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Conklin let a car get in front of him, then pulled into traffic, in time for the light to turn red. When it changed to green, he could see Whitney, still proceeding south on Stockton through Chinatown, passing shops and bakeries, hands in his pockets, as if he had just gone out for a stroll.
Conklin tailed Whitney without incident, watched him take a left on Clay and another left on Kearny. He followed Whitney for another two blocks and was just behind him when the man in denim disappeared into Portsmouth Square Garage across from the Hilton.
Conklin parked in a no-parking zone with a view of the garage. A silver Chevy crawled past Conklin. The man in the driver’s seat was Officer Allen Benjamin, a cop Conklin knew. Conklin made radio contact with Brady, who said he was keeping a channel open and restricted to the three of them: Benjamin, Brady, and Conklin.
Benjamin drove ahead, parked his unmarked in front of a hydrant up the block, and waited there. At 8:15 p.m., ten minutes after entering the garage, a blue pickup with Texas plates rolled up out of the garage and took a right.
It was Whitney.
Conklin pulled ahead of Benjamin, and they took turns staying on the pickup’s tail. Whitney took a left on Washington, then another left on Stockton, the main drag through Chinatown, which was still congested with trucks making deliveries, as well as pedestrians and tourists in cabs taking in the evening lights.
Without warning, the truck Whitney was driving stopped at the intersection of Stockton and Bush just long enough for a thickly muscled guy to leave the sidewalk and get into the truck’s passenger seat.
Conklin recognized this passenger. It was Bill Brand, Whitney’s partner.
Neither Whitney nor Brand was in violation of the law, and stopping them would only tip them off. With two police cars shadowing it, the blue truck turned right on Sutter, went half a mile to Polk, and parked in an empty spot outside a nail salon.
When they got out of the truck, Whitney and Brand were wearing blue SFPD Windbreakers. They crossed the street to a gray stucco building with awnings and neon signs in the windows reading PAYDAY LOANS, CHECKS CHECKED, WESTERN UNION.
The check-cashing store was lit up inside and open for business. As Whitney and Brand reached the door, they removed masks from their pockets and pulled them on over their faces. The entry bell over the door jingled as the cops went inside.
CHAPTER 102
I CAME INTO our apartment and heard music coming from the bedroom. Joe was sitting up in bed in a T-shirt and boxers, his fingers on his laptop and an urban blues channel on the TV.
He looked up and saw me in my slinky red dress. He whistled and I grinned and did a little pirouette. I said, “After all these years in chinos and a blazer, I’ve still got it. No?”
He said, “Yes, you certainly do, Blondie.”
I said, “Be right back,” and turned to go in to see Julie.
Joe said, “She’s across the hall with Mrs. Rose. Martha’s there, too.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I told Mrs. Rose I needed a few hours off to get some work done and she said, ‘It would be lovely to have some company,’” Joe said, doing a pretty good version of Mrs. Rose’s English accent.
I laughed. He did Mrs. Rose so well.
He patted the bed next to him and I sat down.
He asked, “How was your dinner?”
“No kidding, it was the best time we’ve all had together in months,” I said. “We were all there, all in great moods. Richie gave Cindy his mother’s diamond in a new form.” I described the pendant.
I was facing away from Joe as I talked, and I lifted my hair. He zipped down my dress really slowly. I gasped. I was surprised at the heat that came over me from nowhere.
“Stand up,” he said. “You don’t want to wrinkle your dress.”
I did what he said and watched him close the lid on the computer without taking his eyes from me. I let down the asymmetrical neckline of my dress, and when my arms were free, the red silk dropped into a puddle around my feet.
He reached out his arms. I kicked off my shoes, and in the next second, by way of some deft maneuver of Joe’s, I was flat on my back in my underthings, looking up into his blue, blue eyes.
Yes, I heard my phone buzz in the other room.
No, I didn’t take the call. I knew it was that freaking phone terrorist, and I wasn’t going to let him steal this time with Joe away from me. It had been a long time since we’d been in bed without listening to the baby monitor, but we had that time now.
And we took full advantage of it.
