Night Skyy

by Rich Bullock

  Skyy wondered if she could rock multiple ear piercings like Ember did, but drew the line at the nostril ring. Not happening. If there were other body mods on the girl, they weren’t visible. Skyy pictured Ember as typical of those who listened to her midnight radio show.

  Proudly eighteen “and a twelfth”—although Skyy thought the girl looked a couple years younger—Ember lived nearby in a group transition home for kids who aged out of the foster system.

  “I’m on my own with nowhere to go,” she announced the first time they met. That wasn’t technically true, because Ember had flagged Skyy down on the street and asked for a ride to the mall, standing in front of the car until Skyy raised her hands in surrender. It seemed the teen always had somewhere to go.

  “What’s up?” Ember asked, sliding into the chair beside Skyy and checking out the computer screen. “Ooh, pretty lake.”

  Before Sky could react, Ember tapped the arrow key and Canon Truax’s photo filled the screen. The one of him walking out of the surf. The abs pic. The one she—

  “Holy cr—”

  “Language, young lady,” Skyy broke in, snapping her computer shut.

  Ember picked up Skyy’s diet soda and took a swig. “Who’s the hottie?”

  Skyy pushed away from the table and stood, abandoning her drink. Ember opened the laptop and clicked through the pictures of Canon.

  “Wow. Name?”

  “Canon.”

  “Oh, yeah, I see it here. Truax.” She clicked through his profile. “What’s he do?”

  “He says he’s a cop.” Skyy opened the refrigerator and got another Orange Crush.

  “A cop hottie?” Ember waggled a finger between Canon’s photo and Skyy and raised a brow.

  Skyy stared at the floor and shook her head. “He’s only a listener.” Ember was one of the few people on Earth who knew Skyy Delaney was Skyy D of Night Thoughts. She still wasn’t sure how Ember wrestled that information from her before they even got to the mall that day. The girl had a way.

  “There’s nothing on his profile about being a cop,” Ember said. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, not positive, but that’s what he said in his message.”

  Ember’s eyebrows rose along with her voice. “You’re messaging with him?”

  “Only once.” She hated it sounded defensive. “Yesterday morning.”

  “You never talk with anyone off-air.”

  “I know, but…” For some reason, Skyy told her all she knew about Canon. The girl was like being wired to a lie detector.

  Ember turned back to the screen, scrolling through the pictures again. “Where is this?”

  “Somewhere in California. He doesn’t say where.”

  “Ooh, a man of mystery.” Ember’s expression flashed from fun to guarded. “Are you going there?”

  “Well…”

  “Take me with you.”

  Skyy looked up. “What? Ember, I can’t just… I mean, I don’t even know where—”

  “You should go meet him. And take me.” Ember finished the drink and crinkled the can like she always did. She set it rocking on the table beside the computer as she rose. “I’m working till nine tonight. I’ve gotta go.” With that, she was out the door.

  Skyy sank onto the vacated chair, the room still alive with the teen’s energy. As tough as Ember came across, insecurity shimmered right below the surface. She had no family, no one to ground her, to protect her. At eighteen she was legally an adult, and everything she did in life from now on was totally up to her—alone. How could anyone survive at that age? The system wasn’t fair.

  Skyy knew the feeling. Although her brother, Vance, was still alive somewhere, she, too, felt alone in the world. And as bad as the fiasco with Loser Boyfriend turned out, at least Skyy hadn’t been by herself for the time it lasted. She had to admit, the breakup strengthened her. Still, there were times—especially when facing a new town or city—when the enormity of the universe shook her to the core. Her one-woman life raft drifting on the endless ocean could spring a leak any moment. Then what would she do?

  But regardless of Ember’s insistence, Skyy couldn’t just go chasing across the country after some guy she’d said literally one word to. She might hunt all over California and never find him. Or she might find him and then what?

  She could just ask him where he lived. That’s what Ember would do.

  No. She stood and paced the few feet of floor space in the room. That wasn’t happening. A few messages didn’t make for a relationship. She needed to concentrate on her work. Maybe message Truax more and get to know him before doing something ridiculous such as meeting him. And Ember needed to stay in the group home until she got established in a more permanent living situation.

  Despite her resolve, a few minutes later she found herself checking her phone for a message. She sighed, unsure if she was disgusted with herself for looking or disappointed there was nothing from the cop hottie.

  But there was a new email from Big Jerry at Black Owl. She opened and scanned it, then read the details again. In addition to her regular Tuesday show, he wanted her to add a second one “on Friday nights for all those lonely souls at home alone on date night.”

  She sat back, mulling it over. Big Jerry was assuming she, too, was one of those home alone on date night. That he was correct stung a little, but she brushed the feeling away.

  Two shows meant an increased workload, but also more income. Big Jerry had more sponsors interested than he could fit into her 60-minute slot. Since the basic foundation was already established, it wouldn’t be twice the effort. She had a growing list of indie bands asking her to feature their music; too many to squeeze in. Sage in Winter, an alternative band out of Toronto, wanted Skyy to debut their upcoming second album. That was two shows right there, especially if she interviewed Sage over Skype.

  She typed a reply to Big Jerry that she’d do it, starting the following Friday if that worked for him. His reply was almost instant.

  Hate to ask, but can you start this week instead of next? I have this Friday open with nothing to fill it.

  Friday was tomorrow. “Here we go,” she said, and typed her approval.

  Jerry sent a thumbs-up icon, then:

  And I need you to change your login to Black Owl again. Added some new security software.

  This was the third time in a month. Were others like Creeper breaking through? She had to ask.

  Something wrong?

  His reply came in several minutes later.

  Just taking precautions.

  Unease crept up Skyy’s neck, but she knew it was probably nothing. With all the data breaches at companies these days, Jerry was wise to take a proactive approach to security, but what a pain for all those who had to change their logins. Although most listeners used a guest access to post messages, thousands created profiles on the Black Owl server to make posting easier. It also allowed them to set up notifications for other shows and events besides Night Thoughts.

  Skyy logged into Black Owl and changed her credentials. Stalking was never far from her mind, which was exactly why she kept her identity locked down.

  With Canon Truax, she was stepping across her own hard line. She prayed it wasn’t a huge mistake.

  Ember’s shift began at 1:00 and lasted thirty-six hours—at least that’s how long it seemed. BCJ, short for Backpacking, Coffee, and Jeans, was the first store in what the owners planned to be a nationwide chain. So far it seemed to be working.

  She rolled a cart of blue jeans past teens and twenty-somethings lining the coffee bar and overflowing to the bistro tables scattered throughout the store. The idea was to draw them in with the social java vibe and pumping music, then get them seated next to enticing displays of hiking equipment and clothing. REI meets Starbucks. Unlike most other stores that prohibited food and drinks, the owners didn’t panic if an occasional spill stained some merchandise.

  Nearly every day, the head barista stopped the music and toasted someone’s birthday or
other special occasion, or offered samples of a new food item or drink. The customers appreciated the freewheeling, friendly atmosphere, and Ember recognized many regulars. How many clothing stores could boast that?

  It wasn’t a bad place to work, but refolding clothing discarded in the dressing rooms was getting old. Before working here, she never realized people were such slobs and had little respect for other people’s property.

  Elliot, the store manager, caught her eye from across the store. He pointed to his watch and jerked his head toward the restrooms. “Every two hours, rain or shine,” Elliot repeated at the beginning of every shift. As if the statement made any sense at all for a store inside a mall.

  Ember sighed and headed to fetch the janitorial cart. Three more cleanings before her shift ended. How sad was it she measured her work time by the number of sinks and toilets left to scrub?

  On her knees sloshing cleaner around a toilet bowl, she thought of the lake pictures on Skyy’s computer. Beautiful, serene, inspiring. What would it be like to wake up to that every day, to work in a mountain community with fresh, clean air bright with potential?

  She flushed the toilet, watching the blue bowl cleaner swirl down and glug-glug-glug at the bottom. The sound was beginning to haunt her dreams. She sat back on her heels and wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist.

  During her shift, she’d been thinking of Skyy, the lake, and the cop. Skyy would deny it all day long, but her eyes softened when she looked at Cop Hottie’s pic. To Ember’s admittedly limited knowledge, this was the first time Skyy had shown interest in someone since Loser Boyfriend. Skyy Delaney was a good person and deserved to be happy, and Ember determined to do everything possible to make that happen.

  “Almost through in here, Ember?” Elliot said, rapping his knuckles on the open stall door.

  “Two more to go,” she said, looking up at him. “You want to finish them for me?”

  Elliot laughed. “That’s why I hired you. Good training for life.”

  Maybe so. Life is stinky and full of crap. Get used to it. True so far.

  “Also, one of our valued customers just made a mess of the women’s T-shirt display table,” Elliot said.

  Her new exciting project. He smiled at Ember as he left. Or was it a smirk?

  Before moving to the next stall, she spritzed some pine air freshener in the bowl, sure it smelled nothing like the real thing at Cop Hottie’s lake.

  Ember needed to convince Skyy to search for Canon Truax—and take her along.

  Chapter 4

  “Come on, Truax, get that last one up here. You’re wasting my time.”

  Canon wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and stared up at his commanding officer on the road thirty feet above. The bundle of marijuana on his shoulder weighed over twenty pounds. Not that much, but it was bulky and this was his fourth trip up the gully’s steep fifty-foot slope of loose rock.

  “You want it faster, cap? How about you throw down a line and pull it up yourself? Then you can spend the rest of the day cooling it at Starbucks.”

  Tom Olenski laughed and walked away from the edge, leaving Canon to the grunt work. After all, he was the new guy. Even though he wasn’t a rookie, he was on loan and new to the unit. Part of his cross-department training, his Los Angeles Police Department boss said.

  He dug his boots into the shifting rock and continued his struggle. This wasn’t the training he imagined.

  A homeowner living in a sparsely populated area a mile outside of Portrero, California, less than a mile from the Mexican border, reported the four bundles of marijuana. Loud thuds during the night brought the lady out at dawn with her two Dobermans and a Smith & Wesson .357 magnum.

  The most likely scenario was the packages detached prematurely from an ultralight aircraft flown across the border. The crafts were known to carry up to ten of the bales strapped to the undercarriage. The routine was to drop them in a predetermined area for pickup by ground contacts. GPS tracking chips made finding the drugs in the dark ridiculously simple. No lights required.

  Canon reached the top, weighed the marijuana on a portable scale, then tossed it into the back of their SUV with the others. They were worth about $40,000 on the street, and somebody would be in big trouble over the loss. That made him happy.

  He removed his sweat-stained uniform shirt, wetted a towel with water from their Igloo cooler, and wiped his head and neck. According to meteorologists, the whole Southwest was experiencing significantly higher than normal temperatures. He glanced up at the noon sun, convinced.

  If nothing came up later today, he was heading for the lake this evening for his three days off. With luck, he’d be there before midnight. The forecast low for tonight was 35 degrees. It sounded perfect.

  While Olenski radioed in the tally of their find, Canon checked his phone. It was barely a year old, but the glass had cracked on one corner, and the foggy lower half didn’t clear when he wiped it on his pants. As his previous partner liked to say, police work was murder on phones. He spotted the message from Skyy D and tapped it. Two words.

  Hi. - Skyy

  “Well, I’ll be,” he said, wishing there were more, but grinning that it was there at all.

  “You get some good news, Truax?” the captain said, replacing the mic in its holder.

  That remained to be seen. But he was hopeful.

  It was nearly 2:00 a.m. when Skyy finished her second shower of the day and dried off. The sheets were calling, but she leaned over to read the message that lit up her phone on the sink counter. She had set up her phone to alert her if she received a Black Owl message from select people.

  Picked up 85 lbs of marijuana this morning. Good day. - Canon

  She shook her head at his choice of response to her first contact. Sounded typical for a cop. Most cops she’d met were stoic and super serious. Okay, other than one local cop here and a state trooper in Nebraska—who both issued her speeding tickets—she hadn’t personally met that many. But her impression was that law enforcement types were all in perpetual bad moods.

  Did Canon Truax have a sense of humor? He had mentioned taking her fishing.

  Hmm. That could be a topic for Friday’s show. She typed into her notes app: Do you know any cops with a sense of humor?

  The question pressed whether she should respond right away or wait a few hours. Her fingers decided on their own.

  “Hope you’re not keeping it all for yourself.” - Skyy

  After she sent it, she realized it sounded like she hoped he would share with her. That was the furthest thing from her mind. Her opposition to drugs was a frequent message on her shows, and listeners were quick to argue that pot was harmless. But she’d seen the destruction and tragedy firsthand with her parents and her brother. Living through that had not been fun. Time to revisit the topic.

  Drug bust down by the border. Hot nasty business. Took a few hours to get up to the lake where it’s near freezing tonight. Would have sent earlier, but no texting or messaging while driving. :-). Hitting the sack. - Canon

  GNight. - Skyy

  He was at the lake. Freezing. It sounded so good. She flapped her towel to dispel the humid air in the cubicle bathroom. Even though middle of the night, it was still in the high 70s outside. She hung up the towel, convinced all those people who piously said, “…but it’s a dry heat…” were delusional.

  After pulling on sleep shorts and a sleeveless top, she opened her MacBook. She set Google Earth to outline bodies of water, then scanned for lakes “a few hours” from California’s southern border.

  What did he mean by few? Four? Eight? There were zillions of possibilities. Well not that many, but it was still daunting when you added all the reservoirs. Big Bear Lake and Lake Arrowhead might be far enough away, especially with traffic around L.A. She wished she had a clue where Canon had grown up.

  The only piece of advice Skyy remembered from her mother popped into her head.

  “Never chase a man.”

  Skyy
came home from school one day and said she liked a boy in her sixth-grade class. Mom, slumped on the sofa in a hazy high, had mumbled those words. Two weeks later, their family imploded. Skyy and her brother were whisked away to an aunt and uncle they’d met only once.

  What if that boy in sixth grade had been The One? She’d thought of him often, a vague outline of a skinny, dark-haired guy. That was all—even his name lost in the on-off mayhem that became her next seven years. Skyy opened her notes application and added more to the one she’d started on the phone.

  Have you ever regretted not pursuing someone who could be The One? How do you know if someone is The One? Is there more than one? Like ten or twenty?

  She stared at the letters on the screen, fingers hovering as she waited for more thoughts to flow. Was that enough? Often a simple question would fill the show, especially if she promoted it a day or two ahead of time. Two shows a week gave her more opportunities to do that.

  Finally, she let her hands fall to her lap, realizing further questions were her own, and probably too personal to share. If she was being honest, one thing had changed for her in the last several weeks: when she thought about The One, she no longer pictured the boy in sixth grade.

  Google Earth and its outlined bodies of water stared back.

  You could just ask him.

  Yeah, right. Like he would tell her.

  She rose from the table and went to dry her hair.

  Chapter 5

  Canon woke at seven o’clock on Friday morning, remaining under the warm covers while he breathed in the cabin’s woodsy scent. Although he concentrated, he couldn’t quite hear the lake lapping at the shore, but it was there, familiar and waiting, as it had been throughout his childhood.