by Robbi McCoy
She wiped her eyes and tried to compose herself as she heard the shrill whistle of a teakettle from the kitchen.
CHAPTER FORTY
She could hear a siren somewhere in the distance.
As she turned the corner into an alley between brick apartment buildings, she saw Needham running up ahead. Molina fired again, aiming low, grazing Needham’s leg. He went down with a cry of pain, and Molina was on him fast, slamming him facedown in the street, a knee in his back. Stef stood back covering him as Molina pulled out his cuffs.
Out of nowhere, somebody jumped her, knocking her sideways. She lost her balance, falling to the ground. Her attacker fell on top of her. She pushed his face back as hard as she could with her left hand while her right held fast to her gun. His hand clamped around her right wrist, then his fingers grabbed hers, trying to pry them off her gun as she managed to get her index finger on the trigger, struggling to aim the gun at him before he could tear it from her grasp.
She looked to the side to see if Molina was coming to her aid. He was running toward her. He fired his gun, startling the assailant just long enough for Stef to turn her gun toward his chest. His grip on her wrist retightened and he slammed her arm down hard on the ground just as she squeezed the trigger. The gun went off like a thunderclap, deafening her. Complete silence followed.
She watched the bullet coursing toward Molina, floating straight and slow, so slow she could have picked it out of the air if she’d been standing beside it. Molina didn’t see it. She tried to yell at him, but her tongue was like stone. The bullet sailed into his forehead. He looked confused, reeling backward. Blood ran down his face, into his eyes, dripping from the end of his nose. His gun fell from his hand, hitting the ground noiselessly. He fell to his knees.
Stef’s gun went off two more times without making a sound. Though the face of the man looming over her convulsed in agony, his eyes shut tight, his mouth open as if he were crying out, she heard nothing. He rolled off her into the street, clutching his abdomen, curled into the fetal position.
Molina lay in the alley, his eyes staring at her with mild confusion. She could suddenly hear again, the sound of traffic, sirens closing fast. She ran to Molina and knelt beside him, cradling his head in her arms.
“Hang on, Joe,” she urged. “You’re gonna make it.”
He smiled ironically. “I’m not,” he choked. “But you are. You’re gonna make it, Stephanie.”
She caressed his cool cheek. “You never called me Stephanie before. Why are you calling me Stephanie?”
“It’s your name. It’s a nice name. You should use it. It makes you seem softer.”
“Why would I wanna seem softer?”
He smiled gently and whispered. “Give somebody a chance to love you.” He closed his eyes, still smiling serenely. She sat with his head in her lap, looking down at him. He looked so young and innocent, like a small boy who’d fallen asleep in his mother’s arms. There was a round black mark on his forehead, but no blood. His face was clean and smooth and tranquil.
“Stef,” she heard behind her. She turned her head to look.
Jackie stood there in a white smock holding a hypodermic needle.
“What are you doing here?” Stef asked, panicked. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I need to give you a shot,” Jackie said, taking hold of her arm.
“What is it?”
“Telazol.”
“That’s what you gave Deuce.”
“Right.” Jackie pushed the needle through her skin. “It’ll help with the pain.”
***
Stef awoke to Deuce licking her hand. As she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, she realized she’d never had that particular version of this nightmare before. It hadn’t been as bad as most of them. She wasn’t sweating. Her pulse rate was normal.
She ran her hand over Deuce’s head, listening to the waves lapping at the sides of the hull through the open window. She lay there for several minutes, trying to clear her mind.
Finally, she rolled onto her side to face Deuce. “What should we do today?”
He wagged his tail and hopped on his front paws with the joy of being spoken to.
“We could go swimming. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? We could go fishing.”
Deuce barked in an attempt to hold up his end of the conversation. Stef got up and stretched, went through her morning routine to the gentle rocking of the craft, checking in the bathroom mirror to see if yesterday’s crying jag had left any evidence. She looked okay. Once she got away from Mrs. Avila, it was all over. But what a strange afternoon that had been.
She made coffee and fed Deuce, then took her place at the helm. After one nearly full day of travel, she was gaining confidence as the skipper of Mudbug. She was ready to try some of the out-of-the-way avenues. She consulted the map she’d bought from Rudy to choose a destination. Whenever she looked at that map, her eyes drifted involuntarily to Stillwater Bay, that little inlet by the Sacramento River that never seemed very far away from any Delta destination. She had to make an effort to look away. She had a feeling that if she threw her knife at this map, it would land right there every time.
“Let’s head into Steamboat Slough,” she told Deuce. “It’s just up the way. Maybe we can catch us a big old striper for lunch. If not, according to the map, there’s a store a little further on at Snug Harbor. The store might be a safer bet anyway.”
The morning was mild and the sun lit up the trees on the shoreline with a bright, slanted light that made them glow all colors of green. Along the north shore were several houses built on stilts to bring them up to levee height, giving the residents a view of the river. Stretching ahead, there were no houses on either bank. Just a wide open path.
When you stop somewhere, Marcus had advised, put her in a place where you can just pull straight out. The easiest thing is to go forward. Until it’s second nature, avoid tight turns. So far, she’d been able to do that.
Stef put her coffee mug in the cup holder and shifted into gear. Just off the port bow, she thought she saw an animal pop up a rounded head, then dive back under. Sea lion? Sea otter? Did sea otters come this far inland? Jackie would know that, she thought. Then she mentally berated herself for thinking again about Jackie. She couldn’t get Jackie off her mind, either her conscious or subconscious minds, apparently. She wanted to go back to Stillwater Bay and sweep Jackie into her arms and never stop kissing her. The hardest thing about resisting that urge was knowing how joyfully Jackie would welcome her back. In time, that wouldn’t be true, but right now, Stef had no doubt.
A mile into Steamboat Slough, Stef chose a spot to pull to the side, out of the way of ski boats, and try her luck at fishing. She’d already picked out a pole from Compton’s old equipment, so she baited a hook and tossed the line overboard, leaning the pole against the deck railing. Then she sat next to it with her guitar, Deuce lying beside her, and strummed a few soulful tunes.
Her mind drifted to the near disaster of Sunday night. If she hadn’t returned to the bait shop, what would have happened? Rudy and his gun could have gotten him killed. Could have gotten them both killed. That Joey Cahill seemed like a tough little shit. He wouldn’t have thought twice about it. She shuddered at the possibility. Fortunately, she had been there. Nobody was killed. Even Eddie would be okay. Stef remembered how good she felt after that incident. It reminded her of how she used to feel, a few months ago, when her life was on track and what she did mattered.
Thank you for saving our lives, Ida had said.
Today she was thinking about lives lost and lives saved. She’d saved lives before. Probably a lot of lives she’d never even know about. And taken a couple. That was the risk, the reality of protecting the public. Lives were at risk. Your own life was at risk. You knew it and you lived with it. Molina had known it. They used to talk about it. You trusted your life to your partner. She knew there were times he had saved her life. And she had saved his. Except the last time.
Molina hadn’t really thought he was indestructible. “If I get killed,” he’d said on more than one occasion. He’d finish that thought with some practical request, like making her promise to take Deuce. Those conversations usually occurred over a beer in a bar. When he got really serious, he’d call her “Stef.” Most of the time he called her “Byers.” Never “Stephanie.” Only her mother called her that. It was yet another odd thing about this morning’s version of her usual nightmare.
A ski boat sped past on the starboard side, jostling Stef to attention. The fishing pole still stood motionless. She realized she had no idea how long it was supposed to take to catch a fish.
“What kind of music do you think fish like?” she asked Deuce. “Maybe hillbilly music? I could play a little ‘Cotton-Eyed Joe.’”
She played one verse, but the music reminded her so much of Jackie and her banjo, she stopped playing and put the guitar aside. Her mind returned to the odd events of the day before, of how they had informed her conscious thoughts and even her dreams ever since.
Mrs. Avila, as expected, had listened and said very little. One thing she did say, though, had stayed with Stef. “You haven’t really given this Jackie a chance, have you? You decided what was best for her. You didn’t let her decide.”
“Because I know how I am now,” Stef had said. “She’s so sweet and happy. I don’t want to drag her down.”
“Did you ever think she might be strong enough to pull you up?”
Stef had been thinking about that ever since, about how she might have answered Mrs. Avila’s question.
Jackie was strong. She knew who she was. She knew what she wanted. She was smart and resourceful. In the midst of a crisis, she was sensible and effective. Yet somehow Stef had been thinking of her as someone who needed to be protected from the big, bad world. The benign environment of an insular Delta town had made her seem unequipped for the harsh realities of life. As if she would crumble when presented with a serious challenge. But there was no evidence of that. In fact, it was Stef who had crumbled under pressure. It was Stef who had lost her way and her sense of self.
She looked across the shimmering water, feeling the heat of the rising sun on her back. “Is this what life on the river is going to be like?” she asked herself. “Having my mind wander all day, playing reruns and eating away at itself? Not to mention talking to myself.”
She heard her phone vibrate against the wooden table beside her chair. She picked it up, thinking it might be her mother, but the name flashing on the display was “Jackie.” She froze, then nearly answered, but decided to wait for a message, a heartfelt message she could easily imagine: I miss you, Stef. Please come back. Give us a chance. I love you so much.
When the message was done recording, she immediately called into voice mail, anxious to hear Jackie’s voice. But her words were totally unexpected.
“A guy goes to a hospital to visit his buddy who’s just gotten back from a hunting trip that went horribly wrong. The buddy asks how it happened. The hunter says he ran into an angry female bear with cubs. The bear attacked him. The hunter’s dog fought off the bear, dragged the man to a safe location, then ran for help. ‘Wow, that’s a smart dog!’ the buddy says. ‘Oh, he’s not so smart,’ replies the hunter. ‘He came back with a vet.’”
Stef stared at her phone in confusion. She heard Jackie’s voice again as the message continued.
“Did you laugh?” she asked. “I hope you did. I’ll make you laugh every day, even if I have to resort to stupid jokes. And that’s how we’ll do it.”
Stef stared at her phone again, stunned for a second, then she burst out laughing. Deuce approached her chair and she reached over to acknowledge him with a pat. “That Jackie is a pretty special girl, isn’t she? She’s a keeper, don’t you think?”
Still smiling, she stood up and reeled in her line, finding a bare hook at the end.
“Hey! I wonder how long it’s been like that? The heck with this!” She leaned the rod against the side of the cabin. “What do you say we chart a course for home, boy, and get ourselves a big old slice of chocolate cake? Or at least a few strips of Ida’s World-Famous Beef Jerky.”
Deuce wagged his tail in response, looking up at her expectantly.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
As Jackie pulled up in front of the bait shop, she was surprised to see Rosa’s Churrascaria at the edge of the parking lot in its usual spot. The food truck wasn’t usually here on a Wednesday. They did better lunch business downtown on weekdays. She waved to Ben, and he acknowledged her with a nod as he handed an order through the window. Maybe she’d grab a lunch plate before she went back to the office, she decided.
She walked into the shop where her father sat at the checkstand reading the newspaper, his reading glasses halfway down his nose. He looked up at the sound of the chime and smiled.
“Hi, Dad,” she said. “What’s Rosa doing here on a Wednesday?”
Suddenly her mother appeared from the back room, cradling a jar of jerky in her arms and wearing a pair of denim cut-offs with frayed legs and red paisley patches sewn in an apparent random pattern. “They’re here?” she asked, her face lit up with excitement. She scurried toward the door, leaving Jackie bewildered and alarmed.
“Mom!” Jackie called, running out after her, fearing a rerun of the earlier battle of parking lot dominion. Or worse, she thought, recalling Rosa’s threat to move to San Diego.
Ida ignored her and continued toward the truck. She reached up and placed her jar on the edge of the gleaming stainless steel counter under the customer window. Nobody was there at the moment, and Jackie realized she had time to swoop in and correct her mother’s folly before it was detected. She sprang toward the truck and snatched the jar off the counter.
“What are you doing?” her mother asked with a frown.
Ida grabbed for the jar, clamping her hands on either side of it. Jackie held on and a tug of war ensued just as Rosa appeared, coming around the back of the truck. Realizing it was too late, Jackie let go of the jar and allowed it to retreat into the protective embrace of her mother.
“Is that it?” Rosa asked, seeming strangely unruffled.
Ida threw one last look of consternation at Jackie before opening the jar and tipping it toward Rosa. She reached in and took a piece, then bit it and chewed for several seconds, a look of serious concentration on her face. Jackie realized she had no idea what was going on here.
“Yes, yes,” Rosa pronounced thoughtfully. “I think you’ve got it now. The white peppercorn makes all the difference. Cumin level is just right. Nice and smoky.”
Ida broke out in a smile of satisfaction and offered the jar to Jackie, who took a strip of jerky and tasted a bite while Rosa ate some more of her sample. This wasn’t the usual flavor. Nor was it the papaya fiasco.
“What is this?” Jackie asked.
“Tempero baiano,” Rosa answered. “A classic Brazilian spice mix. You’ve tasted it before on our shrimp. My version anyway. This is Ida’s version.”
“Is it a go?” Ida asked hopefully.
Rosa nodded and held up a thumb, the last of her jerky in her mouth. Ida slid her jar onto one side of the shelf as Ben appeared in the window and took a piece for himself.
“It’s authentic!” pronounced Rosa. She reached out to shake Ida’s hand, sealing their apparent new b
usiness arrangement. “But, remember, Ida, if sales are flat after three months, it comes off.”
“Oh, no worries,” Ida said, with a carefree wave of her hand. She started back toward the door of the shop. “That’ll bring so many customers to your taco truck, you’ll have to buy another truck.”
Rosa opened her mouth to retort, but Ida had her back to them and was already on her way inside. Rosa turned to Jackie and shrugged in resignation.
“It’s pretty good,” Jackie said.
“It’s fantastic,” Ben interjected. “Fantastic that we found a compromise, I mean, but the jerky’s not bad either.”
“No, not bad,” Rosa conceded. “It was your friend’s idea, Jackie. What she said got me thinking about a Brazilian version, and Ida was all for it.”
Jackie finished the jerky, then returned to the shop. Her mother was out of sight in the back room.
“Any word from Stef?” Rudy asked.
Jackie shook her head.
“Sorry.” He folded his paper and took off his reading glasses. “Your mother’s started this big campaign to shower her with fame and fortune. In Stillwater style, that is. She’s been spreading the word all over town about Stef’s brave deeds. How she brought down a sturgeon poacher and caught the notorious Stillwater Bay robbers and saved our lives. She’s turned her into a living legend. A real hero.”
“I’m not surprised. Mom just loves to talk, and now she has something interesting to talk about.”
“That’s not the whole of it, though. She’s trying to create a sort of siren song to lure Stef back. She’s got the mayor convinced that Stef deserves a medal. And the key to the city.”
“She’s doing that for me?” Jackie asked, incredulous.
He nodded. “She’s even convinced Chief Schuller it’s time to retire. He’s putting in his paperwork this week and putting Hartley forward as his successor. By August, the town will be ready to hire its new cop.”