‘You’ll catch on.’
    Stern sneered. Lang knew he shouldn’t tease the bear. But he couldn’t resist.
    â€˜You know about PIs and active murder investigations, right?’ Rose said.
    â€˜Of course. Gumshoe 101.’
    â€˜Then what are you doing?’ Unlike Stern’s, Rose’s tone was civil. Rose seemed the smarter of the two. But, having been partners for a couple of decades, they played games. When Stern was in a better mood, they would do a little comic routine.
    â€˜Just looking for a book,’ Lang said.
    â€˜Then you should go to a library,’ Stern said.
    â€˜You practicing your sarcasm?’ Rose asked his partner.
    â€˜It’s never too late to learn.’
    â€˜You want to answer the implicit question?’ Rose asked.
    â€˜Won’t be in a library. It’s unpublished.’
    â€˜Let me guess. A book by Warfield.’
    â€˜God, you guys are good,’ Lang said.
    â€˜You know there’s a book out there?’ Rose asked.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜You’re looking for a book you don’t know exists?’
    â€˜Keeps me busy. I don’t like crossword puzzles.’
    â€˜The book have something to do with the murder?’ Rose asked, while Stern wandered off, stared down the street.
    â€˜I haven’t read it yet.’
    Rose smiled, shook his head. ‘Don’t piss him off too much,’ he said softly, referring to his partner.
    â€˜Who is your client?’ Stern said, coming back. There was anger in his voice, but there was almost always anger in his voice.
    â€˜I don’t have a client.’ Technically, William Blake was Carly’s client.
    â€˜Then why are you looking for the