by S. W. Lauden
“I don’t know, Junior. I’ve lived through every second of my life and I still don’t know how I got to exactly this moment.”
His head throbbed and his mind reeled. It felt like he was buried up to his neck in wet sand, crushing him under its weight. All he could do was wait for the inevitable tide that was coming to wash them all away.
But he couldn’t say any of that to her. Not after the night that she had.
“We didn’t do anything right or wrong, but that doesn’t mean we’re innocent. Best we can do is to live our lives without hurting the people around us.”
“And just accept whatever bullshit the universe throws our way.”
“I don’t think the universe has any grand plan for us. It comes down to the decisions we make, and maybe a little luck. We’re not damaged, we’re just human.”
“How is that fair for Chris? He didn’t get to choose his parents, but he still has to deal with our shitty decisions.”
“He’s a kid. Just keep loving him. The rest will work itself out.”
A mischievous smile spread across her face. Greg felt a creeping sense of calm. She could do the rest of the talking now.
“You’re turning into a hippie in your old age.”
Eddie finished sweeping up in the kitchen. He made a little extra noise putting the broom away to let them know he was coming into the living room. Greg couldn’t remember a time when Eddie looked so tired. He wondered what his own father would look like if he had lived as long.
Eddie took a seat in the lounge chair and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. He stared at his grandson sleeping peacefully between Greg and Junior. The look on the old man’s face made it clear what he was thinking. The same thought had crossed Greg’s mind. Is this what their lives would have been like if they were still together? It was too much for Greg to consider.
“Hey, Eddie, are you thinking about selling the bar?”
Eddie raised his eyebrows in response. Junior shot her father a look of pure horror. Greg tried to backtrack, but it was too late.
“Never mind. It’s just something Mikey said when we were outside.”
“Before or after you slammed his face into the hood of the car? For a second there I thought you were going to cuff him.”
Eddie flashed a tired smile and shook his head in disbelief. Greg turned to face Junior.
“Please tell me Chris didn’t see that.”
She shook her head and gently stroked her son’s cheek. Eddie let the dust settle a little before he dug deeper.
“What did he tell you?”
“That he was ready to buy whenever you were ready to sell.”
Eddie folded his arms and let his chin drop. Greg could see the wheels spinning in that grey head of his. He didn’t dare to look over at Junior. She had almost stopped breathing all together.
“Dad?”
“It’s not just him. The neighborhood is changing and these developers—they’re really aggressive. Always coming around making offers that seem too good to be true. I’m talking about a lot of money. I used to throw them out, but now…I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is time to cash in and retire.”
“Dad, please don’t talk like that.”
“Honey, with the money they’re offering we could both retire.”
“It isn’t just about the money. I can’t stand the thought of the bar you built—where I grew up—getting turned into some hipster lofts, or a soulless coffee outlet.”
“The thing is, I might not have a choice after what happened the other night.”
Chapter Nine
There was a loud crash in the alley behind Greg’s apartment. He lay perfectly still in the pre-dawn darkness, listening. Something or someone was scraping and scratching along the pavement, tearing the bags apart. Silent seconds passed before he exhaled. It could have been a raccoon. Or maybe it was one of the local homeless population, scouring the nighttime streets in search of unwanted treasures.
He rolled over to look at his alarm clock without much pain. His sore ribs were already starting to heal. It was only 5:30 when he got up to brew a cup of coffee, easing into a couple of light stretches while the water boiled.
It might be possible to catch a couple of sunrise waves before he had to meet with Officer Bob. The wetsuit hanging from the shower rod seemed like a positive confirmation, just like it always did. He slipped it on and grabbed one of the surfboards from the rack. It was still and dark in the garden, except for the chirping birds. He could hear the sound of waves crashing in the distance, calling to him as the back gate swung shut.
A rectangular brown trashcan was on the hood of the El Camino. Broken trash bags were scattered on the roof and in the bed of the car. There was a long, thin crack reflecting from the windshield in the harsh glow of a streetlight. A folded piece of paper was tucked neatly under one of the windshield wipers. He leaned his surfboard against the open gate and stomped over to grab it. Little puffs of fog accompanied every curse that came from his mouth in the brisk morning air.
Sorry we missed you at the show the other night. We’ll be sure to get there a little earlier next time.
xoxo,
Your Biggest Fan
The note was printed in color ink on everyday copier paper. The font mimicked letters that had been cut out of newspapers and magazines, like the cover of the first Sex Pistols album. Greg almost had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. He took a step out into the middle of the alley to make sure that nobody was watching him. Barrett and his gang of knuckle draggers would get a real kick out of watching him clean their mess up, but the coast was clear in both directions.
Greg went back inside the apartment to grab his phone. He took some pictures of the scene before hosing his car down. Not that the BCPD would ever do anything about it. Greg didn’t make the kind of money it took to buy their protection.
He read the note a few more times to see if he had missed any obvious clues. Nothing new jumped out at him. He crumpled the paper up and threw it away with the rest of the trash. He wasn’t going to let Barrett keep him from going surfing.
The beach was empty aside from an old woman searching the sand with a metal detector. Seagulls were retreating from the tide on webbed feet as he dropped his surfboard into the shallow water. He attached the leash to his ankle and dove under a frothy wall of whitewash. The salty water felt cold and sticky on his head and neck. He slid the board under his body and started paddling. The sun was already up by the time he caught his first wave of the day.
›
The Bay Cities Police Station looked like a recreation center compared to the dump in Virgil Heights. Manicured bushes lined a circular walkway where two flags snapped in the light ocean breeze. A colorful mural featuring whales and dolphins filled an entire wall outside the glass doors. A grizzled old desk jockey greeted Greg with a sneeze.
“I’m here to see Officer Bob.”
“Assuming you mean Chief Stanley. Is he expecting you?”
“Tell him Greg Salem is here to see him.”
The officer did a double take and quickly reached for the phone. He mumbled a couple of things in a whisper that Greg couldn’t make out. He snuck a glance at Greg before croaking into the phone a few more times. That was followed with a few “mm hms” before he hung up.
“Chief’s running a little behind. Have a seat.”
He motioned to a couple of concrete benches near the door, and busied himself on the computer. Greg took a seat and settled in for a long wait.
A female parking enforcement officer appeared behind the counter. She was dressed for work, but could have easily been headed out to the beach. The requisition polo shirt and loose fitting khaki shorts did nothing to obscure her curves. A tangle of thick curls was pulled into a messy ponytail at the back of her head. Her chocolate brown eyes sparkled and danced when she
spotted Greg. White teeth beamed through plump pink lips as she walked his way.
“I didn’t think I would see you here today. Did you get my note?”
“Hi, Quincy.” He caught a whiff of her coconut-scented sunscreen as she bent down to hug him. “I’m actually here on business. Meeting with Officer Bob. Sorry I haven’t called you.”
She took his hand in hers and gave a little squeeze.
“Oh my God, Greg. I’m so sorry about your friend.”
“Thanks. Can I call you later on? It might do me some good to get out tonight.”
“I’ll keep my phone on, but only if you’re up for it.”
Greg flashed a weak smile. She bent down to give him a quick peck on the cheek. He watched as she walked down the path and climbed into her small parking enforcement vehicle. Greg reached for a stack of newspapers by the door and grabbed a copy of the free weekly.
The Bay Cities News had fallen on hard times in the internet age. A huge drop in readership resulted in declining ad revenue that forced the original owners to fire half the staff. Real estate interviews, real estate listings and real estate ads soon replaced the features on pancake breakfasts and city council meetings.
He flipped through the pages of coupons and finally found a small pocket of local content in the middle of the paper. He skimmed the surf report to get an idea of what the waves would be like that weekend before turning to the obituaries. There were three pictures along with short blurbs stuffed into one skinny column, all of them memorializing senior citizens. What would it be like to see Ricky’s picture sandwiched onto that page? He flipped the paper onto a nearby chair and folded his arms across his chest.
“Mr. Salem. The Chief will see you now.”
Greg followed the officer around the front desk and along a paneled corridor that led to the back of the building. Officer Bob occupied a large corner office that overlooked a small patch of grass and a private sand volleyball court. Some officers were playing a game of three-on-three as Greg shook his hand. Officer Bob was staring straight at the fading purple ring around Greg’s eye.
“Thanks for showing up. Can I offer you a coffee, or some sparkling water?”
“Have you found anything out about the murder?”
Officer Bob plopped down into his leather chair and leaned back.
“I had an interesting conversation with your Chief in Virgil Heights this morning. He seems to hold you in pretty high regard.”
That last comment sounded like a question. As though Greg should explain how a no-good punk like him had fooled so many cops. He considered giving Officer Bob an answer, but decided it would just prolong their time together. There were a lot of other places he would rather be at that moment. Hanging out with Quincy was currently topping the list.
“Were you checking up on me?”
“Actually, he called me. I wouldn’t expect anything less from somebody as experienced as he is. It’s a real shame to see him wasting away in Virgil Heights. How exactly did you end up on the force?”
“The usual way. Lots of training, lots of tests. You?”
“I was actually wondering what would have driven somebody with such a colorful past to pursue a career in law enforcement.”
“Let’s just say that I wasn’t always impressed with the police officers I encountered. I guess at some point I decided I could do it better.”
Officer Bob frowned, but nodded along in agreement.
“And how’s that going for you, Mr. Salem?”
“Let’s just get this over with. You got any leads on the shooters, or what?”
“I’m going to remind you again that you are not a police officer in this town. Come to think of it, you aren’t a police officer in any town these days. So let me ask the questions.”
Greg was exhausted and his nerves were shot. He tried to swallow, but it was becoming more and more difficult. There was still no way he would accept anything from Officer Bob. Not even a bottle of water.
“While we’re on the topic, I better not hear about any more run-ins between you and Jeff Barrett. If I do, I will have you arrested for obstruction. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.”
Officer Bob leaned forward and opened up a notebook.
“Right. Let’s go over the events of that evening again. I want to make sure we didn’t miss anything important when we last spoke.”
Greg went through the night again, starting from when he arrived for sound check. Officer Bob listened attentively, scribbling down some notes and nodding here and there. He put his pen down when Greg got to the part about the two fans that stopped him in the parking lot.
Officer Bob had a look of deep concentration on his face. He spun in his chair until he was facing the window. They both sat in silence and watched the volleyball game outside. The uncomfortable pause went on for a minute or two before Officer Bob finally spoke again.
“I haven’t forgotten you Mr. Salem. I’m just trying to fit the pieces together. There’s something about these two fans of yours that isn’t sitting right with me.”
“What part? It isn’t that weird for kids to ask for autographs outside of shows.”
“I don’t doubt that, it’s just—” He stopped mid-sentence, as if he caught himself sharing too much information. Greg could sense the internal debate that Officer Bob was struggling with. In the end, common sense seemed to win out. “I think there’s something I should show you.”
Officer Bob spun around quickly and opened a drawer low down on his desk. He pulled out a light colored folder and placed it between the two of them. Greg wanted to grab it, but knew he would never see what was inside if he did. Officer Bob was choosing his words very carefully now.
“On the night of the incident, you and several other witnesses stated that a fight broke out in the audience during the show. That fight was instigated when somebody in the crowd yelled out an insult at you. Is that accurate?”
Greg hadn’t given it much thought since he was on stage. Now he could almost hear it again in his head. He could feel the muscles in his shoulders and back tense up at the memory. He nodded and Officer Bob went on.
“The person who was attacked sustained significant injuries during the fight that followed. He has been in the hospital since the night of the incident. Yesterday we obtained a warrant to search his personal belongings, including the pictures on his phone.”
Officer Bob flipped the folder open and turned it so that Greg could see the print on top. It was one of the shots he had posed for with those two kids outside of Eddie’s.
“Is that the guy that got jumped?”
“Yes. He was released from the hospital earlier today.” Officer Bob turned the folder back to flip through the stack of prints. He got to the picture he was looking for, but stopped short of sharing it. “But that’s not what has me confused. Did you recognize him when he approached you that night?”
Officer Bob handed the picture over before Greg could answer. It was a little blurry after being transferred from a phone, enlarged and reproduced on a desktop printer. Still, Greg didn’t notice anything familiar about the kid next to him in the shot. Officer Bob seemed disappointed when Greg shook his head.
“Technically I am not supposed to show you this next picture since it doesn’t directly relate to your investigation—at least not that we know of. Once you see it I think you’ll understand why I’m concerned.”
He slid the next print across the desk. Greg’s hands were starting to shake a little as he saw the same kid again, wearing the same clothes as in the previous picture. This time he was posing with a gaunt older man. His stringy, blonde hair dangled limply down to bony shoulders that almost poked through a tattered BCC T-shirt.
“Marco? He wasn’t even at the show.”
“That picture was taken earlier in the day, around one o’clock according to the date
stamp. I know this puts you in a tough position since Marco and Ricky are both friends of yours. But I have to ask—can you think of any reason why Marco would want either of you dead?”
Greg was in a daze when he finally emerged from the police station. After showing him the second picture, Officer Bob had gone on a rant about Marco and the cast of characters he ran with. How they’d taken over most of the rooms at a rundown motel under the freeway ramps in North Bay. The place had once been a respectable family establishment that catered to tourists making the drive between Ventura and San Diego. In recent years it had become a residential motel that charged cheap weekly rates for half the rooms, and hourly rates for the rest.
Officer Bob said he’d been watching the place very carefully since Marco and his crew moved in. Recent raids had turned up a meth lab in one of the rooms and a sophisticated marijuana growing operation in another. It sounded to Greg like Officer Bob was on a one-man crusade to get the place condemned.
Greg couldn’t figure out how things had gone so wrong for Marco after he left Bad Citizen Corporation. Sure, he had some pretty serious habits while he was still in the band, but his parents had thrown him into a rehab the minute they got off the road. He simply disappeared. When he reemerged a year later he looked positively human with his shiny hair, chubby cheeks and ear-to-ear grin.
That only lasted a couple of years as far as Greg could remember. Then the rumors about his drug use started spreading again, just as Greg found his way into that world himself. They even spent some long weekends together during that time, surfing all day and partying all night.
Marco seemed to fade into the background again once Greg got sober. Greg would ask around about him once in a while, but their paths had definitely split. Marco’s struggles with addiction had been on again, off again ever since. Greg still tried to stay in contact with him, even when Marco made it clear that he would rather be left alone. Which was most of the time.