of Uncle Remus.
Tommy helped Lash to his feet. "Are you okay?"
"He's fine," Simon said. "His personal trainer is here." Simon grabbed a coconut off the shelf and lopped the top off with a huge knife from the meat department. "Dr. Drew," he said, holding the coconut out to Drew, who took a pint of rum from his hip pocket and splashed some in the shell.
"Down this," Simon said, handing the coconut to Lash. "Kill the pig, partner."
The Animals chanted "Kill the pig" until Lash had downed the whole drink, coconut milk and rum washing streams though his beard of suds at the corners of his mouth. He stopped to breathe and threw up.
"Nine-two!" Barry shouted.
"Nine-four," Drew said.
"Six-one," Simon drawled. "Penalty points for chunks."
"Fuego," Gustavo said.
Simon jumped in Gustavo's face. "Fuego? What fucking number is Fuego? You can be disqualified as a judge, you know?"
"Fuego," Gustavo said, pointing over Simon's shoulder to the chip rack, where three dozen weenies had burst into flames and were spewing black smoke.
The smoke alarm went off with a Klaxon scream, drowning out the Rolling Stones.
"It rings into the fire department," Drew shouted in Tommy's ear. "They'll be at the door in a minute. It's your job to head them off, Fearless Leader."
"Me? Why me?"
"That's why you make the big bucks."
"Kill that stereo and put out the fire," Tommy yelled. He turned and was heading for the front door just as Clint came out of the stockroom.
"The kosher stuff is all blessed, and I prayed over some of the gentile food for good measure. You know, Tom, the guys said that you might be getting married, and I'm getting my minister card in the mail soon, so if you need - "
"Clint," Tommy interrupted, "clean-up in the produce aisle." He went to the front door, unlocked it, and went outside to wait for the fire department. The bay was socked in with fog and the beam from the lighthouse on Alcatraz cut a swath across Fort Mason and the Safeway parking lot. Tommy thought he could make out the figure of someone standing under one of the mercury lights. Someone thin, dressed in dark clothing.
A fire truck pulled into the parking lot, siren off, its flashing red lights cutting the fog. As the fire truck's headlights swept across the lot, the dark figure dodged and ran, staying just ahead of the lights. Tommy had never seen anyone run that fast. The thin guy seemed to cover a hundred yards in only a few seconds. A trick of the fog, Tommy thought.
Chapter 12
Fashionably Doomed
There were five police cars parked at the Van Ness Motel when Tommy got off the bus across the street. He thought: They've come to get me for turning in a false alarm to the fire department. Then he realized that only Jody knew that he was coming to the motel. Pity, he thought, I would have gotten a lot of writing done in prison.
He crossed the street and was met at the office door by a uniformed police woman.
"Crime scene, sir. Move along unless registered."
"Am registered. Need shower," Tommy said. He'd learned his lesson about saying too much when he had talked to the angry fireman at the store. They didn't want to hear why it happened, they just wanted to be sure that it didn't happen again.
"Name?" the cop said.
"C. Thomas Flood."
"ID?"
Tommy handed her his Indiana driver's license.
"Says 'Thomas Flood, Junior. No 'C. »
" 'C' is pen name. Thomas is writer," Tommy said.
The cop adjusted her baton. "Are you trying to give me a hard time?"
"No, I just thought you wanted to talk that way. What's going on?" Tommy looked over the cop's shoulder at the motel manager, a tall, balding guy in his forties who was wiping fingerprints off his bulletproof window with a towel, looking as if he was going to start crying any minute.
"Were you in the motel last night, Mr. Flood?"
"No, I just got off work at the Marina Safeway. I'm night-crew leader there."
"You live in the City then?" The cop raised an eyebrow.
"I've just been here a few days. I'm still looking for a place."
"Where can we reach you if the detectives need to talk to you?"
"At the store from midnight to eight. But I'm off tonight. I guess I'll be here. What's going on?"
The cop turned to the motel manager. "You have a C. Thomas Flood registered?"
The manager nodded and held up a key. "Room two-twelve," he said.
The cop gave Tommy back his license. "Get