She headed back through Monterey to Seaside and parked up across the street from Pete’s run-down gym. A yellow painted door appeared to open onto stairs that led up to a room above a Laundromat. She watched a couple of tough looking Hispanic guys bundle laughing out of the door and stroll to an impossibly battered pick-up. They roared away as an old Camaro growled slowly past. The driver sported shades and a bandana. Did he look back at her in his mirror? She couldn’t be sure.
She crossed the street and pushed the button on a ragged intercom. She stood feeling out of place on the street as a group of kids with backward baseball caps slouched by. She caught an eye contact of insolence.
“Yah?” said a rough voice from the speaker.
“Is Freddie there?”
“Who are ya?”
“Anna.”
“Wait.”
She w
