Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

last night.”
    “She called you?”
    He nodded grimly.
    “They’re freaking, aren’t they?”
    “What do you expect? They hate this town. Their only child ended up in a bush in Golden Gate Park with amnesia. Now he’s back, chasing ghosts.”
    “Do you remember that, Burke?”
    “What?”
    “Waking up under that bush in the park.”
    “Not really. I remember being in a hospital for a while, then—”
    “What hospital, Burke?”
    “Presbyterian.” He smiled sympathetically.
    “Well, then how do you know it happened? The stuff about the park and all.”
    He stared at her uncomprehendingly. “What?”
    “How do you know your parents are telling you the truth?”
    “What in hell are you …?”
    “They could’ve deprogrammed you, Burke.” Mary Ann drew back slightly, bracing herself for the repercussions. Burke blinked at her momentarily, then exploded with a derisive laugh.
    “I may be loony, lady, but I’m not dumb! Christ, don’t you think I know when people are jacking me around? Don’t you think I have enough sense to … Christ!”
    There was nothing to do but placate him. “Burke, don’t take it so personally. I’m sorry, O.K.?”
    He brooded in silence, gazing out at the fog-blurred bay. “I’m no baby,” he said at last. “I was in the AP, Mary Ann.”
    That night, at her suggestion, they slept apart for the first time since his arrival in San Francisco.
    Mary Ann dreamed about roses.
    She was walking along a catwalk with a dozen roses cradled in her arms. Behind her was the man with the transplant, leading an entourage of rose-bearers.
    They were all there: the dwarf from Las Hadas, the rose vendor from the flower market, Millie the Flower Lady, and Arnold and Melba Littlefield, brandishing the processional cross from Beauchamp’s funeral.
    Suddenly, Burke appeared at the end of the catwalk. He grabbed Mary Ann by the shoulders and shook her beseechingly. “I was in the AP, Mary Ann. I was in the AP.”
    When she woke up, she knew what she had to do next.

The Freak Beat
    T HE ASSOCIATED PRESS, MARY ANN LEARNED, WAS located on the third floor of the Fox Plaza high-rise, a cold concrete tombstone of a building that marked the grave of the old Fox Theater.
    The theater had been demolished about five years before Mary Ann’s arrival in San Francisco, but Michael had told her of its loveliness, its rococo majesty which conformed so gracefully to the needs of human beings.
    She thought about that now as she stood in the fluorescent-lit office, waiting for a man named Jack to look up from his computer-screen typewriter long enough to acknowledge her presence.
    “Uh … excuse me. The bureau chief said you might …”
    His eyes didn’t stray from the symbols on the screen in front of him. “Fuck, shit, piss!”
    “I’m sorry, if this is a bad time.”
    “Not you.” He turned off the machine and spun around to face her, offering a tired smile. “How many goddamn words can you write about Patty Hearst, anyway?”
    Mary Ann smiled back. “I’ve never tried.”
    “Well, don’t. For sheer column-inches, that broad’s a bigger pain than Angela Davis. Charlie Manson and Zodiac put together!”
    “It must be kind of exciting, though.”
    The reporter snorted. “I put in for Buffalo. I begged ‘em for Buffalo. But oh, no! Those assholes in New York thought ol’ Jack Lederer would be fuckin’ perfect for San Francisco.” He fumbled for a More, lit it and tossed the match on the floor. “So what can I do for you?”
    “The bureau chief said you used to work with—”
    “Pull up a chair.”
    She obeyed, wedging herself uncomfortably between his desk and a filing cabinet marked “Mass Murders, Etc.”
    “The bureau chief said you used to work with a guy named Burke Andrew.”
    He thought for a moment. “Yeah. Two—no—at least three years ago. But not for long. Four or five months at the most. He couldn’t hack it for shit.”
    “They fired him?”
    “Nah, he quit. He was slow, that’s all. Spent hours workin’ on a goddamn grabby lead when the world was fallin’ apart around him. He was nice enough, I guess. Friend of yours?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Disappear or something?”
    “No, why?”
    He shrugged. “This is the place, right? For droppin’ off the face of the earth?”
    Mary Ann smiled, inwardly shuddering. She hadn’t thought of Norman Neal Williams in ages. “Burke has amnesia, Mr. Lederer. He can’t remember anything after the AP. I thought maybe you