Brian Freeman - The Crooked Street

“Then why? Or do you just want to gloat?”

“Actually, my first thought was to see if I could recruit you to join my organization,” Lombard told him.

“I thought you already had spies inside Mission Bay,” Frost said.

“One can never have enough information. Besides, there are many roles for someone with your talent and intelligence. I’m sure you see me as one of the bad guys, but I would argue the point with you. We’re both trying to make San Francisco a better place.”

“With murder?” Frost asked.

“With whatever’s necessary. I hope you don’t think the status quo is working here. Rampant homelessness. Unaffordable housing. Crime and street problems that your colleagues and the politicians seem unable to do anything about. This is not the city we both love, Inspector. My goal is change. I’m offering you a chance to be part of it.”

“Pass,” Frost said.

“Of course. I assumed that would be your answer, and I respect that. Well, then my second goal is to arrange a truce. A cessation of hostilities between you and me. We may not be friends, but there’s no need for us to be enemies.”

“I thought I was no threat to you,” Frost said.

“Now? You’re not. But you’re the kind of person who doesn’t give up, and who knows where that might lead? I’d rather you realize that it’s in your best interest not to pursue me.”

“Like you agreed not to pursue Zara and Prisha Anand?” Frost asked.

“Something like that,” Lombard replied. “They’re lovely women. Extremely bright and courageous. I respect that.”

“And what exactly did they hire you to do?”

Lombard tapped a gloved finger on the dashboard clock, which showed that it was one in the morning. “It’s in process at this very moment. The news will reach you soon enough. Who knows? You might even thank me when you find out.”

“I doubt that,” Frost said.

“Well, we shall see. So what do you say, Inspector? What do you think about my proposal? Can we agree to retreat to our separate corners?”

Frost shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I say, does it? Actions speak louder than words.”

“How true.”

“I assume you’ll be watching,” Frost said.

“I will indeed. I must admit, I really do like you, Frost. I wish I could persuade you to come over to my side. But for now, I’ll say good night.”

With another soft click and a warm, sticky burst of air, the door of the Bugatti swung open again next to Frost. He climbed out, but he blocked the door from shutting with his body, and he leaned back inside. The man behind the wheel was still little more than a ghost.

“The next time we meet, it probably won’t go well for one of us,” Frost told him.

“No, I suppose not,” Lombard replied. “Either way, I look forward to it.”

“A truce?” Herb asked.

Frost nodded. “That’s what he said.”

“Interesting. Do you believe him?”

“Not for a moment,” Frost replied.

Herb drank coffee from his silver thermos. It was midmorning the following day, and the two of them leaned against the base of the Willie Mays statue outside AT&T Park. Herb had just completed his latest three-dimensional sidewalk painting near the stadium gate, in honor of the Giants returning home for the season opener. The portrayal of hometown baseball legends, some in black and white, some in color, was already attracting a crowd.

“So it’s true,” Herb said. “Lombard exists. In the flesh.”

“He does.”

“What were your impressions of him?”

“I still don’t know anything about him at all,” Frost replied. “Honestly, he could be standing right there in the crowd and I wouldn’t even recognize him. But you know how you can hear intelligence in someone’s voice? That’s Lombard. He’s brilliant.”

“A brilliant sociopath,” Herb said. Then he noted the braces keeping Frost’s right index finger in place. “What’s the report on your finger?”

“The surgeon thinks I’ll get full use of it back. The break was pretty clean. Vicodin and I were pretty good friends on day one, but it’s better now.”

“And the rest of you?”

“Bruised but intact.”

“Well, that’s excellent news.” Herb drank more coffee and wiped sweat from his brow on the warm morning. He smelled of paint and pot, as usual. “As it happens, I wouldn’t entirely discount the idea of Lombard wanting a truce. He may be sincere.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“Do you remember the threat that was hanging over my head? Silvia’s disappearance all those years ago and the lawyer who seemed to think I was involved? Strangely, that all went away yesterday.”

Frost’s eyes narrowed. “How so?”

“The lawyer sent a follow-up letter. He said Silvia’s brother is no longer interested in pursuing the circumstances of her disappearance. His condition has worsened, and he has to focus on his health. So there will be no investigation, no interrogation, no more innuendos about my guilt. At least for the time being.”

“That sounds like a good thing.”

“It is, although I have to say, they piqued my curiosity by bringing it up again. After all these years, it would be nice to know what really happened to Silvia. Anyway, the fact that the lawyer backed off strikes me as a peace offering. This wasn’t directed at me, but at you.”

“Lombard is using a carrot instead of a stick,” Frost said. “He gives me what I want as an incentive to let it go.”

“I think that’s about the size of it.”

Frost glanced at the crowd around them. From now on, he had to assume he was always being watched. “I woke up to another goodwill gesture,” he said.

“Oh?”

“The real Fox — Mr. Jin’s teenage son — was dropped off at Human Services overnight. He’s unharmed. The social workers are trying to track down his mother in China.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

“So am I.”

Herb lowered his voice. “I’m curious. If the offer of a truce is real, why do you think Lombard is so anxious to keep you on the sidelines?”

“I assume he’s planning something,” Frost said.

“But you don’t know what?” Herb asked.

“No, but given who he is, it must be something important. He wants me far away from it.”

“Or perhaps he’s simply baiting a trap for you,” Herb suggested.

“Yes, that’s possible, too.”

“So what do you intend to do?”

Frost had thought about little else since the meeting in the Bugatti. He felt as if a spider’s web were being spun around him, entangling him limb by limb. The more he fought it, the tighter the bonds grew. “For now, all I can do is what Trent Gorham did.”

“Which is?”

“Go underground,” Frost replied.

“Can you really do that? That doesn’t sound like you.”

Herb was right. Frost didn’t like fighting in the shadows, but that was where his enemies lived. If he shined a light on them, all they would do is scatter and hide. He had to stay in the darkness.

“For now, I don’t think I have a choice,” Frost said. “As far as the world is concerned, Lombard can stay a myth. In the meantime, I can pursue him behind the scenes. It may take time, but sooner or later, I’ll get him.”

“Well, my advice remains the same. Be careful.”

“Always.”

“Even if you try to hide what you’re doing, Lombard seems to have eyes everywhere.”

“Yes, he does.”

Herb gave him one of his penetrating stares. “Meanwhile, what about your personal life? How are things in that regard?”

“No change.”

“Have you talked to Duane?” Herb asked.

“No.”

“And Tabby?”