More Than an Echo (Echo Branson Series) (25 page)

“And he’s missing?”

“Smiley’s people live in Oakland, off MacArthur somewhere. They’re street folks and he visits them at least every other week, sometimes more. If he’s not with them, and I don’t believe he is, bring me something of his back. Maybe I can pick something up. Don’t hold your breath, though. Like my sanity, my powers come and go, but I’m willing to give it a try.”

“Is Smiley his real name?”

She shrugged. “Only his people would know.”

“I appreciate your help on this, Shirl.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve met anyone like me. I know we have very different powers, Echo, but it’s nice to meet one as sweet as you.”

“When’s the last time?”

She sighed and looked away. “I met a man once, a nasty sort of guy, a telepath, if I recall correctly. He came at me wanting something...I don’t remember what it was. Anyway, he was the last one of us I’ve officially met until you.” She fed the bird a chip. “Don’t go to Oakland at night alone. It’s far more dangerous there than it is here.”

I nodded. Oakland, California had a reputation from the Angela Davis Black Panther days that it never managed to outgrow. People see it as one big ghetto, one huge gang fest, but it’s more than that; so much more.

 I left Shirley and her animals and climbed into Ladybug. There was one message from Danica telling me the boys were staying late and wanted me to bring a pizza. I thought pizza was the very least I could do.

My second message was from Finn, who wanted to meet me for coffee.

Less than half an hour later, we were sitting in a small corner table at Starbucks. She looked so good in her uniform.

“I just wanted you to know I called in a few markers and I think you might have something of a story, and we, a case.” Her eyes locked onto mine and I needed no empathic skills to feel her interest. “They aren’t in any morgue, hospital or shelter. That’s the good news. The bad news is, without public outcry, the chief won’t put anyone on it.”

“So far, I have a possible six guys missing. That’s not enough?”

“Is it six now?” Finn leaned forward.

I nodded. “There’s some guy named Smiley whose people are in Oakland. I’ll check—”

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to cruise around Oakland at night looking for this guy?”

“I grew up there, Finn. It’s only dangerous in certain areas, and I have no intention of going there. I’ll be fine.”

“Let me go with you.”

I had to laugh. “Everything about you screams
I’m a cop!”

Flipping open her leather holder, she pulled out a can of mace. Sliding it across the table, she said, “Take it.”

So I did. “You worry too much. Is that the cop in you?”

“Not this time.” She smiled softly. “It’s the…friend in me. A white woman going into the belly of one of the meanest places in the Bay Area is reason to worry, don’t you think? Hell, Echo, if I could outfit you with Kevlar and an automatic, I would.”

“I appreciate your concern, Finn, really I do, but I’ll be fine. When you grow up in Oakland, you just don’t look at it the way others do. Honestly it’s not that bad.”

“When are you going?”

“Tonight. When my story is done.”

Rising, she started for the check, but I swiped it first. “My turn. I hear you have to pay your confidantes.”

She shook her head. “This one you don’t. It’s always free of charge.” Finn took me by the shoulders and leaned into my face. Her breath was warm and her lips inches from my face. “Be careful out there, Echo. This world is a better place with you in it.”

Standing on tiptoe, I kissed her cheek before whispering, “I’ll call you, Officer Finn. Don’t wait up.”

She looked deep into my eyes in a way that might have mesmerized me had I been anyone else. Without thinking, I wrapped one hand around her neck and pulled her to me, kissing her softly. She returned the kiss, leaving her arms at her side.

“How about if I just wait?”

After we both set out on our separate ways, I headed to the office to finish writing up my “story.” I wasn’t the least bit sure this would get off of Wes’s desk, but it was all I had and was better than what I thought Carter was working on.

My cell buzzed. Danica.

“I think the boys found something to help.”

I perked up and pulled over. “On my missing guys?”

“I wish. No. On Mayor Lee and the immigrant story.”

Now she had my attention. “I put Roger on it and he dug and dug and finally came up with information buried so deep, not even Carter’s connections would be able to find it.” She inhaled. “He’s not sleeping with the illegal woman who is his maid, although I can see where it might look like that from a distance. She’s not really even the maid, but his masseuse.”

“His masseuse lives with him?”

“Long story. Back in college, he was in a Mexican bar and things got out of hand for some reason, I guess no one knows why. Anyway, I guess Lee was getting his ass kicked when Maria busted a bottle on the assailant’s head, keeping Lee from getting seriously hurt. He told her if he could ever pay her back, he would.”

“Oh my God. Why doesn’t Lee tell that story?”

“Because she was a hooker at the time. The bar was in a whorehouse.”

I put my hand to my mouth. How could Carter be so off-base? “But Carter must have something on Lee or he wouldn’t risk telling another unsubstantiated story.”

“There are a few photos of them together floating around on the Internet. He’s on his belly on the massage table. The photos have, no doubt, been doctored. The boys were able to see that right off. They’ll show you. You show Bentley. Game over.”

“Is she an illegal, though?”

“Yes, she is. The boys did find that she started her paperwork already.”

“How…never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“So it appears that Carter is so blinded by both his dislike of you as well as his quest to pummel you into the ground that he hasn’t dug deep enough for the truth. Of course, he doesn’t have my guys on his team. All they did was look into Lee’s past and saw that he went on spring break as a college student to Mexico. They pulled up a few Mexican newspapers and found a little story about the incident. They went from there. The main thing they found out was Carter’s got nothing for proof except doctored photos.”

I was scribbling as fast as I could. “This is perfect. Perfect!”

“It’s sitting in your e-mail box as we speak. But what are you going to do with it?”

“Warn Wes. I figure if I let him know that Carter’s story is bogus or that he should at least dig deeper, maybe he’ll print mine instead. At the very least, this should stall Carter’s story long enough for me to make some headway on mine. Thank you so much.”

“I did this one for me, Clark. No way am I going out with that dildo. Speaking of which, my date just arrived, so I gotta split. What are you up to?”

If I told her I was going to Oakland, she’d have left her date standing at the door, so I hedged a little. “Me? Oh, just doing a little digging on my own. Thank the boys for me, will you?”

When I hung up, I felt some of the stress I’d been feeling lift from my shoulders. As I started to open my e-mail from my iPhone, I realized the fine line I was walking on this one.

Wes-

My sources tell me to hold Carter’s story until further proof. He has bogus sources. I don’t.  See attached doctored photos. Second retraction imminent if it goes to press tonight. Explain more later. Trust me.

The ball had landed deeply in Wes’s side of the court. He hated retractions. He’d cut me enough time I needed to get my story together.

Reentering the freeway, I headed for the bridge and the town I once called home.

When you have the ability to defend yourself, you tend to be less afraid. This was the attitude I took with me to Oakland. Bordering Berkeley, one of this country’s most bizarre and colorful cities, Oakland has a flavor all its own, and there was a lot to like. There was also a lot to be cautious about. But a city like Oakland didn’t get its reputation without incident.

MacArthur Boulevard is over ten miles long and runs from one end of the city to the other. I knew the areas where most of the homeless hung out and aimed my little car in that direction.

Leaving Ladybug in a Pizza Hut parking lot, I grabbed my purse, then I put my Mickey Mouse jacket on so that my purse wasn’t visible or accessible. I made sure to put Finn’s mace in my jacket pocket. I didn’t think I would need it. I had pretty much perfected my combat shield, but had only a fifty-fifty chance of pulling it up under extreme stress. I had managed to do that one night and two more times after that, but I wasn’t sure I could do it outside the Bayou and hoped I wouldn’t have to.

I didn’t have to walk long before I found my first homeless woman. It was just smarter and safer to approach a woman, even though so many of them tended to be mentally ill or drunk. A woman on the streets was seldom mentally or physically healthy.

“I’m looking for Smiley’s people,” I said to a woman who looked a little like Granny on the
Beverly Hillbillies.
She was rail thin, had her hair pulled back in a gray bun and wore glasses too small for her face. On tiptoe, she was probably four foot eleven inches at best.

She looked me up and down. “You a cop?”

“No. Smiley has disappeared and there are people in San Francisco who are concerned. I’m looking for his people to see if maybe he came here.”

She raised an eyebrow at me and I read exactly what she wanted; money. I pulled out a ten. “Point me in the right direction. If I end up there, I’ll come back with one just like it.”

“They don’t like folks snooping around their business, so you best tell them what it is you want and fast.” Her eyes never left the money. “They hang out in an alley off of High Street. Ask for Dante.”

 I left her and drove down to High Street. I knew of a decent place to park Ladybug that kept me from having to walk too far in the belly of the beast.

“Excuse me,” I said, asking the first nondrunk I came to. There were times when I thanked my lucky stars I was an empath. “Can you tell me where Dante hangs out?”

“Why?”

“I borrowed some money from him before he hit the skids and I’d like to pay him back.”

“How much money?”

“None of your business.” Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have bluffed with the money. I had mace. I also had combat shields. When I felt his energy change, I leaned in a little and said, “Don’t make me kick your ass in front of your friends.” I took a step toward him and he backed off. Ordinarily, that would be foolish for a normal woman to do, but I am neither foolish nor normal. I knew he did not have the ability to hurt me.

“Down the street. Talkin’.”

“Thank you.” I started down the street, stepping over trash and debris along the way. When, at last, I came to a crowd, there was a tall, rather slim black man standing at the center of it. He appeared to be telling some kind of story.

“There I was...at the very edge of a dark…” This sounded familiar.

 “...I stood erect, brave, unafraid of what was to come, when suddenly there he was: Phlegyas, the boat man of the river Styx. He was nothing but a skeleton racing toward me at breakneck speed. He was on fire with excitement that he was coming to collect a new soul for torment, and he howled with a rage that pierced my soul when he realized that I was not yet dead.”

I imagined he would have gone on, but a cop car whooped its siren, sending creatures of the night in all directions. When the car slid silently back onto MacArthur, Dante was gathering up his things.

“Excuse me, Dante?”

“Yes?” He turned and his face fell when he saw some little white girl.

“That was wonderful,” I said. “Canto eight?” His energy changed immediately. I had recognized Dante’s
Inferno
from my work with Professor Mathias.

“A fellow thespian, I take it?”

I grinned as I sent out a wave of friendliness to him. He was neither drunk nor was he on any medication. Medication greatly affects one’s HEF and aura color. He was very clear. “I went to Mills,” I said, as if that would explain it all.

“Ah yes. Professor LaBoskey is quite the Allegherian.”

I was immediately impressed. Allegheri was Dante’s last name. Few knew that. “Yes, she sure was. Do you know her?” I knelt down to help him pack up his things, most of which were books.

“My oldest daughter took courses from her.” He finished packing and straightened up. He was tall, slightly over six feet with short salt-and-pepper hair. “You know my name, young lady, but I’m afraid I don’t know yours.” His voice had a theatrical lilt to it like James Earl Jones’s.

“Echo. Echo Branson.”

“Well, Miss Branson, what brings you to our gritty little corner of the world?”

“Smiley. I was wondering if you’ve heard from him lately.”

Dante shook his head. “Haven’t seen him since last week. He usually comes to visit every Sunday.” His comportment transformed from actor to guardian. “He in some kind of trouble?”

“According to his friends, he’s missing.”