Free Seattle Noir by Curt Colbert Page A

there to help when the beasts attacked.
    What are you looking at? Fox asks a sidewalk gawker. The show’s over there, jerk. Don’t look at me.
    Now you’ve done it, says Petey. Let’s go.
    Across the bridge of sighs?
    Too visible, says Fox. Back up the avenue.
    I want to get out of Fremont, mutters Petey. This is no place for us.
    For Christ’s sake, don’t run, says Fox. In tourist land the three of us running is probable cause.
    I used to live here, says Petey.
    In the center of the universe, says Strabo. So says the sign, at any rate.
    Hear the sirens? asks Fox. They’re taking her away. Finally.
    Whoever she is, says Strabo, she’ll be a star now. Just like your cinematic friends.
    Let’s get something to eat, suggests Fox. How about this bakery?
    Look what’s in the window, says Petey.
    Someone had put up photos from the Solstice Parade: giant puppets and naked bicyclists.
    No wonder I went crazy. How could anybody stay sane in this place?
    Abby did, says Strabo. That’s why she left.
    All the food here is too goddamn healthy, says Fox. Let’s go to Starbucks.
    Never, says Petey. I’m not giving those bastards one of my hard-earned dollars.
    Hard-begged, says Strabo.
    Same thing.
    You’re not being rational, dear boy.
    Har har.
    You can’t blame a major corporation simply because your ex-wife married… What was he? A department head?
    Coffee king, says Fox. Java general.
    The bastard stole Abby from me, says Petey.
    She married him—
    Brew guru.
    Hush. She married him after you went to bedlam, lad. Did you expect her to wait until you achieved compus mentus?
    Stuff it.
    So what do you want? asks Fox. Starbucks, this bakery, or starve to death? Your choice.
    What else’ve you got? asks Petey.
    Speaking of destinations, says Strabo, why were Bogart and De Niro—
    Widmark and Mineo.
    Why were they hanging around Queen Anne in the middle of the night?
    To get to the other side, says Fox.
    How would I know?
    You were just playing detective, dear boy.
    Petey sighs. Okay. They weren’t bums like us. Somewhere between yuppies and punks. Looking for drugs, maybe?
    Bull, says Fox. They were looking for exactly what they found. A chick walking alone. Somebody to mess up. Two homeless broads got offed last year.
    I didn’t know that, says Petey.
    Neither one looked like Abby, says Strabo. So you didn’t notice.
    They didn’t exactly make the front page.
    I wish last night never happened, says Petey.
    It wouldn’t have, if they hadn’t been so far off their turf. Usually they stayed near Pioneer Square, where nobody complained much about grubbies and crazies.
    But the previous morning they had run into Sugarman, a contractor Petey knew in better days, and he was looking for cheap labor.
    Anybody with a green card. You a citizen? Even better. Hop on the truck and you can spend the day digging a trench for bamboo in Queen Anne.
    The crew of half a dozen came in under budget and ahead of schedule. Sugarman got a bonus and was so pleased he bought pizza and beer and treated everybody to a picnic in the park.
    When the party broke up, close to midnight, Fox had said he’d lead the three of them to a bus stop where they could get back to home base. But then Petey saw the brunette on Nickerson and fell in love.
    I’m not in love, he had told them. I just said she looks like Abby.
    Every white filly south of fifty looks like your lost angel, said Fox.
    She was well under fifty. Maybe twenty-five. Brunette hair pinned up in the back. Tight green dress. Wobbling a little on two-inch heels.
    The angel is drunk, said Strabo.
    Who isn’t? asked Petey.
    You a stalker now?
    I just want to make sure she gets home all right.
    This isn’t home. She’s cutting through a parking lot.
    If she saw us following her, said Strabo, she’d scream for help.
    Why don’t you ask her to make you a double tall cappuccino? says Fox. That’s how you met the bitch, isn’t it?
    Don’t call her that.
    Whoa. Catch those two on the other