don’t know owes you her life.”
And I owe her mine , I thought, but I kept that thought to myself. I hadn’t mentioned she’d saved my life. I hadn’t yet decided what I was going to do about settling that particular debt. “I suppose.”
“This woman, she’s not a regular?”
“No, apparently not.”
“You wouldn’t know, though, as you’re not here often.”
“No. But ask the staff if they recognized her.”
“We have. No one mentioned having seen her before…She didn’t ask you to call the police.”
“No.”
“She fired a gun, you say? Through her purse?”
“Yes.”
“The other witnesses weren’t quite clear on that.”
“People were panicking, running.”
“So. An African American woman chased by a Russian and a guy you said, I quote, ‘looks like a suburban dad.’”
“That’s about it,” I agreed.
“One of the officers said you were looking at the Russian’s arm as they came in.”
“I was trying to find a pulse.”
Well, yes, but I’d also looked for a tattoo marking him with a nine, with a sunburst in its center. Nine Suns. The people who’d taken my wife, framed me for murder, destroyed my CIA career, stolen my baby—all because I had gotten too close to their criminal operations. I’d gotten my son back and I’d exacted a heavy price against Nine Suns. We’d all retreated to our respective corners. Their people wore a small tattoo as a marker. I hadn’t seen one on the dead man’s arms.
Anitra DeSoto drummed a pencil against the tabletop. She didn’t like me. She didn’t like my answers. “How much longer are you staying in town?”
“I don’t know. If we’re done—”
“Mr. Capra.”
If she asked me one more question, I was going to stop this and phone a lawyer. I was tired and sore and aching and wanted to go curl up in a bed. The bar was a wreck. And I needed to find out exactly who this Russian was and why he’d come into my bar.
Before someone else came looking to avenge him.
“Usually when someone kills another person, they are real broken up about it.”
I let five, then ten seconds pass. “Who says I’m not?”
“You don’t seem upset.”
I leaned forward. “These guys tried to kill me. I defended myself and my customers. I am not at all happy that it ended the way that it did, and when I’m alone, I’ll have a reaction, which I will keep private.” I stood. “But if you want to see me emotional, I’ll be back in the morning with tears in my eyes and a cup held by my attorney to catch them.”
She doodled on her notepad. Arrows circling back on themselves. She was trying to connect me as more than an innocent bystander because of me speaking Russian. I was supposed to be just a guy who owned some bars. I had better start acting like it right now.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t like the suggestion that I did something wrong.”
“If we find there’s any connection between you and these men, I will not appreciate your lack of honesty.” Now she leaned forward. “I’m not convinced, Mr. Capra, that you are entirely an innocent bystander.”
“Is this one of those ‘last chance’ moments?”
“Interpret how you like.”
“Then it’s a wasted chance. I did not know them.”
“Or her.”
“Or her.”
“You’re free to go, Mr. Capra. But don’t leave San Francisco in a hurry.”
If she wasn’t arresting me, it was an idle request. I went to the door. “Come by and have a drink some time, on the house. Good night, Detective.”
I walked out into the night. The police car had brought me to the Hall of Justice on Bryant Street, where the SFPD homicide detail worked. I saw some people from the bar on the corner, awaiting a ride back to their cars. All the witnesses had been brought here to give statements.
“Hey!” one of the guys said, recognizing me. “Bar guy! Man, you were amazing!”
“Oh,” I said. Saying thanks sounded wrong. Him being excited about what he’d seen sounded wrong,
And I owe her mine , I thought, but I kept that thought to myself. I hadn’t mentioned she’d saved my life. I hadn’t yet decided what I was going to do about settling that particular debt. “I suppose.”
“This woman, she’s not a regular?”
“No, apparently not.”
“You wouldn’t know, though, as you’re not here often.”
“No. But ask the staff if they recognized her.”
“We have. No one mentioned having seen her before…She didn’t ask you to call the police.”
“No.”
“She fired a gun, you say? Through her purse?”
“Yes.”
“The other witnesses weren’t quite clear on that.”
“People were panicking, running.”
“So. An African American woman chased by a Russian and a guy you said, I quote, ‘looks like a suburban dad.’”
“That’s about it,” I agreed.
“One of the officers said you were looking at the Russian’s arm as they came in.”
“I was trying to find a pulse.”
Well, yes, but I’d also looked for a tattoo marking him with a nine, with a sunburst in its center. Nine Suns. The people who’d taken my wife, framed me for murder, destroyed my CIA career, stolen my baby—all because I had gotten too close to their criminal operations. I’d gotten my son back and I’d exacted a heavy price against Nine Suns. We’d all retreated to our respective corners. Their people wore a small tattoo as a marker. I hadn’t seen one on the dead man’s arms.
Anitra DeSoto drummed a pencil against the tabletop. She didn’t like me. She didn’t like my answers. “How much longer are you staying in town?”
“I don’t know. If we’re done—”
“Mr. Capra.”
If she asked me one more question, I was going to stop this and phone a lawyer. I was tired and sore and aching and wanted to go curl up in a bed. The bar was a wreck. And I needed to find out exactly who this Russian was and why he’d come into my bar.
Before someone else came looking to avenge him.
“Usually when someone kills another person, they are real broken up about it.”
I let five, then ten seconds pass. “Who says I’m not?”
“You don’t seem upset.”
I leaned forward. “These guys tried to kill me. I defended myself and my customers. I am not at all happy that it ended the way that it did, and when I’m alone, I’ll have a reaction, which I will keep private.” I stood. “But if you want to see me emotional, I’ll be back in the morning with tears in my eyes and a cup held by my attorney to catch them.”
She doodled on her notepad. Arrows circling back on themselves. She was trying to connect me as more than an innocent bystander because of me speaking Russian. I was supposed to be just a guy who owned some bars. I had better start acting like it right now.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t like the suggestion that I did something wrong.”
“If we find there’s any connection between you and these men, I will not appreciate your lack of honesty.” Now she leaned forward. “I’m not convinced, Mr. Capra, that you are entirely an innocent bystander.”
“Is this one of those ‘last chance’ moments?”
“Interpret how you like.”
“Then it’s a wasted chance. I did not know them.”
“Or her.”
“Or her.”
“You’re free to go, Mr. Capra. But don’t leave San Francisco in a hurry.”
If she wasn’t arresting me, it was an idle request. I went to the door. “Come by and have a drink some time, on the house. Good night, Detective.”
I walked out into the night. The police car had brought me to the Hall of Justice on Bryant Street, where the SFPD homicide detail worked. I saw some people from the bar on the corner, awaiting a ride back to their cars. All the witnesses had been brought here to give statements.
“Hey!” one of the guys said, recognizing me. “Bar guy! Man, you were amazing!”
“Oh,” I said. Saying thanks sounded wrong. Him being excited about what he’d seen sounded wrong,
Similar Books
