to come. The change is nice and I crack my window to let in the fresh air.
“So what’s next?” he asks.
“Next?”
“Next with Robyn,” he says.
I let out a sigh and gaze out the front window. Immense grey cotton ball clouds obscure the sky.
“I’m not sure, other than to keep going back to the city to keep looking for her.”
“Last night,” he begins. “when Peña got to you.” He looks at me and then looks back to the freeway. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but I caught up with that guy I recognized. His name is Breed Love. He’s a CI for San Francisco PD. Used to be a big time dealer. He got clean and now helps the cops try to get the kids off the streets. He knows who Peña is, says everybody does. Has girls all over the City and in Stockton and Sacramento too.”
“My God,” I say below my breath. “Why can’t the police just shut this monster down?”
“I know,” Freddie says, “but it’s not as easy as you might think. They have to actually catch him breaking the law since every hooker that the cops arrest and try to pump for information refuses to divulge any details on Peña.” He pauses, and then adds, “And if it wasn’t Peña it would be somebody else. It’s the way of the world.”
“Well it sure shouldn’t be.”
Freddie wheels the van into the parking lot of the Martinez Gun Club.
“I gave Breed the picture of your daughter and your telephone number. He promises to keep an eye out for her and says he’ll call if he sees her.”
Freddie opens the door for me.
“Do you think we should try looking in Stockton or Sacramento?” I ask.
“No reason to yet.” He closes my door and leads me by the elbow into the main building of the gun club. “But you might want to think about investing in a cell phone.”
Inside the main building is a large snack bar with a tufted leather armrest running the circumference of the bar. Arranged in precise order around the snack bar are bright red stools with the word ‘Winchester’ running around the side of the leather seats in large white letters.
Freddie exchanges pleasantries with a portly woman behind the counter and gives her some money. Above her, on the wall are mounted various animal heads, nearly all with large, pointed antlers. She hands him two paper targets the general shape of a human torso with various lines and numbers on them. Next she gives him two large things that look like plastic ear muffs and two pairs of safety goggles.
We exit through the back door of the building onto the general shooting range. Since it’s a Saturday, the range is fairly packed with people. Mostly men sporting long shotguns, but I do see a couple of women amongst the groups, all in various stages of either shooting or consulting targets containing clean round holes.
Inside the handgun range, Freddie sets up a paper target and then shows me how to load my gun.
“Pop the bullets in like so,” he says showing me the chamber. Once full, he snaps it closed. He puts on his red ear protectors and eye gear and instructs me to do the same.
He hands me the gun.
“Now imagine that target out there is BLU BOY.”
I draw in a deep breath and focus on the shape that is yards away. If only the flat two dimensional figure before me was Antonio Peña. If only, by one small bullet that weighs less than an ounce, I could eliminate my most pressing problem and bring Robyn back home to me; would I do it? Maybe more importantly, could I?
Afterwards, Freddie drives me home. Dusk is rapidly being swallowed up the approaching night, lights from homes on my street wink out at us. I am thinking of a hot bubble bath to ease my aching body, and hopefully Rob will be home and amenable to going to get something to eat so I won’t have to cook. I close my eyes, allowing myself to sink deep into my thoughts.
“Is that cops at your house?” Freddie says, suddenly.
I lurch in my seat, my eyes pop open to see a Pittsburg Police Department black and white parked in my driveway behind the old Corsica. From the large living room window, I can see lights on and figures standing, talking, one of whom looks to be Rob.
“Let me off here,” I say, three houses ahead of mine.
I