by S. W. Lauden
“He’s in stable condition.”
The long silence that followed was painful. Greg wanted to tell the Chief he’d relapsed, but the words got stuck in his throat. He probably never would have enrolled in the Police Academy, or gotten sober, if it weren’t for the man on the line.
“That’s all. Just checking in.”
“You’ll be the first to know when we find something. Listen, I have a few things to finish up here. Why don’t I come out there later this week and we can grab a cup of coffee.”
He could hear the hesitation in the Chief’s voice and it made him feel better. He knew the old man hated the beach.
“Sounds good.”
Greg hung up just as Eddie’s car pulled into the driveway. The old man climbed out and shuffled over to where he was standing.
“Hey, Greg. Surprised to see you here so early, but glad I’ve got you alone for a minute.”
Greg could still smell last night’s whisky on Eddie’s breath. He wished it didn’t make him want a cocktail so bad, but it did. Eddie gave him a slap on the shoulder and made his pitch.
“Listen, there’s something I need to talk to you about. I heard from Mikey again today. He made a pretty serious offer for the property. Really serious.”
“The bar?”
“All of it, Greg. The whole kit and caboodle.”
“Jesus, Eddie. That’s gotta be worth millions.”
“Said he’s willing to make it worth my while if I move fast. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. It seems too good to be true, but part of me thinks that maybe now is the time to cash in and just get out. Take it easy for a few years and enjoy Chris before he turns into an asshole teenager. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
Eddie seemed to reconsider. Greg knew he wouldn’t be getting the answer to his question any time soon.
“I’m gonna meet with him in the next couple of days at his office. I was hoping you’d come with me. I could use some outside perspective, and I don’t dare mention it to Junior.”
“You know I’ll be there, Eddie. Just name the time.”
The two men headed inside together. Junior was dressed and ready, but Chris had started another video game. He wanted them to wait until he completed the level he was on. Greg and Junior took that as the cue to leave.
They said their goodbyes and went out to Junior’s car. She tossed the keys to Greg and got into the passenger seat.
“Where are we headed?”
“If I know Barrett, he’ll probably be up at the tidal pools. They surf there pretty much every morning before work. Best break in The Bay Cities.”
Greg backed out of the driveway and practically let the car steer itself to the beach. It was a warm day and they could see three-foot waves breaking on the shore between the buildings as they headed east. The tidal pools sat just below a steep cliff face along a couple miles of coastal bluffs that separated South Bay from the urban sprawl further down the coast. There was a small zoo up there when Greg was a kid. These days it was all golf courses and estates.
The tidal pools were hard to spot from the small road that wound along the cliffs. Locals knew to look for parked cars with empty surf racks. A narrow trail led from the side of the road for a thousand yards before opening up to a small, rocky beach. A short walk across the smooth boulders along the base of the cliffs revealed a collection of jagged peaks that split the powerful waves and sent sprays of whitewash up into the air. Twice a day the tide receded leaving small pools of ocean water that became a living museum of starfish, sea slugs and crabs. Further down the beach, where the towering cliffs seemed to loom over the water, was one of the most consistent surf breaks in The Bay Cities. Most days there were more surfers in the water than there were families enjoying the tidal pools.
They pulled up and found a spot close to the trailhead. Greg recognized a few of the cars parked along the curb, including Barrett’s huge Suburban. He waited until she got out and crossed the street before reaching over to the glove compartment. His Glock was tucked into the back of his pants when he went over to join her. There was only a small chance that he would need it, but it wasn’t a chance he could take with Junior around.
It was a switchback trail, but generations of impatient surfers had carved out shortcuts that made it possible to more-or-less descend in a straight line. It just took sure footing and the kind of energy that neither Greg nor Junior could muster that morning.
Greg helped Junior navigate the ankle-breaking walk across the rocky beach once they reached the bottom. There was no sign of Marco, but he wasn’t always easy to spot among the caves and rock formations. They got to the tidal pools just in time to see Barrett catch a wave on his long board. Junior plopped down on a small patch of sand and pulled a flimsy straw hat down over her head. There was nothing to do but stay visible and wait to get noticed.
“Do you think he saw us?”
“Just a matter of time. There isn’t much that happens here without Barrett finding out.”
“Remember when those idiots used to throw rocks from from up on the cliffs at any surfers they didn’t recognize?”
“I saw it with my own eyes. They got out of the water in a hurry after that. And Barrett and his crew were always waiting for them at the top of the trail. Total bloodbath.”
“What an asshole.”
“Lots of weird stuff has happened up here. Suicides, shark attacks, whatever.”
“There’s no way all of that stuff is true.”
“Did I ever take you into the underwater caves?”
“I am way too claustrophobic. Didn’t somebody drown under there?”
“A couple of people, depending on who you talk to. It’s pretty sketchy the first couple of times you try it, but it’s an incredible rush to be standing under the tidal pools listening to the waves crashing overhead.”
“You have to swim under the water to get in?”
“You can wade in at low tide. The problem is getting caught in there when the tide starts rising. If that happens you better be really great at holding your breath or you’re screwed.”
“Yeah, no thanks.”
Barrett came bounding across the tidal pools until he was looming over them. His hair was matted with salt water and there was a grin smeared across his face. Greg told Junior to stay put, but jumped up himself.
“Waves look fun today.”
“You got balls showing your face around here. You think I won’t kick your ass again just because you brought your girlfriend?”
Greg kept his distance. He was still sore from the last time he got too close to Barrett.
“I’m just looking for Marco.”
“That makes two of us. I know that little prick broke into my office.”
“And I know you had something to do with what happened to Ricky.”
Barrett took a step forward. Three more of his bros walked up and started spreading out. Greg knew it was time to make his point. He might not get another chance.
“I’ll make this really simple for you. Keep away from Marco.”
Greg motioned for Junior to stand up. Barrett was clearly in the mood to fight.
“Or what?”
Greg brought the gun out from the back of his pants. None of them even flinched.
“Or you’ll have to answer to me.”
“Haven’t you shot enough innocent people lately?”
Greg’s finger tightened on the trigger. This wasn’t the first time he’d wanted to kill Barrett, but it was as close as he’d actually gotten to doing it.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“Don’t start that shit again. I had nothing to do with Ricky getting shot. Ask Officer Bob if you don’t believe me. He knows the truth.”
“That’s funny. I trust him about as much as I trust you.”
“Fine. You’re the cop, Greg—or at least you were. Prove it.”
“Give me a few days.”
“You’re in way over your head, but do whatever you want. I’m done with you.”
Barrett turned around and walked away. Greg kept his gun up until the rest of the crew did the same. He gave Junior a hand as they scrambled across the rocks for the trail.
She was the first to notice that the passenger side windows on her car had been shattered. Two rocks the size of bowling balls were resting on the seats amid a sea of glass pebbles. The words “Locals Only” were scratched into the paint on the side of the car as well. She shot Greg a few disappointed glances as they worked together to sweep the glass out onto the curb.
The sound of the wind whipping through the windows made it hard to speak. Junior was practically yelling at him as they wound their way back to North Bay.
“Where to now?”
“I think we should stop by the motel and see if Marco’s there. If not, we can look at a couple of places around there.”
“Didn’t his note say he’d come looking for you at my place?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Nothing. It’s just, my dad’s gonna have Chris the rest of the day. We’d have the place to ourselves…”
“Jesus, Junior. You have a one track mind.”
“Sorry. I guess guns turn me on.”
›
They couldn’t find Marco at any of his usual hangouts that afternoon, and he wasn’t anywhere on the beach. Greg knew addicts had a knack for disappearing when they needed to, but Marco was like a junkie chameleon. They were down on the boardwalk scanning the beach for any sign of him when a voice called out.
“Are you stalking me?”
Greg just ignored her. People say stupid things to cops all the time, trying to get a rise out of them. Experience taught him that it was better just to leave it alone. But Junior had no police training. She walked straight over to where the bikini-clad stranger was sunbathing.
“Do we know you?”
The woman stood up, revealing a lean body that was white as milk. She stepped forward and pulled down her sunglasses to study Junior’s face.
“Edie? Is that you?”
Margaret Keane was already reacquainting herself with Junior when Greg joined the reunion. Junior couldn’t believe her eyes.
“Wow. Maggie. It’s been years.”
“I go by Margaret now. What a nice surprise to see you together after all this time.”
Maggie gave Greg a sideways glance that Junior picked up on right away. Greg shuffled his feet and tried to change the subject.
“We were just looking for a friend. Do you remember Marco?”
“Of course I do. I had a little crush on him back in the day. What’s he up to?”
Junior answered for him.
“Nothing good. That’s kind of why we need to find him.”
“I honestly don’t think I would recognize him.”
“You would know if you had seen him. He’s kind of hard to miss. Is this your place?”
Maggie spun and gave the beachfront mansion the once over.
“I wish. No, I’m just staying with a...friend.”
She leered at Greg, biting her lip this time. He grabbed Junior by the arm and tried to hurry things along.
“Great seeing you, but we have to get going.”
“Leaving so soon?”
Greg and Junior waved in unison and walked away. They were almost out of earshot when Maggie called out.
“Edie. I meant to tell you that I ran into your ex at an investor’s lunch. Seems like he’s done pretty well for himself. Can’t believe you let that one go.”
“You should ask him out some time. I bet you two would have a lot in common.”
Maggie flashed a frozen smile as Junior muttered “bitch” under her breath. They were back at her car when Greg thought it was safe to ask the obvious question.
“What was that all about?”
“Don’t you read the papers? Maggie—sorry, Margaret—was involved in some embezzlement scandal last year. I’m surprised she’s not in prison.”
Junior was finally ready to call it a day after their encounter with Maggie. He thought about just walking back to his place from the beach, but wanted to make sure the coast was clear back at her house. So he drove her home and searched every inch of the house before letting her inside. Then one thing led to another and soon Marco was the furthest thing from their minds.
Greg got home a little after nine that night. He was exhausted and needed to clear his mind. Between Junior and Marco he barely had time to think about everything else that had gone sideways in his life. The kid in the blue hat filled Greg’s thoughts the minute he settled into bed.
Two pillows were wedged under his head and The Surfaris was playing quietly on the stereo. He turned the lights down to darken the corners of the room. There was a rapid knocking on the door just as he was dozing off.
Greg slammed the CoreNoMore magazine down and got up to throttle Marco. A large fist connected with the bridge of his nose as he pulled the door open. His knees went weak and he fell to the ground face first. They shoved him back inside and shut the door. Somebody jumped on his back and slipped a plastic garbage bag over his head, twisting the flaps around his neck.
He struggled to get out from under his assailant. The extra energy he expended quickly ate up his oxygen. His face was sticking to the inside of the bag as the sound in the room gave way to a pulsating rhythm inside his head. It sounded like a helicopter approaching. Whuh whuh whuh whuh. “Get him into the trunk” was the last thing he heard before everything went black.
Chapter Fifteen
Virgil Heights. Even with the blindfold on, Greg recognized the permanent smell of boiling meat wafting from the nearby food-processing plants. His head was throbbing as he struggled to steer his mind through the fog. He could feel a thin layer of sweat coating his whole body and running in streams from his temples. It seemed they must be inside one of the warehouses, but which one? He knew them all like the back of his hand. If he could only get a peek under the blindfold. He lifted his head painfully and heard somebody whistle nearby. There was a scuffle and some chains rattled behind him. The chair that he was tied to jerked upward so that he was swinging in the air.
“Somebody get me a stick for this piñata.”
There was a chorus of riotous laughter. It sounded to Greg like there were ten or more men in the room with him. He could hear the links of the chain grinding against the wooden beam above him as he swung back and forth.
“Actually, I changed my mind. I want him back on the ground. Odele!”
His feet swung forward as the chain went slack. The back of the chair almost crushed his arms when he crashed into the ground. He was lucky that he managed to shift his weight at the last moment so that his left shoulder and bicep took the brunt of the fall. The rickety wooden chair splintered on impact and left him in a heap on the warm concrete floor.
Somebody stepped forward and yanked the sweaty blindfold from his face. The diffused light coming through the yellow windows made it hard to adjust his eyes. A circle of young men slowly came into focus all around him, a rainbow coalition of thugs. All of them were standing at attention with their chests out and their chins up. The disembodied voice was behind him now.
“Nice of you to drop in.”
Nobody laughed this time, except Greg. His sarcastic chuckling eventually gave way to a series of painful coughs. He could taste the tang of blood in his mouth. The rope that kept his arms tied behind his back was digging into his wrists. It was impossible to do a complete survey of all the damage that had been done to his body.
“Is somebody gonna tell me what I’m doing here?”
“You fucked up, pig.” The voice was rotating to Greg�
��s left, taking his time coming into view. “You shot the wrong kid.”
There was nothing he could say in response. He let his cheek drop to the floor and closed his eyes. Images of Chris unexpectedly flashed in his mind.
“What’s up, boss? Pleading the fifth?”
“He had a gun.”
“‘He had a gun.’ You hear that fellas?” The voice was right beside him now. “Does anybody here have a gun?”
Feet shuffled in unison. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of ten people racking the slides on their semiautomatic handguns in unison. Endless hours on the shooting range had permanently etched that sound into Greg’s brain.
“Those were guns. Did you hear anything like that in the alley that night? I don’t think so, because nobody found a gun on that kid you shot.” Greg felt the tip of a sneaker tapping on his forehead. “You still with us, pig?”
He opened his eyes to see a short, wiry figure looming over him. Greg’s eyes followed the khaki pants up to a loose fitting white T-shirt. His face was a deep caramel color and a thin black mustache lined his upper lip. He looked like one of the neighborhood kids that used to hang around the police station back when Greg was a rookie. A kid named Manny. Greg wasn’t totally sure it was him, but he seemed about the right age.
“I was asking you about the gun.” He dropped to his knees and brought his face down in front of Greg’s. Manny was all grown up and doing a passable impersonation of a gangster. “I think you might have your story mixed up.”
“Fine. He didn’t have a gun. Is that what you want to hear?”
“That is definitely what I want to hear, but not here.” He sprung up and started to walk away. “Somebody untie him.”
One of the men slid a knife between Greg’s wrists. It took a few tugs, but the binds finally came free. Greg flexed his fingers to get the circulation going and then rolled onto his stomach. He pushed himself up slowly until he was squatting. Searing pain was shooting across the left side of his body from the fall. He took a couple of deep breaths through his nose and let the air out through gritted teeth.
The circle of men had gotten a little wider. Manny was standing inside with him now, just a few feet away. He pulled a handgun from the back of his pants and offered it to Greg.