November 1, 2015. 

This time Detective Fog did allow herself a reaction; her eyes immediately widened and then she started to laugh and smacked her rocks glass down on the counter.

On second thought she lifted the drink back up and drank. With a shake of her head, of disbelief, she said, "So you're just playing with me. Good to know. You going to tell me where Paul Aniston is?" she asked.

"Probably not. You don't have anything good enough on offer," said Nakos.

"I do," said Detective Fog, "but you'd have to take a gamble. Tell me where Paul's been taken and I'll tell you something much more interesting. Something you'll regret not knowing as early as possible. Come sunrise you'll feel like a headless chicken in the dark if you're the last to know. Besides, what's the big idea, extinguishing a bright talent like Paul Aniston, making him disappear into the bay just because he took a slight bit more than all the other pushers off the top. You need to set an example? Take a hand or something. How about an eye? Don't kill the kid. Am I right? What's got Mena so shaken up that she needs to resort to such harsh and permanent punishment?"

"I'm considering answering that question," said Nakos. "Just not here. Let's continue this conversation outside." He wagged his head toward the back door Detective Fog hadn't known went anywhere.

Cigar Bar had filled right to the brim, standing room only left and that filling up quickly. If they left their stools they would never recover them. It was a crush and squeeze of bodies to get through to that back door and Detective Fog turned to look back over each shoulder as she followed Nakos; hiding her edginess wasn't worth the real risk that a deadly trap was about to snap shut in the form of a pack of mafiosi falling in on her, and step one was to make sure no one followed them outside from inside the bar.

Step two was to get a good look through that door when it opened to make sure it was safe beyond.

The door opened up onto what must have been the smallest patio in the city, and through the door the stone pavement and wooden fence was visible with not much else except a couple of garbage, recycling and compost bins, and a rusty old barbecue. Nakos skipped out into the night and turned around to watch her.

Without a shred of self-consciousness she took him in, and without letting him out of her sight she peeped her head out, hands holding firm on to the doorframe to pull herself back if anyone was waiting out there to murder her. Quickly she peeked to the left, back to center, and then to the right. There was no one else there.

Nakos avoided laughing with difficulty. "Are you packing?" asked Detective Fog.

"Yeah," said Nakos. "You?"

Detective Fog shrugged noncommittally and said, "I don't like guns very much." Then she opened her jacket and tucked into her slacks was a wood-handled Smith & Wesson .38. "I'm going to keep the door open. No one will overhear." She pulled the door most of the way shut and sat down on the sill with her feet on the steps.

"So where's Paul Aniston?" asked Detective Fog. It didn't matter why Nakos was willing to talk about Paul, only that he was. The detective looked relaxed except for her reluctance to blink too often.

Jason Nakos heard the question and let it sit in the night air for thirty seconds while he lit another cigarette. Preoccupying his hands should relax the detective some, he thought, but when the first smoke cloud puffed past his eyes she still sat with her fake calmness, those relaxed muscles that were ready to tense into movement, wide awake eyes in the mind that obviously hadn't imbibed the three drinks in fifteen minutes as she pretended. Plus she pretended she wasn't a good shot, and who would admit to that when a duel could break out any second?

"It's in my best interest," he said when he was sure there wasn't a chance she'd let her guard down, "to tell you a little bit more about Paul's situation, detective. But I'm only going to warn you once. Don't go looking for him. Go back to your little shoebox in North Beach — or is it a room in a shared apartment in the Richmond?"

His guess as to her financial wellbeing and housing fortune was optimistic; she bedded in the kitchen of a two-bedroom in the Tenderloin that was split five ways. Her best hope of improved living accommodations was for the barista who got the curtain-divided living room to lose his job, or the hair dresser who got the couch to move in with her boyfriend in Oakland, although they were constantly at risk of splitting up. The private eye business wasn't so hot.

Not answering the question, she nodded appreciatively and said, "Persuade me."

"Your observation was shrewd, detective. You're right, it would be a bit of an overreaction to waste such potential as Paul over a few stolen dollars, even to make an example. That's why I recommend you have another drink and go to bed. Forget about the kid, forget about Cassandra's problems; they're not yours. Sleep well in the knowledge it's not your fault and there was nothing you could do. It's really beyond your power to fix."

"A drink does sound nice," said Detective Fog. "But at the very least his wife, my client, is going to want some closure. Tell me what Paulie did wrong. It's in your best interest that I don't go poking around tonight, asking questions? I imagine it's not in your best interest that anyone know that you've been talking to me, that you're willing to provide me some insight. Oh goodie, looks like I found some leverage after all! I can deduce that Paul was involved in something much worse than pocketing bills.

"Did you know Stink already told me that the Andreou family was getting information out of Paul? Things like your internal structure, and personnel roster. The kind of knowledge that could really indicate to the Andreou family your mafia's weaknesses. That information has also been imparted to me. And it's funny because Stink isn't supposed to have that kind of information, right? He's the absolute bottom of the ladder, who would have told him anything so crucial? Isn't it so much more likely that you're the one who told me and not Stink? Especially after he drops by Daedalus Bar and tells Sofia Ioana that he left you talking to me."

Her phone chose that minute to ring and she answered it right away. "Yes, Stink?" she said.

Nakos shook his head and didn't buy the act until she proffered him the phone. It was Stink's voice he heard on the line when he held it to his ear, delivering the mid-sentence report intended for Detective Fog, "—good here, consider it taken care of." With a vindictive glint in his eyes and turn of his mouth Nakos dropped the iPhone from his ear and let it crash onto the cement pavement. In an unexpected display of discipline, the detective didn't flinch. Nakos didn't go for his gun when he saw that she wasn't moving, though she was perched as ever for flight.

"Some leverage you've got," said Nakos. "You've already pulled the trigger, how do you expect to get answers outta me when you're now talking to a dead man walking?"

"It's not over yet," said Malyssa. "Stink is waiting for me to say the magic word." She didn't look down at the phone on the ground, didn't give in to curiosity, was the screen broken? How much of next month's rent would it take to repair the screen? Both residential and office space (little more than pride — and residential bylaws — kept her from living in her office at this point). "Where's Paul Aniston?"

"He's waiting for the magic word? Well that's all right, then. Phone's at my feet. We're at a stalemate, beautiful, so I have to ask how you expect to pass on the message?"

"What does 911 do when you call and hang up? I mean, they have an established protocol, so you know they're following up, everyone knows that. But how can you know what Stink's going to do since you dropped the line? Sounds like you're making a gamble that he's not going to do my bidding anyways. I mean, the odds are good in your favor, maybe he figures you got the best of me and his deal is off, but on the other hand, I offered him something really good." That was something of a bluff. "Plus, did you ever notice he really doesn't like you, Nakos? The stakes are high, so I'd suggest you pick up my phone, pray that the screen isn't broken, and tell Stink to please wait a second while we continue our polite conversation. I'll wait."

There wasn't any hesitation; the thing about that gamble was that Nakos got to for sure live and save himself from Sofia Ioana's wrath, so there was no downside to doing as the detective asked, other than getting himself further into the mire. He bent down quickly and scooped up the phone.

The sound of a Smith and Wesson revolver cocking didn't surprise him, and he looked up into the barrel and straightened calmly.

"Is the screen cracked?" asked Detective Fog, looking over her revolver, finger on the trigger.

Nakos turned the phone over in his hands and revealed a spider web of cracks.

"How much cash d'you got on you?" she asked.

He went for the wallet in his back pocket, slowly, and threw her at least enough hundreds to buy a new 128 GB iPhone in rose gold. Then he put the phone to his ear and said, "Stink, you there?"

"That you Nakos? I'm here," he said. Queens of the Stone age blared in the background from Daedalus Bar's main room. It was unlikely he was with Sofia Ioana. She would be in the office upstairs. Not blasting hard rock music.

🎵I sat by the ocean
And drank a potion, baby to erase you
Face down in the boulevard yet I couldn't face you🎵

Jason replied, "That's me, Stink. You're waiting for the good detective to give the word?"

"Sure, if she's still alive," said Stink.

Nakos exhaled loudly and said, "She's still alive. We'll call you back, Stink," and hung up. "So let me get this situation straight, Fog. Stink has acquired details that shouldn't be in his possession, he's told you what he knows, and now if I don't talk to you he's going to tell Sofia Ioana I'm the rat? How did you come up with this one?"

Malyssa got up off her stoop and moved out into the back patio now that she had her gun trained on Nakos and all kinds of upper hands. "A couple of late night chats and I realized that all of you were underestimating Kalogeropoulos. He's smarter than he looks and he's been paying attention when everyone thinks there's nothing going on between his two unevenly placed ears. Does that answer all of your questions? Stalling isn't going to get you anywhere, I want to know exactly what Paul did, where he is, who's holding him and how to get him out of there alive."

Nakos passed her his half-finished cigarette, which she smoked while he talked. "If he's still alive he's being questioned in the Dog Patch, and I'm telling you straight up I don't know exactly where. There are a couple of warehouses for such purposes, and more than one abandoned residence. You'll never find him before they dump him in the bay. I don't have the level of detail you'll need."

"There's no point holding out on me," said Detective Fog, and her eyes gleamed with a light that both scared him and pissed him off. She acted like she held all the cards just because she had Stink, but it wasn't as if Jason couldn't get out of it, it wasn't as if Ioana wouldn't believe him if he told this story. There was a chance. When he blinked he saw his own corpse floating bloated with holes in it next to Paul Aniston's.

The mafia could make the bodies vanish but if they didn't need the cops to see them first, the bay was as good a place for them to sleep as any.

As if the scene played on rewind he was alive again and on his knees in front of Sofia Ioana, a goddess in a pin stripe suit about to dictate his fate and he swore to her, "It was all a scene that detective cooked up. I thought I could toy with her, get you the skinny on Athena Rex's game plan, but the next thing I knew she was making me look like a rat. I'm stupid, but I'm not a rat, I swear," and that begging and pleading, snot coming out of his nose and blood vessels exploding in his eye sockets was almost worse than the body sinking or floating in the bay.

The more he gave Detective Fog, the more he'd be living life as a rat, hiding his mistake, but the best he could do would be to get out of the back patio of this bar with a pass from Fog, a promise not to tell Ioana about their meeting — yet. A promise that would just hang over his head for the rest of his life with the only escape being death or getting the hell outta dodge.

"I can take you to the most likely spot," said Nakos. "I can help get you in, get you close to Paul."

"So helpful," said Malyssa. "You wanna drive?"

"Absolutely," said Nakos. She thrust the gun at him and gestured for him to lead the way out through the gate in the wooden fence.

Of course she wouldn't take him back through the crowded interior even if she held his death certificate; she wouldn't want to risk losing the second security of her piece trained on him point blank. The back alley led to Pacific Street and he was parked on Sansome. Malyssa walked arm and arm with Jason Nakos like an enamored date clinging for warmth in the frigid night, her revolver sticking him in the ribs over and over with each step.

There was never a complaint from Nakos, and he led her straight to his Aston Martin Atom. The 40s vehicle that looked like that era's imagining of the future, a flying car or a shuttle to the moon, was reconfigured, apparently, with electronic locks. "You can take the keys from my pants pocket," said Nakos. She had them out in a second and held the fob delicately.

"This isn't the remote to a bomb, is it?" Detective Fog asked. Apparently she wasn't very afraid of that possibility because she pressed the button and the car emitted a "woot woot" and the click of the locks on two doors. That was when Nakos's phone began to ring.

"I'll get it," said Malyssa over the melody of the Safety Dance by Men Without Hats. The android was in his other pocket and she had little more trouble pulling it out than she had retrieving the keys.

Holding it out, she let him swipe his lock screen pattern, which turned out to be a complicated series of back and forth twists and turns she wouldn't have expected and couldn't have memorized. Before he took the call she told him, "Did you know the FBI can't crack these? True story." Then she nodded for him to answer.

He swiped and said, "Hello?" The detective couldn't hear the words spoken on the other end of the line, which was somewhat regrettable, but she gave Nakos another hard poke with her gun and felt confident no funny business was going to go on. The call needed to be answered; it could include a clue as to Paul's whereabouts.

Wordless, Nakos listened and didn't let much expression show on his face, and Detective Fog waited patiently to see what happened next. After a minute Nakos, without speaking, put the phone down and slid it back into his suit pants pocket with no fear of being shot. "What's up?" Malyssa asked as a catchall for Who was that and what did he or she want?

It didn't make a difference that her revolver was cocked at his side; Malyssa was suddenly lifted from the ground and thrown up into the air, losing all knowledge of Nakos's position and all ability to aim for his flesh; her legs swung up over her head. She sprawled up and then down onto the sidewalk, crashing into a confused heap of spread-eagle limbs. It took several seconds before she could figure out how to move anything, no clue which way was up.

She got her head lifted and her eyes pointed in the right direction just in time to see the Atom roar away in accompaniment of the screech of wheels she had heard over the sound of her own body crashing into concrete. Nakos had gone, who knew where.

Pulling herself into a sitting position, Malyssa unlocked her iPhone behind the shattered screen and dialed Stink Kalogeropoulos. "Shazam," she said into the line. Stink swore in response, then said, "As you wish."

She could see him in her mind's eye, making his way to the back of Daedalus Bar, terrified of the stakes now, but she had offered him a good deal. Cash if he did as she wished, the blackmail turned on himself if he refused. After enough time for him to pass through the crush of drunks to the door to the left at the back which led to Sofia Ioana's office, imagining him putting his foot down on the first step, Detective Fog asked, "Stink, do you happen to know where Paul Aniston is?"

"Is that what you sprung this trap over, Fog?" said Stink. "Yeah, he's at an abandoned warehouse by Pier 64. The next one behind the Bae Systems building on 20th. That what you were trying to get out of Jason?" She didn't answer. "Do you still want me to speak with Ioana?"

Detective Fog rubbed her lower back and started to contemplate the fastest way to get to the piers in Dog Patch, dreading asking Google Maps given the current state of her iPhone. 

"No," she growled, getting to her feet and finding numerous bruises as she stood. "I don't want to be responsible for Nakos getting whacked. Yet."

Like a dog with her tail between her legs she set off, taking the long way to Pier 64. The Muni Metro tram, with a good ten minute walk once she disembarked. She needed a moment to walk it off anyway.

Thank you for reading Detective Fog. I am very grateful for all your support and the stars you leave behind. It helps to fuel my writing and my magic world. Let's give this new book a little lift-off!