Frederick was about to respond, when I held up my hand. Turning to Marley, I said, “I think Mr. Gruber —”

  “Gus,” Crazy Guy offered looking back and forth between me and Marley, and pretty much surprising everyone in the room.

  “Gus,” I said calmly — kinda’ relived too. He looked like a Ben. “I think Gus would like to rest in the big chair in my office. Perhaps these medical assistants could help? Miss O’Brien can look at his wound and he can be comfortable. It’s nice and quiet in there. If she deems his wound in need of professional —”

  Frederick interrupted me. “We will take him to a hospital!”

  One doesn’t have to be a professional gumshoe to notice important details, such as the fact that Dr. Frederick Gruber hadn’t done anything vaguely close to offering his brother medical assistance. Maybe he was worried about his suit getting lint on it. Or blood?

  “Thank you but no. If Miss O’Brien believes my client’s wound is serious, I will call for an ambulance with a corpsman.” Okay, I was getting uppity, what many men would call ‘bitchy,’ but if Gus Gruber was that injured, there was no time for nice little drives over to some family doctor who might be out at a dinner show. Maybe I was filling in the blanks unfairly, but I’m a sap — a professional, Grade-A, committed sap — and there were things that decent people should do for one another.

  Elsa Gruber Weiss wasn’t buying it. “Oh, Darling, you look terrible,” she cooed, appealing to Gus. “Whatever has been done to you?” Her voice was slick as oil on water, waiting for someone to toss a match. As she got closer to us, I could gauge that she was my height and wow, smelled of heavily spiced perfume plus burnt tobacco.

  Green Eyes — useless Green Eyes — stuck his hands in his pockets, nodded politely in an almost ceremonial way, and backed out of her path. What the hell?

  She started to give that it’s-all-your-fault look, but I cut her off. “No, Mrs. Weiss, we didn’t do this to him, if that’s what you’re implying. He arrived like this. Shall we start over, for Gus’s sake? I’m Lou Tanner, Licensed Private Investigator.” I offered my hand with no expectation she’d take it. She sort of did, in a limp acknowledgement of my existence. “Why don’t we let Miss O’Brien and your med ‘Bots help him?” Go ahead, honey, say something that will give me more insight. “Should I also have her call the Police,” I baited.

  “The Police? Oh heavens, no. Frederick, tell her no. The Police will only make this a public spectacle. My poor brother is not well, so we often have to —”

  Her brother Frederick cut her off. Seems he likes interrupting people. “Really, Miss ... uh ... Miss ...”

  “Tanner.”

  “Miss Turner.”

  “Tanner”

  “This is all charming, and I am sure you are good at communing with people of the criminal classes, socialists, the downtrodden, but the best thing for my brother is to get him home.”

  “So, you’re not taking him to a hospital after all.”

  “Not one that you know. Gus requires very specific care. And Elsa wisely had assistants come with us.”

  Elsa gestured to the ‘Bots and yawned a little, as if saying she’d done this all before.

  Gus whispered, “Miss Tanner, I don’t know her.” He was pointing at the woman claiming to be his sister.

  My heart sank a little. That right there was a common reaction for the shell-shocked — not knowing where they were or who anyone was. Right now, was I the only person he recognized?

  “Dr. Gruber. Where did he serve?” I asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s clear that he is suffering from long term shell-shock. I’m curious if he was in France or Belgium during the war?”

  Elsa pushed past me. “Belgium. He speaks High German, thus they thought he’d be useful there. You are a psychiatrist too?” Her voice could have drowned in the sarcasm, and I would have happily held its miserable head under. “I thought your sign said you were a private detective.” Add overt distain to that sarcasm.

  “The two professions go hand in hand, and I’ve seen his condition before.”

  “Oh? Were you a nurse during the conflict?”

  “Weren’t you?”

  I’m too young to have been a nurse or anything else back then, but I didn’t like the way she said “nurse,” and I didn’t like the idea she implied she was too good for the job.

  All I got for my retort was a “harrumph” from her and visual dismissal. She signaled for the ‘Bots to move in.

  “Not yet, boys. You know the rules,” I said, holding up my hand and stepping between Gus and the mechanicals, “I told you that this is a private business, and I don’t recall inviting anyone else to come in. And this man is my client.” G-Man Hayes shuffled his weight, likely preparing to respond. About time.

  The sister burst into laughter, neither merry nor cheerful. “Client? That again. How typical. Common people will take money from anyone. He is not capable of hiring you, Miss.” She hissed that last word like a rattle snake. “He’s fully incapacitated. Legally judged incompetent. He is not allowed to make a contract with you or anyone.” She waltzed up to about six inches from my nose. I looked her over and decided I had nothing to fear from her or the dead animals she was wearing. “I will call the Police on you if you try to stop me from taking my brother home.”

  “Now you want the Police? Good. We’re in agreement. Would you like to use my phone?”

  Elsa’s realization that she’d contradicted herself played out on every inch of that made-up face of hers.

  “She lies!” Gus shouted at me before cowering behind Marley.

  “Oh, Darling Augustin. I am here now. You know me. Now Darling, I am taking you home —”

  “No! Miss Tanner, I don’t know her. I swear I don’t.”

  I was about to put my full weight into escorting Mrs. Weiss’s tight ass out, when Gus descended into a fit of madness. A full fit. His arms waved wildly as he cried out about the enemy, trenches, and poison gas.

  His brother, Marley, and I dropped down on top of him, manhandling him as he began his seizure. I reached up onto Marley’s desk and grabbed up her narrow sign plate. It was big enough to put into his mouth so that he wouldn’t bite his tongue and offered something to dig his teeth into.

  The ‘Bots in white didn’t move. Green Eyes moved in, but otherwise didn’t lend any assistance. Fine lot of help they were.

  Gus ruined Marley’s name plate in seconds, but it did the trick.

  Frederick held his shoulders square and knelt on one arm.

  I held down his hips.

  Marley had his head supported in her lap.

  Between all of us, we knew what to do or pretended with some success. Frederick had certainly done this before. But then, he’d said he was a doctor. At least he started acting like a doctor.

  Once Gus calmed down, his sister looked at me, perhaps a little more politely than before. “See what I mean?”

  She was right. Snob or not, she was right. Gus was unwell and we weren’t prepared to assist him the way he needed.

  Still, this was my office. I waved the ‘Bots over. I instructed them in what they should do, ‘cause I was damn sure they wouldn’t work it out on their own. And I talked to Gus, explaining how he would be with family.

  This time, he calmed down, asking about how things were at home, as though he hadn’t been there in ages. He started chatting with Petting Zoo Lady like they were both twelve.

  My heart, that goddamn traitor, broke into pieces. I held onto his hand a bit too long. It wasn’t fair. So many men went willing to fight a war they believed in, only to have this happen.

  God, I’m such a sap.

  As much as I felt resentment for the Gruber family invasion, I had to give the ‘Bots credit for doing their job well — once they were doing something. They didn’t handle him roughly, one spoke softly reminding Gus, in its recorded voice, that he was in San Francisco, and overall acted like human beings dealing with another human. Someone out there did a good job with their response programming.

  I was feeling that Gus might be fine when the sister spoke up. “Thank you very much, Miss Turner. He is not your problem anymore.” She stopped to adjust the hat on her head.

  Frederick wasn’t nearly so inclined to escape quickly. “I see that you have dealt with his type before?”

  “Not too often, thankfully.”

  “Well,” he looked awkward. “I must thank you for the help.”

  I was happy enough with those thanks, although I truly wanted to know more about him.

  Any goodwill built between us vanished when he pulled out a checkbook. “I don’t know what the usual cost is —”

  I tried not to sound insulted. Hell, it was just like he was leaving some cash on my dresser after a wild evening. “I’d rather know more about your brother.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Why not? And who knows — he might come back.”

  He shook his head vigorously. “I’ll see to it he doesn’t. We’ll take further steps to make sure he isn’t a nuisance again.”

  “Look, Doctor, he didn’t decide one day to embarrass your family. He got that way from being in a terrible war. From seeing things no one should ever see.”

  “I know that!” He calmed down quickly. “I was too young then. I never went to the Front. He was ... is ... my older brother, though it’s hard to tell most days. We do everything for Augustin. Everything.” He looked at his checkbook perhaps realizing he’d made a mistake though I doubt it. Putting it away, he still wouldn’t offer me his hand. “Miss Turner.”

  “Tanner.” I gestured toward the lettering on the door.

  “Ah, yes, of course.”

  He stared at me for a moment.

  Then he inspected my face and the name on my door.

  Finally, he asked, “Any relation to Milton Tanner, of the American Intercontinental Railroad? I thought the company was in the most desperate times from gross mismanagement?”

  I dodged the question with experienced, tactical precision. “Thank you for the explanation, Doctor Gruber. I wish the best for you and your family.”

  Truth was, I should have held out for the needed payment for babysitting. Damn my pride.

  Marley watched over Gus as he was wheeled to the world’s slowest elevator and taken downstairs. Hayes waited in my doorway. I chose to stand in the middle of the hallway like some dope.

  And my mind temporarily turned to the topic of the client I was expecting but never showed. Did they fail to arrive at the expected time or were they scared off by all the excitement? I would call, tomorrow afternoon. Reestablish the appointment. Damn it, I needed that case.

  Then I turned on Green Eyes Hayes so hard he must have wondered if the 1906 ‘quake was repeating itself. “You weren’t helpful!”

  “I was observing.”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  “Yeah, that’s ‘what I call it.’ Wanna’ know what I saw that you didn’t?” He was smug in a way I didn’t know he could be. It was sort of sexy, were it not so damn maddening.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. See you at Stan’s. Tonight. Eleven.”

  “What?”

  “I need to check on something first. Just be there Lou,” he added, waving as he walked away toward the stairs.

  “Hayes! Christopher Hayes, you get your iron rodded, tight ass back here —”

  My landlady stepped out into the hallway at that moment. “Language, Miss Tanner.”

  “My apologies.”

  “Rent is due on Friday.”

  I shut my yap, fast.

  Chapter Five

  Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your bartender paid in full.

  ~Lou Tanner, P.I., 1935

  Eleven twenty-nine at night. Fog wrapped around Twin Peaks and Mt. Sutro like the wet blanket I knew Hayes would throw on the remaining thirty-one minutes of the day. I could bank on it. Damn shame. Maybe I like arguing with the man, but I also would like, just once, to sit and yak with him — civilly.

  No. Not civilly. Dizzily. Over the Moon. Big-eyed and bright. That worn face of his needed more than a sucker-punch delivered smooch, it needed a light touch that tried to smooth the frown lines away. Lips needed to sweep across those eyelids before sending him off to a well-deserved night’s sleep. My lips.

  I wasn’t drunk. I’d say, “tipsy” is the better word for it.

  If I was imagining Hayes in my embrace, booze had to be involved.

  Marley knocked me out of my daydreaming when she propped her head up on one hand and poured a gimlet into her mouth with the other, with as little effort as possible. I couldn’t blame her. We were both ready to push up some daisies after the events of the day and waiting for Hayes for over two hours. He’s always late. Men.

  Stan’s Bar, my favorite gin mill, sitting next to the Castro Street Transit Tunnel, was uncharacteristically empty. Maybe that was a sign of the times. I kept hearing on the radio that we’re doing better as a nation, but ... my pocketbook disagrees.

  Marley fell asleep with her head on the table and her booze half guzzled. I might be busted but there was no way I’d send her home in a soulless, unmanned Nightcrawler. I don’t dislike mechanicals, I’m indifferent on the subject, but I also take them for who they are. I’ve got nothing against the ‘Crawler system or other ‘bot-run services, I decided this needs the human touch. Marley needed protection from slipping on the sidewalk, among other things.

  The pair of us hustled our way to the curb while Stan, bless his human beating heart, made a call from the business card I always carry. At least three of the little bullet-shaped ‘Crawler vehicles sped by, right in front of the joint. Figures. Anytime you want one, you can’t find one.

  Skeeter, old pally and one of only five real live cabbies in San Francisco, was there in minutes. Amazing — I swear there are only five taxis and none of them are ever there when you need one, except our man Skeeter. If Skeeter ever retires, I’ll have to get a car. As was his way, he refused to be paid. I shoved a couple of dollars into his pocket anyway once his hands were full with my sleepy, sloshy secretary.

  Marley, strawberry-blond curls still bouncing as she stumbled along with help to the taxi, was on her way home, safely. Me, I kept waiting. I set my timer: a quarter-full pack of Lucky Strikes. The radio belted out a string of notable tunes, broken apart by annoying advertisements for aspirin powders and socks.

  Three snipes later, I couldn’t see the ashtray bottom anymore.

  Green Eyes was a no show for the meet-up he called for. With aching feet and a throbbing skull, all I could think about on the way home was how I would bump him off. I was too tired to get creative, and too sober not to notice. And people wonder why I’ve sworn off men. Gave them all up for Lent.

  The trolly ride itself was as familiar to me as the Pemberton Correspondence School Manual. The line runs down 17th Street to Stanyan, connects onto the main Parnassus line, then onto Judah. Easy-peasy. Gotta’ love the Sunset District, it looks like the outer urban regions of any city. Neat, planned, single-family bungalows dotting the hillside and the long stretches of avenue from the Park to the Beach. Easy to patrol and maintain order. That was a selling point back in the day. Safety. Plus a few apartment buildings and a dollop or two of businesses to support all those people.

  My trolly jerked to a halt. Shaken from my thoughts, I realized I was almost home. My street had a ‘Crawler line which would have saved my barking feet from climbing the hill, but the damn trolly doesn’t get to use that line, so it sat there on Judah.

  The door didn’t open.

  I leaned forward to the brass receiver. “Please open up. You’ve stopped at the correct —”

  An ear-piercing squeal burst out of the speakers, the folding door whipped open, and I fled from the unit as fast as I could. The trolly appeared stuck on the Judah track but had left me at the bottom of Tenth. I still had enough in me to make it a hundred feet up to the entry to my apartment building. It was the inside flight of stairs that made my knees crack in fear.

  Just as I was calling to mind a particularly painful collision between my shoulder and the bullet-laden spray of a Chicago Typewriter, the ground heaved.

  Now what?

  Too much booze? Another quake?

  I lost my balance, falling onto my hands and knees, my hat flipping over my face and dropping in front of me.

  That little move highly suggested the last swallow of hooch.

  I hoped no one was watching.

  Frightened shouts went up from the neighborhood as dozens of lights turned on.

  The Nightcrawler and Trolly systems went into emergency shut-down. A little, white bullet-car arriving on tenth went dark and the sizzle most folks don’t even notice coming from the ‘Crawler tracks stopped.

  I righted myself, darted across the street, and up the hill to my front door. I’ve got a decent view east towards the big park from that vantage. I expected smoke or something. Some indicator that we’d had a substantial earthquake or another bombing.

  Nothing. Goose-egg.

  Nada. Nix.

  Industrial area lights were off. No ‘Crawler lights were on anywhere. I was betting that people driving cars had pulled over. The City wasn’t giving off its comfortable glow at all.

  The ground jerked again, then again, in time with an echoing thump.

  People fled their homes, heading into the streets.

  Call me a paranoiac, but I couldn’t help but look to the Pointe. All their blazing lights simply went out. But not before what looked like the flash of lightning. Or rather ... explosions.

  The pitch dark took over.

  Floating above the rooflines — far above the highest buildings at the Pointe — three pairs of glowing orbs. Rocking. Swaying. Glaring?

  One pair vanished. The second pair jerked violently, then disappeared. The ground shook once more, a bright ground-based flash, followed by the city-wide whump! Neighbors were running, shouting, pointing. My legs wouldn’t move even if they could.

  The third pair blinked. Blinked! Then vanished.

 

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