The Catalina Cabal

by Bill Thesken

  They have to be able to outrun the drug smugglers, or at least keep pace with them.

  Machine gun turret mounts on the front and back of the boat, able to roll over completely and self-right. The kind of boat I’d like to have someday.

  Soft fenders run the full length of their boat so they can come alongside another boat on the high seas, without damaging the hull, and quickly board that vessel. Two crewmen reached out with tender hooks and brought our boats together.

  “Permission to come aboard sir,” a sharply dressed officer asked and I waved him on. He was carrying a clipboard and a waterproof bag the size of an attaché case.

  Lieutenant Myles Johnson read his name tag. We shook hands and I brought him forward to the bungeed blankets. He pulled the cover down and looked for a moment at her face before covering her again. He let out a sigh while shaking his head.

  I guess he never got used to the sight either.

  I pointed to her life vest. “She has an ID in a bag with a big wad of money stuffed right under here. It was poking out when I pulled her in, so I took a look.”

  I realized then that it was evidence and I shouldn’t have touched it with my bare fingers.

  He used a pen from his pocket to lift the edge of the vest. When he confirmed the bag was there, he pulled out a pair of latex gloves from his front pocket, slid them on, and pulled out the bag. He opened it and looked at the driver’s license, the blue Social Security card, and the stack of money, then re-sealed it and put it in the waterproof bag that he carried on-board.

  “I’m not a doctor,” he said in a low voice, “but I’m guessing she’s been in the water for a couple of days.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. I didn’t want to risk waiting for you guys to get here, so I brought her on board.”

  “You did the right thing. Thank you.”

  Rather than try to transfer the body at sea, we decided it would be best if we both docked at Two Harbors and from there they would take charge of the deceased.

  Lt. Johnson would ride with us and interview us at the same time.

  Introductions were made and hands shaken again.

  “Lieutenant Myles Johnson, ma’am, sir.”

  “Amber Clark.”

  “Badger Thompson.”

  He eyed me closer, and repeated it. “Badger, you mean like the animal?”

  I nodded, “It’s a long story.”

  I started up the engine and we got under way, heading east in the lee of the island towards Two Harbors, with the cutter leading the way five boat lengths in front of us.

  He sat down on the leeward side of the nook and started writing. “Sorry, this is a formality. I’ll need your full names, addresses, phone numbers, ship registration, nautical position where the body was found, sea conditions, and any other details you can think of that might help us in our investigation.”

  He went through the list and we answered everything to the best of our knowledge, and when he was satisfied that he’d gleaned all the info he could get out of us, we were nearly at Two Harbors.

  “What happens next?” I asked him.

  “We’ll transport the body back to Avalon and turn it over to the police department. This is their jurisdiction, we are only assisting in this recovery operation. The body will be taken to the mortuary and they’ll put it on ice until the next of kin can be notified. They’ll probably have an autopsy due to the circumstances. They have procedures set in place since people die over here all the time. Mostly from old age, rarely from drowning. The mortuary can assist with cremation, burial, or transport the body back to the mainland for burial there. It’s up to the family.”

  “Anyone been reported missing at sea lately? Any boats missing?”

  He shook his head. “None that we’re aware of. It’s been a pretty slow couple of days actually. This is our first search and rescue or recovery in three days. We were actually getting ready to do a drill just to keep the crew sharp when we got your call.”

  “Strange that she would be out here with no one reporting her missing,” said Amber

  “Yes, that is strange,” he said.

  He hesitated for a minute, looking at Amber, seemingly deciding whether he should continue.

  “But it’s not the first time we’ve seen this. About two years ago an old retired couple cruising on their boat out of Long Beach found a body in the same general location. An oriental man in his mid-thirties, wearing a wetsuit and a life vest. No one reported him missing and they never found out who he was. Maybe we’ll get lucky with this woman and find out what she was doing out there from her next of kin.”

  “I sure would like to know,” I said. “If only because I’m the one who found her. I feel responsible in a way, and I can’t have question marks hanging over my head. Makes it hard to sleep at night.”

  I followed the Coast Guard ship into the harbor and parked right behind it on the long wooden jetty. They put her in a black plastic body bag, with blankets and all, zipped it up, carried her on board, and stowed her in a cabinet at the back.

  There was a stain where she’d been lying on the deck and two of the Coast Guard sailors jumped on board and scrubbed it clean with scrub brushes and a hose from the dock. Soon there was no sign that she’d ever been there.

  “Well it looks like you’re ship shape and ready to go. Thanks for all your help in this recovery. We’d better get back to Avalon right away,” said the Lt. and shook each of our hands again. “We’ll be in contact if we need additional information, and I’ll let you know if we find out anything about what she was doing out there, with the family’s permission of course.”

  “Thanks, I’d appreciate that,” I said.

  He handed me his business card with the official seal of the Coast Guard and his cell phone and e-mail address. “You can contact me anytime. I’m attached to this post for the next six months. Hopefully we’ll have closure within that time frame.”

  We watched their boat pull out of the harbor, slowly at first. When it was past the break wall it went into high gear and roared off down the coast to Avalon.

  The curious crowd that had gathered around the pier to watch had filtered away, leaving us alone.

  “What do you want to do now?” I asked Amber. “Do you want to stay here for the night, it’s a pretty nice little harbor, or sail back to Avalon?”

  She seemed in a daze, her eyes were glazed over as she watched the Coast Guard boat disappear out of sight, and then sighed heavily before replying. “I definitely do not want to spend the night in Avalon, not tonight anyways. Not with that body in the morgue on the hill. Kind of freaks me out to be honest. I think I just want to go home. I’m afraid I’m going to have a nightmare over this, and if so I’d rather be in my own house tonight.”

  I wanted to poke her in the ribs, ruffle up her hair, and loosen her up a bit. Lighten her mood, but thought better of it and got the boat ready for the open sea. I coiled the ropes, started the engine, and motored out of the harbor. I set the sails outside the break wall.

  It was a quiet journey home. We sailed on a broad reach all the way over to Dana Point on a northwest wind, riding downwind, down swell all the way like a blue and white wind wave highway. The steady rocking of the hull became mesmerizing. Amber went forward into the berth, fell asleep an hour into the journey, and didn’t wake up until I winched down the sails and started the engine to pull into the harbor as the sun set on the horizon.

  We drove up the hill to our little house. As I tucked her into bed she pulled the covers far over her head to hide from the night.

  3.

  2575 Bayshore Avenue in Long Beach. The address stuck in my mind as I sat at the table having breakfast with Amber, and I could see clearly in my mind’s eye the driver’s license with the picture of the local Chinese girl from L.A. It was the last thing I thought about before I went to sleep last night and the first thing I thought about when I woke up this morning. I couldn’t shake it out of my mind.

  It was only yes
terday that we’d found her in the water, and yet it seemed like a year ago. In some ways it didn’t even seem real.

  “How’d you sleep?” I asked Amber as I took a sip of coffee and watched her carefully over the edge of the cup. I wanted to be gentle with her since she’d gotten so shaken up over the incident.

  She held out her hand and wobbled it. “So-so I guess. I did a lot of tossing and turning and I don’t even know if I actually slept or not to tell you truth. I don’t remember having any bad dreams so that’s a good thing. How about you, did you sleep okay?”

  I wobbled my hand also. “I slept great except for the tossing and turning, you wacked me in the face a couple of times but I survived.”

  She brought her hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry!”

  “Just kidding, sugar. Your tossing and turning is like a butterfly fluttering it’s wings on a rainbow covered cloud, how’s that?”

  She kissed me on the top of my head and took away the plates. “I’m heading to work early today and it’s a good thing that we came back yesterday after all. One of the other nurses called in sick so I can pick up some extra hours. What are you planning today?”

  I was staring blankly out the window and still thinking about the dead girl’s driver’s license.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I said, still staring out the window.

  But I was sure. I was heading up the coast to Belmont Shores. I just didn’t want to tell Amber where I was going. I didn’t want to stir things up, and bring up bad memories. She seemed to be in good spirits and looking forward to work, and since she wanted to forget about finding Mei Young Lee, I kept my plans quiet. Some things are better left unsaid.

  “You could always come to the hospital and see where I work, look at the newborn babies in the maternity ward. ”

  “Me, in a hospital? Not a chance. I wouldn’t go near a hospital if my life depended on it. Sure, I like the people that work in hospitals, the doctors, nurses, especially you. I just don’t like the inside of the buildings, the lights, the walls, the quiet, it creeps me out, too antiseptic. Even walking down a hallway seems like a morgue.”

  “You make it sound terrible.”

  “Do you like your new hospital?”

  “It’s okay, the people are nice, but the building is kind of old. The elevators need repair and stick mid-floor sometimes.”

  “See? Hospitals are dangerous.”

  She brought the coffee pot, filled my cup, and patted me on the head. “Poor little scaredy-cat.”

  When I looked back over to the kitchen, she was rinsing the dishes in the sink. Tawny silk brown hair pulled tight in a French bun, her nursing uniform taught and snug on the edges, inviting curves.

  I smiled at my good fortune.

  “You know, you’re looking pretty good in that nursing uniform right about now. Maybe you should go to work a little later and we can lounge around the house for a while. Talk about things.”

  “Nice try sailor. I’ll have to take a rain check on that. Try me again in two days?”

  I shook my head in dismay. Timing was everything, and this time I was out of luck.

  “Well, in that case I think I’ll take a ride on the chopper. Get some fresh air, then come back and work on one of the boats.”

  I’d been on the water for the past two days and it was always good to mix it up a bit and put some rubber on the road.

  And there was a house I needed to see.

  2575 Bayshore Avenue: why were you in the water with ten thousand in cash?

  I kissed Amber goodbye, put on my boots and leather jacket and went downstairs to the garage. I fired up the chopper and revved the engine a couple of times. It sounded great. The seismic pop of the pistons pulsing on my skin and shaking my bones down to my boots. Deep throated, loud, and mean everyone would hear me coming from a long way away.

  Some people hated the sound of a chopper.

  I loved it, and revved the engine one more time before pulling the clutch and putting it in gear.

  Pacific Coast Highway winds along the coast through small and big towns all the way from the border of San Diego to the top of the state. It’s a blast to ride a motorcycle on it, especially a double banger.

  I revved the engine by the basketball courts in Laguna Beach and got some worried looks from blue haired old ladies and grins from the local beach bums. I blasted the sound barrier in Huntington Beach in front of the pier, and before I knew it I was in Long Beach pulling into Belmont Shores, pride of the coast.

  I parked the bike on the opposite side of the street from 2575 and stretched my legs and neck, reached out and cracked my knuckles. It had taken an hour to travel twenty-five miles and I felt great.

  There was an on-shore west wind blowing from the ocean just two hundred yards away and the air was fragrant with the heavy smell of salt water, sun tan lotion, and asphalt. The beaches were packed with day trippers, surfers and bikinis, while the newly paved roadways melted under the hot California sun.

  The houses were small, every shape and color, and scrunched tight together. But nearly all of them are in perfect condition: newly painted, windows sparkling. This is a bedroom community on the edge of Los Angeles, highly sought after due to its beachside location, and very pricey.

  I don’t know what I expected to find. A black wreath on the door. Mourning relatives streaming into the house wearing black. A flag at half-mast.

  The neighbor across the street was in his garage checking me out with one eye, while polishing the fender of a large silver truck. It looked like a four car garage and was bigger than most others on the block, with a red Ferrari, a couple of dirt bikes and three jet skis. He also had a street bike parked in the back of the garage, the chrome gleaming even in the shade. I wondered if he ever rode it. There must have been some serious cash in his back pocket with all the expensive toys.

  The guy was a real sports vehicle junkie. He was gazing out from the cool shadows, trying to determine if I’m a friend or foe, dressed as I am, in a leather jacket on a chopper.

  I gave him a polite wave, and he waved back and then put down his towel, wiped his hands on his pants and started across the street.

  He was a tough looking guy, big and muscle bound, short cropped hair, walking with a swagger that told me he’s trained in some sort of martial arts. A lot of people are these days, but this is one son of a bitch I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. He sees my eyes and smiles to show that he means no trouble.

  “Nice bike,” he says. “Is that an Eighty-Eight?”

  I nod my head, he got the engine size right, eighty-eight cubic inches of firepower. “Yep, Twin Cam eighty-eight. Kind of old, but still kicking it down the road.”

  “That engine’s bad ass,” he said. “I had one for a lot of years and just traded up to the new Twin Cam ninety-six. They’re both excellent motors.”

  “You ride?”

  “Every chance I get. Once a year we get a bunch of guys together and do a thousand-mile loop, up to the Oregon border, through all the woods and back roads.”

  “Nice neighborhood here, I’ll bet some of these house are worth about what, a million bucks?”

  “Try two million and change for the cheapest one,” he said. “But the taxes will kill you. Are you looking for a place to buy, thinking about moving into the neighborhood?”

  I could tell he was trying to find out what I was doing here without really asking so I saved him the trouble and got right to the point.

  “A friend of mine lives in that house,” and I pointed to the house three doors down from his. “Chinese girl, Mei Young Lee.”

  His face scrunched up, puzzled. “How long ago?”

  “I don’t know, like yesterday.”

  “That house?” He pointed directly at it. “You sure you got the right address?”

  “Pretty sure, 2575 Bayshore Avenue.”

  “There’s no Chinese girl at that house.”

  The hackles on the back of my neck stood up and I tried to stay calm
and not show my inner alarm with my body language. Something was wrong here, I could feel it. My guard went up.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s been a couple of years since I saw her, maybe she moved, but that was the address she gave me, I’m sure of it.”

  He shook his head. “Look buddy, I’ve lived here twenty five years and there’s never been a Chinese girl living at that house as long as I’ve been here. The Andersons live there now, they bought the place ten years ago, check it out, here come some of their kids.”

  And right on cue two blond toe-headed pre-teen boys raced up the street from the beach barefooted, hand-fighting to get to the porch first, and careened through the screen door of the house and slammed it behind them, yelling for their Mom to make them some food.

  “Before that it was the Calvin’s, and they definitely weren’t Chinese either.”

  He was looking sideways at me now, sizing me up.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I’ve never actually been here. She just gave me the address and said to stop by if I was ever in town. Maybe I got the wrong address, my mistake.”

  “Maybe you got the wrong street.”

  “This is Bayshore Avenue right?”

  “Yes, but there’s a Bayview Avenue a couple of blocks over. People always get them mixed up. Bayview, Bayshore, they sound pretty much the same.”

  Not a chance I thought. It was Bayshore on the license, no doubt about it, I don’t make mistakes like that and I know what I saw, but I didn’t want to argue with this guy. I found out what I needed to know.

  I nodded my head in agreement, deep in thought, and then slapped the side of my skull with my hand. “I’m an idiot. You know you’re right. It was Bayview, not Bayshore.” I laughed at my mistake. “Maybe riding the bike up here rattled something loose up here.” I grinned and pointed to my head. “Anyway it was nice to talk bikes with you.”

  He laughed along with me. “You know what they say, when you get older and start getting screws loose, it’s time to start carrying a wrench.”

  I pointed at him and said, “You know I think you’re right.”