It was my fault that I was so cold. Earlier, I was warm in the alcove, and taxis and people came and went. Somehow, the wind turned, and the cars got scarcer, and it was howling around me. If you don't plan, you pay the price. There was only one other person left there with me. He didn't seem happy, but he didn't seem cold, either. He was probably from San Francisco.
It seemed like a big payday, drive up to Pacific Heights, make sure she was where her parents thought she was, charge them for 5 days plus hotel bills. I took my overcoat, but a Los Angeles overcoat isn't for San Francisco, even in August. Pacific Heights had been breezy but warm, but I ended up following that guy back to the University Club on Nob Hill. A night later, here I was on California, between the Mark Hopkins and the Fairmont, but really watching the entrance of the Club on Powell.
Where were they? Earlier, there had been plenty of comings and going, people waiting for taxis or friends, or just avoiding going home. Now it was pretty obvious that me and the other guy had some other reason to be there. He wasn't menacing, but he was very still. Not restless, but waiting. Like me. I had been looking for one person, and now I was looking for two. The most likely explanation was that he was looking for at least one of the people that I was looking for.
I knew she was just an unhappy rich girl, but her paramour was another matter. All sorts of people would be looking for him. The guy sitting across from me was way too quiet, and didn't look at me. He was a pro. I glanced at him. Thinner than me, smaller, a bit older, hawkish features, kind of dead eyes. But he wasn't the sort of guy you wanted to fight with either. He'd been around. Of course, neither of us would get extra pay to fight each other, so I stopped worrying.
He came over, asked for a light, said he'd run out. Of course he hadn't. He was sizing me up, just like I was him. I lit a match, and said "have a seat." We briefly made small talk, told some bland but unlikely stories about what we were waiting for. Neither of us believed the other, but it was a way of indicating that since we didn't know when the night would end, we could at least watch each other easily.
I saw he was looking up towards Powell, and the University Club. We were on the same job, different employers. The wind came up again, and I couldn't help but shiver. He hunched slightly, but seemed indifferent. Whoever hired him had hired in San Francisco. His agency was probably just down the hill. It didn't make me feel warmer.
cool