Tales of the City 01 - Tales of the City

maybe?”
    “Whatcha got to offer?”
    “It’s on the menu there, sugar.”
    He flapped the menu shut and gave her his best Huck Finn grin. “I bet it’s not … sugar.”
    Moving closer to him, she tapped her pencil against her lower lip, cast her eyes left and right, and whispered, “I don’t get off till seven o’clock.”
    Brian shrugged. “It’s not when you get off, is it? It’s how .”
    Candi’s Camaro was parked around the corner next to the Maritime Museum. It was plum-colored and its bumper sticker said: I BRAKE FOR ANIMALS.
    When the seat-belt buzzers had stopped, she looked at him apologetically. “I’d feel better if we went to my place.”
    “Colma?”
    She nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
    “Christ, that’s a half hour’s drive!”
    “The traffic’s not bad when you’re going this direction.”
    “How the hell am I gonna get home?”
    “I’ll drive you. Look … I’ve got a roommate.”
    Brian slammed his palm against his forehead. “Oh, shit.”
    “No. It’s a girl. It’s cool, really. It’s just that she’ll worry if I’m not home.”
    “Call her, then.”
    She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Brian. If you’d like to forget it, I’ll understand.”
    “No. Let’s go.”
    “You don’t have to, if …”
    “I said let’s go, didn’t I?”
    She stuck the key in the ignition. “I live in a trailer. I hope you don’t mind.”
    He shook his head and stared out at the pewter surface of the early-morning bay.
    He was sure of it now.
    This had all happened before.

The Hungry Eye
    N ORMAN WAS WOLFING DOWN A BREAKFAST OF COLD egg rolls when the telephone rang.
    The noise startled him. He wasn’t used to receiving calls in the little house on the roof. “Hello.”
    “Mr. Williams?”
    He recognized the grating Midwestern twang immediately. “I hope this is important.”
    “Well, I … I was just wondering how it was going.”
    “Look, I gave you the number of my answering service, right?”
    “Mr. Williams … I’ve left three messages with your service in the last two …”
    “Do you think you’re my only client?”
    “Of course not … but I don’t see why you can’t …”
    “You’re perfectly free to find another man, if you want.” He knew it was safe to say that. He was too valuable to her now.
    “I have the utmost confidence in you …”
    “I’m working on three missing husbands right now … plus a runaway kid from Denver and more guys messing around on their wives than I can … You’re paying me by the job, remember? Not by the hour.”
    “I know.” Her tone was placating.
    “You could’ve blown the whole thing by calling me here. I’ve got no privacy at all in this cracker box. There could’ve been somebody sitting two feet away from me who would’ve figured out the …”
    “I know, Mr. Williams. I’m sorry I … Could you just tell me if you’ve found out anything?”
    He waited for a moment, then said, “It’s going O.K.”
    “Do you think …?”
    “I think she’s the one.”
    That rocked her. “God,” she said incredulously.
    “I have to go slow, though. It’s ticklish.”
    “I understand.”
    “People are sticky out here about privacy, you know.”
    “Of course.”
    “It should be a matter of weeks. I can tell you that.”
    “I hope you can understand why I’m so …”
    “Look … look at it this way, O.K.? You’ve waited thirty years already. Another month or so won’t kill you.”
    “I thought you said two weeks.”
    “Mrs. Ramsey!”
    “All right. O.K. Did you find out if the name is …”
    “Yeah. Phony. It’s an anagram.”
    “Anna Madrigal? You mean it spells …?”
    “Look, lady! Will you wait for my goddamn report!”
    “I won’t bother you again, Mr. Williams.”
    She hung up.
    The call unsettled him for the rest of the morning. Who the hell was he kidding?
    The kid from Denver had shown up weeks ago, canceling the most potentially lucrative job of his career. Most of his missing-persons clients had switched to slicker agencies, and he hadn’t been offered a philandering-husband case since 1972.
    He prolonged the Ramsey case because it was his only case… and he couldn’t confront the reality of failure.
    If things kept up like this for long, he might be selling Nutri-Vim for real.
    ‘Paul?”
    “Yeah?”
    “It’s Norman.”
    “Hey, man … the proofs aren’t ready yet. I’ll call you when they’re ready, O.K.?”
    “I didn’t call about that. I thought … well, I