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And Where Were The Spiders?


"I don't know how you can drink that stuff," Jake said, wrinkling his nose.

"What? Carffee?" Ford asked. "This stuff is awesome! You should try it some time."

"No thank you," Jake replied. "The idea of carbonated coffee just doesn't appeal to me. Are you sure it was a good idea to stop at 7-11 on the way?"

"We've got plenty of time," Ford said. "Novato PD said he hasn't left his office."

"I don't see why you don't just let them arrest him."

"Because it's my case."

"Yeah," Jake said, "but the guy tried to kill you just two hours ago."

"All the more reason to be the one to bring him in. And before I forget, I need you to drive my van back."

"Why?" Jake asked.

"Because Fish is meeting me at Zvolen's office with a prowler."

"Hey," Jake said. "Let me ask you something. What does the song 'Brickhouse' mean?"

"She's built like a brick shithouse," Ford replied.

"I know, but what does that mean?"

"I have no clue. Why are you asking me this?"

"I was over Club Zevon and they played that song, now it's stuck in my head."

"Sing the 'Flintstones' theme, that'll get rid of it. What were you doing at Club Zevon?"

"I was just hanging out with Karen."

"Oh," Ford cooed. "Are you two an item?"

"No," Jake replied. "She was bored, I was bored, so we went out."

"You should ask her out again."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?" Ford asked. "She's good looking, she's self-sufficient, and, best of all, she's gone most of the time so you don't have to put up with her. She's the perfect girlfriend."

"Can we not talk about this right now?"

"When's the last time you've had a date, Jake?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do," Ford said. "You're just not saying. Wait a minute, you're not…"

"No," Jake said, emphatically. "I'm not."

"Good," Ford replied. "Because solicitation is a crime."

"Chris, you're a real ass sometimes."

"We'll get you fixed up with her, don't worry."

There were three Novato prowlers and one SFPD unit in the parking lot of Brubakker and Zvolen, Attorneys at Law, when they arrived. Adding that to Ford's Van and Zvolen's limo, there was very little room left in the lot. Ford pulled over next to the entrance and got out, just in time to see Simonyi stepping out of the driver's side of the SFPD squad car.

"Where the hell've you been?" Simonyi said, looking at his watch. "I've been waiting here for almost a half hour."

"Chris had to stop for some Carffee," Jake offered.

"Don't know how you can drink that stuff," Simonyi said. "Ok, Zvolen's still inside, we've got a warrant faxed over, so we can go in any time you're ready."

With nothing more than nod, Ford started heading toward the front door. Simonyi motioned to a pair of officers and they followed.

The office was dark, except for a light in Zvolen's office. Ford crossed the empty office and stood in the doorway watching him. A thick legal tome sat on the desk in front of Zvolen, who was studying it intently. Two officers stood behind Ford, waiting. Crossing over to the desk, Ford lowered the warrant down on top of the book.

"Yes, I know," Zvolen said, without glancing up. "I spoke with Judge Carleton a few moments ago. You realize this will never stick, don't you?"

"We'll let the courts decide that," Ford replied.

Sighing in an annoyed manner, Zvolen got to his feet and held his arms out. One of the attending officers approached him and cuffed his hands. He was led out side, where Simonyi was waiting next to the squad car with the back door open. Zvolen grinned a vicious lawyer grin before taking the seat. Ford shut the door behind him, then crossed over to the driver's side.

"Uh-uh," Simonyi said, opening the driver's side door ahead of him. "I'm driving this time."

"Hey," Ford said, holding his hands up. "Whatever you say, Fish."

Lights blaring, the convoy headed out onto 101 and toward San Francisco. While Simonyi drove, Ford sat in the passenger's seat, picking his fingernails clean on the seatbelt. Zvolen seemed repugnantly confident as they passed through San Rafael and crested Mt. Tamalpais.

"So," Ford said, as they exited the tunnel, the Golden Gate lit up below them. "You don't think this will stick, huh?"

"Assaulting an officer?" Zvolen said, grinning. "I think not. It's your word against mine that you didn't invite me in."

"I've been meaning to ask about that," Ford said, turning around. "Don't vampires need to be invited into a residence before they can come in?"

"Where did you get a stupid idea like that?"

"The vampire experts, Haim and Feldman," Ford replied. "Nevermind. So, should I tell you a good reason to be worried?"

"I told you I'm not," Zvolen said as the car eased onto the bridge. "Your psychopathic friend charged into the room gun blazing, I had to flee his police brutality."

"Ah," Ford nodded. "It's not the assault charges I'm talking about. I recorded your confession about killing the boy."

Zvolen's face, while impassive, filled with a boiling rage. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"That's right," Ford continued. "I'm looking forward to this trial too. It'll be a daytime trial, you know, murder usually is. Yes sirree, lots of sunlight there. I'm certainly looking forward to it."

Simonyi grunted as they approached the tollbooths next to the Bridge Authority station.

"I can't wait to see you put your hand on that Bible," Ford laughed.

Suddenly, Zvolen let out a ferocious growl and kicked forward with both feet. The driver's side seat snapped, forcing Simonyi up against the steering wheel. The car twisted sideways, slamming Ford into the window, before it collided with the metal guardrails in front of the booth. Ford, dazed momentarily, glanced up in time to see Zvolen tear his handcuffs off, kick out the door, and take off running back across the Golden Gate.

"Fish," Ford said, shaking the fog out of his head. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Simonyi grunted. "I think so. I can't move, the chair's got me pinned."

"Here," Ford replied, placing the radio microphone into Simonyi's hand. "Call for help. I'm going after Zvolen."

Leaping from the car, Ford was almost run over by another vehicle attempting to go around them and through the adjacent toll booth. When he pulled his gun, however, the driver immediately became apologetic. As fast as he could, he ran onto the bridge in the direction he saw Zvolen running.

At this late hour, there was little traffic on the bridge and no pedestrians at all. The northbound side of the bridge, leaving San Francisco, was the side open to tourists. Zvolen was heading up the other side, where the utility vehicles and bridge workers traveled.

In moments, he was gone from Ford's sight. Confused, Ford kept running, trying to keep his eyes open. As he approached the first tower, however, Zvolen swung out with some sort of metal pipe, striking Ford in the arm. He grabbed Ford's jacket and dragged him over to the railing, then lifted him up so that Ford's head and shoulders were dangling off the bridge.

"You're finished," Ford said.

"Maybe the life I built here is," Zvolen said, "But I'll start somewhere else. At least I'll have the pleasure of killing you before I go."

With that, he lifted Ford up and dragged him over the railing. Desperate, Ford looked around and saw what he was looking for. A workman's cart, used to lift tools and equipment up and down the tower and barely the size of a laundry basket, dangled just to his right from a strong, steel cable. As Zvolen brought him out into empty space, Ford kicked off the railing and dove for the cable. The steel bandings bit into his hands, and he slid down its length, crashing into the cart below. The mechanism released and the cart dropped sickeningly for a good distance before the cable snapped taught again.

After a moment's hesitation, and a careful squint to make sure he wasn't looking out over the ocean, Ford opened his eyes. He was well below the deck of the bridge, but still within reach of the girders. He looked up and saw Zvolen, his head propped on one elbow, smiling down at him.

"Is that fear on your face, Lieutenant?" he yelled.

"Fear?" Ford yelled back. "This isn't the face of fear. This is the face of a forty-five year-old fat guy who just jogged one quarter of the Golden Gate."

Dragging up childhood playground memories, Ford started shifting his weight back and forth, until the cart was swinging like a pendulum. Eventually, he was close enough to a girder to grab on and pull himself over.

As he stepped off the cart and onto the framework of the bridge, he accidentally looked down. Although it was dark, he could still make out the lights of a freighter far below him, and the effect was dizzying. Clenching his eyes shut, he slid down until he was seated on the beam below him, and sat perfectly still until the vertigo was gone.

After a moment, he opened his eyes and started looking around for a way back onto the bridge. He knew it would be only moments before a squad car or two showed up, but he didn't want to have to wait under the bridge for that long. Even more disturbing was the thought that they might believe him deceased, having been chucked over the edge of the bridge. If someone did walk the span looking for him, they still might not hear him.

As he gingerly tread from one beam to another, making his way toward the far side of the bridge, he spied a small access panel leading up to the tourist photo spot. No sooner did he spot it, however, before a pale, slightly luminescent mist started seeping through it. As quickly as he could, he closed the distance, finishing the trip on a thin steel pipe, and arriving just as Zvolen's form solidified.

Ford reached into his jacket, pulled out a flask, and splashed the contents on Zvolen, who howled in agony.

"I'll be damned," Ford said. "Holy water. I guess not everything in the movies is bunk."

"That was cute," Zvolen said, his skin burning off in pale wisps of steam. He winced as he stepped back into the recess of a squared framework, but his eyes never left Ford's. "What do you do for an encore, van Helsing, pull a crucifix on me?"

"No," Ford replied, reaching over his shoulder and down into his jacket. When his hand came back up, it was grasping the hilt of the Japanese sword. "But I couldn't help but notice the last time we met that silver has a wonderful affect on your personality."

"I don't think you're going to come over here," Zvolen said, nodding at the shakey tubing Ford was standing on. "That piping's far too unstable."

"I'm not coming over there," Ford said. "But you're trapped. You have to go through me to get out of here, and if you come near me I'll kill you."

"Ever the hero," Zvolen replied. "You'd risk your own life to kill me?"

"I'm hoping I don't have to," Ford said. "The sun'll be up soon."

"Five or six hours," Zvolen laughed. "You think you can stand there, swaying back and forth in the wind, for six hours?"

"Probably not," Ford said. "But a rescue crew will be here any moment."

"Rescue crew?" Zvolen yelled, racked with guffaws. "As far as they're concerned you fell to your death. The squad car that was supposed to be with you came over the bridge in time to see me throw you over. They're not coming for you."

"We'll see," Ford said, raising the point of the sword until it was pointed right at Zvolen.


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