Royal Flush (The Jake Samson & Rosie Vicente Detective Series Book 6) (27 page)

“Is Floyd around?”

“No. Not here yet.”

“How come you’re not in the meeting, Karl?”

He picked at a dirty Band-Aid on his neck and scowled. “Not Inner Circle. And somebody’s gotta keep an eye on who shows up. Want something to drink, Rosie?” He gave her what had to be his best smile. His teeth were gray.

Floyd— he would always be Floyd to me— pushed through the front door, spotted Rosie and me with Karl, and strolled over to join us.

“Hey, Jason. Rose.” He didn’t bother to greet Karl.

“Floyd.”

“Where’s everybody?”

Karl was glaring at him. “Meeting. Inner Circle only.”

“Yeah? They been in there a while?”

“And they’ll probably be in there a while longer.”

“Yeah? Jeez, it’s hot in here. You guys want to take a walk? Not you, Karl. You’re working.” Karl stared back at him coldly. We were about to follow Floyd out the door when Leslie came through it from outside, waving an
Examiner
in Floyd’s face.

“Did you
see
this?”

She was angrier than usual. Floyd took her to a corner table and spread the paper out. Karl went along. Rosie and I trailed them.

We read over Floyd’s shoulder.

“Unbelievable,” Floyd said.

The story, on an inside page, was short, but told the rest of the tale on Pete Ebner. He had been identified. In the Seventies, he’d been loosely connected with the Symbionese Liberation Army before they kidnapped Patty Hearst. He had disappeared and then surfaced again as a member of several radical-left groups in the Eighties. Somewhere around 1992, he’d become a member of ThePeople, Frasier’s group. But a couple of years later, he’d pulled out, or at least drifted off.

To become a Nazi? Certainly possible. There are people who just want to be on the outer edge, right or left, the ones who are just plain pissed off and don’t spend much time thinking. Still, I was having trouble seeing Ebner as anything but a Nazi. It suited him so well.

Suddenly, as if she’d just noticed we were there, Leslie swung around and snarled at us.

“I don’t know why they let you two in here. I don’t know why you’re not in the hospital with Royal. Or dead.” She said it loud. Zack and Skink were watching. I wound up for a fast righteous-indignation pitch.

“You listen to me, Leslie. I’m sick and tired of this crap. You don’t know who the hell to be suspicious of. You’re like a goddamn mosquito. You’d better learn who your friends are. And you’d damned well better be grateful there are still loyal people like me and Rosie interested in what happens to the Command. Seems like you’ve got more than enough traitors to deal with as it is. We’re here, we’re loyal, and we’re staying. You need us now, more than ever.” That last bit sounded vaguely familiar. From some commercial or something? “You’re way out of line, little girl.” She actually took a step back and shut up.

I’d seen that before, with bullies like Leslie. They’re bluffers, and they can be bluffed. Aggressors respect aggression. For all she knew, the way things were going, I could be the next warrior boss.

Zack and Skink came over to see what we were reading. They squinted at me, but they didn’t say, “Oh, yeah?” or anything smart like that. They leaned over the table, looking at the paper.

Skink looked confused, kept glancing at Zack as if he was searching for a cue. It occurred to me that maybe he couldn’t read. Zack could. He turned red and started punching his right fist into his left palm, walking in a tight little circle. What a bunch of clowns. Struggling against the laughter that kept threatening to blow it all, I didn’t dare meet Rosie’s eyes, or Floyd’s. I looked at Karl, who hadn’t said a word. He was watching Floyd.

“I bet those guys in the meeting don’t know about this,” Leslie said.

“Bet you’re right.” Floyd grabbed the paper off the table. “I’ll take it in there.”

That was one way to get into the secret huddle. Leslie went with him. I asked Karl for a couple of beers. As he turned to walk back to the bar Rosie and I avoided looking at each other. This memorial service had turned out to be more fun than we’d ever expected.

We caught up with him and waited for our beers. I wanted to find out more about Karl’s take on the Ebner fiasco. “Hey, Karl, what’s the story here? Didn’t the Command know Ebner had a bad past?”

Karl was pouring, careful about the head. Not too much foam. He shot me a look I couldn’t classify.

“I mean, is it a problem that he saw the light, had a change of heart?”

“He never said any of this, Jase. Never said, ‘Hey, I made mistakes but I got my head screwed on now.’ He lied. He told the Command he was always one of us.”

“Maybe he was afraid to tell the truth.”

“Ebner wasn’t afraid of anything.”

Leslie had marched back in and headed toward the bar. She’d heard his last remark.

“No. He wasn’t. He sure wasn’t.”

“What’s everybody saying here? I’m a little confused.” Rosie was wearing her best please-explain look, a sweet version of Skink’s dumb I-don’t-get-it sneer.

Karl didn’t speak. Leslie did, but pretended she wasn’t answering Rosie, turning away and talking directly to Karl. “He must have been a ringer, just like Gilly And he really wanted us to kill Switcher because he wanted Switcher dead. Not for any other reason.”

“I can’t believe that,” I protested. “How many ringers we got, anyway?” I was counting in my head: Gilly, Ebner, Floyd, Royal, Rosie and me…that left Steve, Karl, Red, Hal and Helen, Leslie, Zack… Maybe.

Leslie must have been reading my mind. She snarled at me, “Then there’s you and Royal.” She was still trying, but she wasn’t very convincing. The Command was shrinking, spies were everywhere, her little world was in big danger of collapsing. She looked scared.

“Now, come on…” Karl said vaguely.

Floyd came back. The Inner Circle hadn’t let him stay, either.

“They’re going to be in there for a while. Rosie? Jase? Want to take a little walk now?” Leslie looked sullen, left out, but he gave her a sly look and she relaxed. I could practically hear her thinking: Oh, yeah. Floyd was going to do some interrogating, check us out, maybe push us around a little.

Outside, I asked him if they’d kicked him out of the meeting.

He smiled and shrugged, which probably meant yes. “Did you two check me out yet?”

“Yeah, Byron.”

“Good. I hope you’re not going to keep trying to scam me. You’re here like I’m here. Only I’m here legitimate. Must be tough being around these guys and being a Jew. You and Gilly, huh? Pretty funny.”

I didn’t like it that he’d said “Jew” and not “Jewish.” I didn’t like the sound of the word in his mouth, and I was busy stewing about it when Rosie went for the big question.

“Did you know about Ebner?”

“Funny, huh? There’s some stuff that’s not in the paper yet too.” He didn’t say yes but he didn’t say no, either.

I still didn’t like Floyd-Byron, cop or not. I poked him in the clavicle. He stepped back. “You going to tell us or just play cute games? I think you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you nothing, Jason. But I’ll tell you this, Homicide thinks Ebner was involved in another murder. A kid who was a warrior. Friend of Royal’s, matter of fact.”

“Richard?” The kid who was thinking of turning left. He nodded. “Why’d he kill him?”

“Don’t know. Maybe it was just part of his act as warrior-leader. I’m betting some of the warriors know about it too. I’ll bet Zack does. I’ve always had a feeling Ebner was the killer. Hints, you know?”

Rosie groaned. “What a mess. So maybe Ebner really was a convert, then.”

“Not a chance. He was still connected with that bunch of lefty assholes in Berkeley.”

Aha. ThePeople. Then maybe Richard died because he found that out and threatened to tell the Command. Had that possibility occurred to Floyd? That Ebner was a lefty ringer whose cover was about to be blown by Richard. So he killed him. Or got the warriors to do it. Nice bunch of guys, all the way around. Could be. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I believed it. With Ebner dead, I wondered if we’d ever know for sure.

Okay, he’d given us some information, I could give him a theory. Even trade.

“What about the possibility that Ebner killed Richard before he could finger him?”

“Finger him? Finger him? All you private eyes talk that way?”

“Shut up, Floyd.”

“Okay. Well, as a matter of fact, that’s probably the case.”

“Can’t tell the players…”

“But you and me, we’ve got a program. Hey—” he paused for dramatic impact “—you two want to take in another ball game?”

Rosie laughed. “Fat chance, Byron.”

He grinned at her. I didn’t like him grinning at her. I asked big question number two.

“Who are these people at the meeting? Besides the Command, I mean?”

“Three guys I never saw before, but Steve seems to know them pretty well. One of them was telling Red something about his connections in Europe.”

“Steve knows all the right people, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah. I told you enough now. We better get back. Meeting might be breaking up. I got to be there.” He turned and headed for the house again.

“Hang on, Byron. We’re not done.” He shook his head, but he slowed down and Rosie and I caught up with him.

“Who’s next on the Command’s hit list, Floyd— Cary Frasier?”

“Don’t know, Jase.”

Rosie grabbed his arm, trying to slow him down even more. “Who else is a ringer? If you knew about Ebner, maybe you’ve got some other ideas. And you said you work with San Rafael— is one of their people in that house today?”

“No ideas. No nothing. Back off.” And that was all he’d say.

When we got back inside, the big-guys meeting had broken up and everyone was out in the living room. Three middle-aged men with bad haircuts and limp white shirts were standing at the bar drinking, scowling, and talking to Red, who was all puffed up with self-importance. Steve stood behind the bar, pouring a beer. Was I imagining it or was his hand shaking? His lips were a thin line, his face white.

The Chicago Three didn’t look scary to me. They looked like unsuccessful insurance agents. I was surprised they weren’t wearing pocket protectors.

One of them was saying, “…sorry we didn’t get to him first. Show him…” There might not be a memorial service today, but it looked like this little hate-fest wasn’t going to end any time soon. After all, you come all the way from Chicago, you don’t want the trip to go to waste.

I spotted Hal and Helen standing near the kitchen door, holding hands, their eyes blank with what was probably shock. Helen’s mouth was hanging open too.

A few more people had arrived. The place was humming with Ebner’s name, and Gilly’s. Byron-Floyd stayed with Rosie near the bar; I started wandering through the room. I heard ZOG mentioned when I passed a couch where Zack sat with Leslie and Washburn, and wondered if everyone had decided that Ebner too worked for ZOG. Zack looked like he’d been crying, his eyes and nose all red.

I found Karl sitting alone in a chair in the corner, drinking a beer and eating a bag of tortilla chips.

I squatted down next to him. “Real mess, huh, Karl?”

“What part?”

“Well, that Gilly thing— I can’t get over that. And now Ebner was a ringer?”

“Yeah. Son of a bitch.”

“It’s just hard to believe he could get so high in the organization, be leading the warriors, and be doing the things he was doing when he didn’t even, you know, believe any of it.”

“Hey, Pete Ebner was a crazy man. He was willing to do anything. Doesn’t surprise me. He wanted Switcher dead, he’d join Aryan Command to do it. Tell you something else. He was deep into the idea of a race war. I guess he thought his side would win or something.” I couldn’t even begin to guess what that meant.

“Who do you think killed him, Karl?”

He smiled. “Wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was someone from the group he came from. Trying to stop him. He made a real good member of the Aryan Command. Maybe they thought, too good.” That was a pretty interesting idea.

“You act like you know that’s true, Karl.”

“Not me, Jase. I don’t know anything.”

“I wanted to ask you something else. A while back you told me to be careful of Floyd. What did you mean by that?”

He stood, fidgeting with the bag of chips. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. Got to go talk to Red.” And he left me squatting all by myself in the corner.

Zack was sitting on the couch alone now. He had the newspaper spread out on the coffee table and was staring at it as if he wanted to burn a hole in it. Or at least burn that story about Pete Ebner to ashes.

He was crying again. He began to beat his fist against the newsprint, slowly, rhythmically. I expected that next he would start rocking, or beating his head against the wall, but instead he gave the offending story one last bash and jumped up, red-faced with rage, screaming, “Skink!”

Skink, who’d been talking to Red and Karl, turned and stared at his friend, who was weaving through the crowd toward him.

I wanted to hear what Zack said to his buddy. I moved closer, pretending to be very interested in a bowl of pretzels.

“You know that thing we thought about doing? And Pete said not to? We’re gonna do it now.”

Skink looked doubtful, but allowed Zack to grab his arm and start to pull him away.

Red stopped them, putting a hand on Skink’s shoulder. “Hey, Zack, don’t forget. Tonight. Seven sharp.”

Zack looked back at Red blankly. Then he nodded. “Yeah, right. Back room.” And they were out the door.

Whatever Zack had in mind for the afternoon, it couldn’t be good. And I had a pretty good idea of what it was. I looked around for the Berkeley PD but Floyd was nowhere in sight.

There wasn’t any time to find him, and Rosie seemed to have disappeared. I didn’t have my car! I was about to panic when she came wandering into the living room, probably from the toilet. I ran to her. Outside, Skink’s motorcycle started with a roar.

“Rosie, give me your car keys, now!”

She hesitated for a second before she shook her head. “I’m going too. You can explain on the way.”

Blink of an eye and we were both out the door. The bike was just turning the corner when Rosie slipped the Taurus into drive.