Special Circumstances Read Online Free PDF Page B

know them?”
“Yeah, Ma, I knew them.”
“Mickey, be careful.”
“I will. I’ll call you back a little later, okay?” I hang up and pawthrough my boxes until I find the five-inch black-and-white TV I keptunder my desk to watch sports. I turn to Channel 4 and play with theantenna until I make out a fuzzy reporter standing in the plaza outsidethe California Street entrance to our building. She’s in front of thehuge black polished-granite sculpture designed by Masayuki Nagare thatthe late Herb Caen, the immortal San Francisco Chronicle columnist,dubbed the Banker’s Heart.
“This is Rita Roberts. We are live in San Francisco, where police arereporting an incident in the offices of Simpson and Gates, the city’slargest law firm.
Details are sketchy, but it appears that two Simpson and Gatesattorneys have been killed by gunshots. Newly elected San FranciscoDistrict Attorney Prentice Gates III was a partner at the firm. Mr.Gates and the mayor were in the firm’s office last night. We don’tknow whether the incident has anything to do with Mr. Gates or themayor. Moments ago, a spokesman told us that the mayor left theSimpson and Gates suite about nine o’clock last night and arrived athis office this morning at his usual time. We haven’t been able toconfirm the whereabouts of Mr. Gates. Rita Roberts for News Center4.”
I’m turning down the sound when a young Asian policeman knocks on myopen door and politely says, “I’m Officer Chinn. We’re asking everyoneto return to their desk.”
“We understand,” I say. He nods and walks down the hall. Doris looksoffended.
“He’s just following procedure,” I explain.
“He’s supposed to secure the scene and wait for help.” In reality he’salso supposed to separate us so we can’t compare stories. She headsout the door.
My phone keeps ringing. My younger brother, Pete, a former SanFrancisco cop who works as a private investigator, gets through on thefirst try.
“You okay, Mick? I heard it on the box.”
“I’m fine.”
“You talked to Ma?”
“Yeah. Told her I’m okay. Mind giving her a call? She’ll feel betterif she hears from you.”
“No problem, Mick. Gotta go. I’m working. I’ll see you thisweekend.” I pity the poor unfaithful husband he’s tailing. What helacks in finesse he makes up for in tenacity.
“Que pasa, Miguel? You all right?” My ex-wife. Rosita CarmelaFernandez doesn’t speak Spanish, except to me.
“I heard it on the radio.” She grew up in the Hispanic enclave in theMission District. Her dad was a carpenter. Her mom baby sits Gracewhenever Rosie’s in trial. Rosie was the first member of her family togo to college. She worked her way through San Francisco State andHastings law school. We used to work together at the PD’s office. Wewere married for about three years. We were a lot better at tryingcases than we were at being married.
“I’m fine, Rosie.”
“Good. I was worried my new tenant wasn’t going to move in.” That waspart of the problem when we were married. Among other things, Rosie isgood at keeping track of money, I’m not. She’s also very organized.Let’s just say I’m more flexible. It used to drive her nuts. We gotalong great right until the time we got married. Then all of my faultscame to light. After a couple of years of ceaseless sniping, wefinally split up. It was right after Grace turned one. Once thedivorce messiness was really over, we started to get along a lotbetter. Go figure.
“I’m moving in just the way we planned,” I say.
“Good man. I’ll call you later. Adios.”
Rosie, you’re the best ex-wife a man could have. Damn shame wecouldn’t stand living together.
Joel pokes his head in while I’m on the phone with my baby sister,Mary, a first-grade teacher in L.A. His hair is disheveled. His eyesare puffy. I motion him to sit down. I say good-bye to Mary.
“Long night, Mike,” he says in a hoarse whisper.
I pick up a rubber band.
“What can I say?”
“I’ve never seen