No sign of her.
They wandered up The Avenue, checking the dark doorways of the discount dental offices and pawn shops. Still nothing.
Where the hell had she gotten to?
They were about to give up when Solomon spotted the flashing lights of a police cruiser and an ambulance up near DeAnza Drive, where The Avenue abruptly turned from brown-skinned working class to white yuppie paradise.
A couple of paramedics were loading a woman onto a gurney in the back of the ambulance, her bony bare legs hanging out of the blanket wrapped around her. She looked unconscious.
“Shit,” Solomon said. “We’re too late.”
“What?” Clarence squinted into the darkness. He’d broken his glasses a couple weeks ago and Solomon knew he couldn’t see worth a damn. “Is that Myra?”
“How many white women you know walkin’ around butt-naked at two o’clock in the A.M.?” He gestured for Clarence to follow. “But let’s go make sure.”
Clarence didn’t move. “I ain’t goin’ near no cops.”
“They got their hands full. They ain’t gonna be fussin’ with the likes of you.”
“That’s right,” Clarence said, “ ’cause I ain’t stupid enough to get that close.” He turned and started in the opposite direction.
“Come on, man. Why you always gotta run?”
“That’s what keeps me alive. I ain’t goin’ down for no junkie-ass whore. ’Specially a dead one.”
“If she was dead, they’d be loadin’ her in the back of a coroner’s van. Least we can do is find out where they’re takin’ her.”
“Be my guest,” Clarence said. “But count me out.”
A moment later, he was across the street and gone.
Solomon shook his head, wondering what Clarence’s tears had been about. Did he care about Myra or what? Then a sudden realization hit him. Maybe Myra hadn’t shot herself up, after all. Maybe it was Clarence who gave her the needle. She goes flatline, and it was panic, not grief, making him cry.
Solomon had always thought Myra was too good for the sonofabitch anyway.
He worked his way up the block toward the police cruiser and ambulance. There was a Seaside Cab parked several yards away, its driver leaning against the left front fender, quietly sucking on a cigarette.
By the time Solomon got close, a late-model sedan had pulled up to the scene, and a big guy in a suit and tie climbed out. A plainclothes detective.
What the hell did he want?
One of the uniformed cops called him Blackburn and they exchanged pleasantries that, to Solomon’s mind, weren’t all that pleasant.
A small crowd had gathered, a lot of folks standing around in their pj’s, and Solomon did his best to blend in. He still had Myra’s filthy clothes tucked under one arm. A coupla house hens took one look at him, crinkled their noses, and stepped aside, giving him wide berth.
So much for that plan.
The cop named Blackburn took a look into the back of the ambulance, then turned to one of the uniforms as he gestured toward the cab driver. “I hear she tried to stab him.”
Solomon’s ears pricked up. Myra?
“So he says,” the uniform told Blackburn. “Came at him with a pair of scissors.”
“Scissors?” Blackburn seemed surprised.
“That’s right.” The uniform went to the front seat of the cruiser and brought out a plastic bag carrying a bloodied pair of sewing shears.
Blackburn took the bag, studied it for a moment, then handed it back. “He say what direction she came from?”
The uniform pointed across the street, which was lined with apartment houses. “Over that way. Looks like she could’ve cut right through from Hopi Lane.”
Blackburn turned to one of the paramedics. “How bad is she hurt?”
“She’s got a pretty good knot on her cheek where the cab driver thumped her, but the blood isn’t hers, if that’s what you’re asking. Got some cuts and bruises, but nothing that would cause that much bleeding.”
Hearing this, Solomon felt relieved. If that was Myra in there, at least she was okay. But what was all this bullshit about her trying to stab somebody?
Not the Myra he knew.
He wished he could get a closer look.
“We’ve gotta sit on her until the assistant M.E. gets here,” Blackburn said. “I need a sample of that blood.”
“We should’ve been on our way to the ER by now.”
“And I should be in bed with a beautiful blonde, but that ain’t likely to happen anytime soon.”
Before the paramedic could protest, Blackburn turned and walked over to the cab driver, flashing his badge. They exchanged a few words and, from Solomon’s vantage point, it looked like Blackburn was trying to bum a cigarette.
Solomon turned his attention away from them and looked in toward the woman on the gurney, figuring now was as good a time as any to get a better look. He stepped forward, moving closer to the ambulance. He wasn’t halfway to it when one of the uniforms spotted him and came over.
“Hey, hey, what’re you up to?”
“I think she’s a friend of mine.”
The uniform looked him over, barely disguising his contempt. “You been drinking, pops? Figure maybe you can sneak a peek at a naked lady?”
Solomon ignored him. “Her name is Myra.”
“Well, what do you know.” The uniform turned to his partner. “You hear that, Jerry? She’s got a name and everything — and it ain’t Tina Tits.”
His partner chuckled and Solomon took an instant dislike to both of them, the way they were disrespecting Myra. He had the terrible urge to lash out, but kept himself under control.
The cop named Blackburn was coming over now, no cigarette in evidence, and he didn’t look happy. “Toomey, do us all a favor and shut your fuckin’ yap.”
The partner, Jerry, quickly averted his eyes, but the one called Toomey shot Blackburn a look. There wasn’t any love lost between these two. For a moment, Solomon thought they might come to blows, then Toomey backed off, joining Jerry over by their patrol car.
Blackburn turned to Solomon. “You say you know this woman?”
Solomon nodded. “I think so. I just need a better look.”
Blackburn gestured and they walked over to the ambulance. “Go ahead.”
Solomon glanced around, felt all the eyes on him, then stepped up into the back of the ambulance.
The woman had blood on her and some of it had soaked into the blanket. Her left shoulder was exposed and Solomon immediately recognized the faded Hello Kitty tattoo adorning it.
Myra had once told him that they’d called her that when she was modeling. Kitty. She’d walk into a studio and they’d all go, “Hello, Kitty.” Kinda laughing when they said it.
He let his gaze drift up to her face, but was surprised by what he saw — and it wasn’t the blood that startled him.
Taking a couple involuntary steps backward, he almost fell out of the ambulance.
The cop named Blackburn steadied him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’,” Solomon said. “She… she looks different, is all.”
“Different? Is she your friend or not?”
Solomon was momentarily at a loss for words. How could this be? When he found his voice, he said, “I thought she was, but now I ain’t so sure.”
“What do you mean?”
Solomon swallowed. “That looks like her body, all right. But there’s something wrong with her face.”
Blackburn frowned at him. He looked as if he was about to respond when the woman’s eyes flew open, as wide and frightened as a trapped animal’s. Her mouth started moving, words tumbling out so rapidly they were barely intelligible:
“… a lie stands on one leg, the truth on two…”