by S. W. Lauden
“We’ll let you know if we find anybody that meets that description. In the meantime, you mind telling us what precinct you supposedly work in?”
“Virgil Heights. At least that’s where I used to work.”
The commander took a step forward, shoving the deputy aside.
“I thought you said you were a cop.”
“Call the Police Chief there. He’ll give you all the details.”
“What’d you say your name was?”
“Greg Salem.”
They traded looks. The commander nodded and the deputy went to make the call. He was back with the radio five minutes later.
“He wants to talk to you.”
Greg brought the device to his ear and waited. The Chief’s voice sounded like a ghost from another lifetime.
“Greg, you there?”
“That you, Chief?”
“Jesus Christ. Why the hell can’t you stay out of trouble?”
›
It couldn’t have been easy to get those bulky news vans up the mountain, but there they were. A line of them stretched along the curving road for as far as Greg could see in both directions. He kept his head down and followed the two officers who were supposed give him a lift. ATVs had gotten them from the smoldering field and out to the road, but now they had to walk a hundred yards to where the cruisers were parked. He hoped the windbreaker they’d loaned him would be enough of a disguise. It wasn’t.
They’d only made it a few feet when he heard somebody shout his name. He didn’t respond or even turn around, but his shoulders tensed and he broke his stride. That was confirmation enough for the media vultures. An army of reporters and their camera-wielding crews descended on him, forming a circle that was impossible to break.
Greg found himself bathed in a blinding glow of light. Microphones shoved into his face. Questions yelled at him from every direction.
“Are you the cop that solved those murders in The Bay Cities?”
“Where have you been hiding out?”
“Why did the Sheriff’s Department call you in to help with this raid?”
“Are you working undercover for the DEA?”
“Is it true that they were growing a mutant strain of marijuana up here?”
Greg kept his mouth shut tight and waited for the cavalry to arrive. Ten officers broke up the news crew blockade, whisking him away to a waiting car. Reporters were still shouting after him as they chased the car on foot. Greg kept his eyes forward, trying hard to catch his breath.
It was only a few minutes before the cruiser pulled up to the end of the road that led to Greg’s cabin. Greg pulled on the handle and swung the passenger door open as the officer spoke.
“You’re the hero cop, right? The one that brought that gang down in Virgil Heights.”
“All I did was shoot some kid.”
He slammed the door shut, turned and walked off. The cruiser pulled away, taking all the light with it. Greg shuffled along the winding gravel road, letting his memory guide him through the dark. His El Camino came into view just before the darkened cabin did.
The back door was unlocked, just like it used to be when he was a kid. He stepped inside and started peeling his pants and shirt off as he walked. The strong odor of wood smoke from the fireplace in the living room was no match for the stench of his clothes. Greg tried to make sense of everything that happened as he made his way to the bathroom.
He pulled the chain on the overhead light and turned the faucet on in the sink. His body was suddenly sore all over, now that he wasn’t worried about escaping from Grizzly Flats. Images of Marco flashed in his mind as he splashed cold water on his face.
“What took you so long?”
Greg almost sprang backwards through the bathroom door. He was still gasping for air when she sat up in the bathtub. The bear paw tattoo flexed and danced on her shoulder as she rubbed a washcloth across her neck.
“You mind getting my back?”
He took a step forward and knelt down. Kristen pulled his head against her naked chest and ran her fingers across his cropped hair. A whisper was the most he could manage.
“I couldn’t find him.”
“Magnus?”
“No, Marco. It looks like Magnus got away with a few of his men.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
She stood up and grabbed a towel from the rack. Greg let his cheek rest on the edge of the bathtub, too exhausted to move.
“We need to get out of here right away.”
“Kristen, you have to turn yourself in.”
“No way! He kept me there against my will. He kept me high and he…he used me. You saw it with your own eyes. Besides, none of these cops even know that I exist.”
“For now, but what about down the road? They’re questioning everybody they caught. Any one of them could give up your name to make a deal.”
“Hardly any of them even know my real name.”
“You’ve got blood on your hands, Kristen. You said so yourself.”
She was trembling now. He wanted to comfort her, but couldn’t bring himself to stand. Everybody he got close to seemed to get killed.
“Listen to me, Greg. If Magnus is still alive, then he’s gonna come looking for me. For both of us. Probably tonight.”
“Are you insane? The Sheriff’s Department has officers searching for him all over these mountains.”
“That won’t matter to him. Turn me in if you want to, but not until we’re far away from here.”
There was a cup of instant coffee waiting for him when he emerged from the bedroom in clean clothes. She had a pair of his loose-fitting board shorts on and a tattered tour shirt. He thought she looked just like every surfer girl he’d ever known. They threw her pack beside his in the back of the El Camino and started down the winding mountain roads.
They got waved through several checkpoints on their way out of the Angeles National Forest. The first signs of civilization came into view less than two hours after they’d left. Greg was merging onto the freeway ramp when two motorcycles came speeding up behind them. Kristen dug her fingers into his thigh as he stepped on the accelerator.
“What’s the matter?”
“Magnus does business with some of the local bikers.”
The two motorcycles were gaining on them fast. Greg knew he couldn’t lose them. He reached across her legs and yanked the Glock from the glove compartment. His finger was on the trigger just below the window as the bikes whipped around them. Greg tapped the brakes and tried to steady his aim. That’s when he saw them—just a couple of cocky teenagers taking their girlfriends out for a ride on their crotch rockets.
Greg set the gun down in his lap and exhaled. It felt wrong to be leaving the mountains with Marco missing, but right now he needed to get Kristen out of there. He needed to take her somewhere safe, somewhere far away from Magnus and Grizzly Flats. Descendents were kicking into “Silly Girl” on the car stereo as she rested her head on his shoulder and gave a little sniffle.
CHAPTER FIVE
They’d only been home a few days, but Greg already needed to get out of the house. The Sunday night barbecue at Junior’s was the perfect excuse. Greg and his friends had started it twenty years ago, back when they were still young and thought they would live forever. These days Greg felt like he was one of the last ones standing.
He threw the El Camino into park and climbed out. It felt just like old times walking across his high school girlfriend’s front yard. There were almost no toys scattered around the lawn now that her son, Chris, was thirteen years old.
Greg was still worried about Kristen, but glad she decided to stay home. He hadn’t spent much time with Junior and her family since he got back to town, and he was looking forward to catching up with her dad, Eddie. The old man had been like a father figure to Greg for as long
as he could remember.
The door swung open before he even knocked. Eddie stepped out onto the porch and pulled him into a tight hug. It felt good, like coming home. His grey hair was a little thinner on top now, but he also looked healthier than he had in years.
“Greg! How the hell are you?”
“Doing pretty good, all things considered. How’s retirement?”
“I’m bored out of my mind. Come inside.”
They stepped into the living room. Greg was surprised that Chris wasn’t sitting on the ground in front of the TV playing video games. He spotted Junior in the kitchen tossing a salad in a wooden bowl. She fought off an ear-to-ear grin as he walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“I barely recognize you, stranger.”
“I was just about to say the same to you.”
Greg stepped back to take her in as she turned her attention back to the salad. Her short blonde hair had grown out a few inches and was pulled into a ponytail now. The long summer dress she wore traced her incredible curves just right.
“Grab yourself something to drink out of the fridge.”
He leaned against the counter, considering the body he had gotten to know so intimately when they were teenagers. The first one he had ever seen naked, and also the last one he’d touched before Kristen. Greg noticed that Junior was carrying herself differently these days—more like a confident woman now, and less of a punk rock temptress. Although she definitely looked like she could still throw a punch.
She caught him staring, but did a bad job of pretending not to notice.
“Hungry?”
“Starving. Where’s Chris?”
She slammed her tongs down and steadied herself on the counter.
“Caught that little bastard with a bag of weed yesterday. I told him to stay out of sight until dinner tonight, or I might murder him.”
“Wow. Where did he even get it from? School?”
“No idea. I did find out that he’s been hanging around with Jeff Barrett and his crew. Chasing after them like some desperate little puppy.”
That piece of information caught Greg like a punch to the gut. Barrett was a local thug turned contractor who had made a small fortune off of the booming local real estate market. He and Greg had been at each other’s throats ever since they were kids.
“Those idiots are always looking for new recruits. You don’t think he gave Chris the weed, do you?”
“I honestly don’t know what to think.”
Greg took a moment to collect himself, controlling his anger before he went on.
“Regardless of where he got it, Chris has been through a lot in the last year. You both have.”
He put his hand on her back and waited for the moment to pass. Neither of them wanted to talk about the woman who had ripped their world apart. Greg was the one who finally broke the silence.
“Does Eddie know?”
“He knows something happened, but he doesn’t know exactly what. I’d prefer to keep it that way or he might have a heart attack.”
Junior shook her head and went back to finishing dinner. Greg wasn’t ready to let it go.
“Want me to talk to him?”
“You planning to scare him straight or something? Be my guest.”
Greg was heading for Chris’s room when Eddie stopped him. They took a seat on the couch in the living room. The old man’s knee was pumping as he tried to form his words.
“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about Marco. I always thought he was trouble, but I know he was your friend.”
“He still is. I just need to find him.”
Greg stood up, but Eddie stopped him.
“Listen. I don’t know what you’re planning to do for work, but you’ll always have a spot at the bar.”
Eddie’s L Bar was a neighborhood institution, and Eddie was the king. He ran the bar himself every day for decades, quietly building a North Bay real estate empire on the side. These days, he was worth more on paper than some of the millionaires living along the beach in South Bay. But he still wasn’t willing to let the L Bar go. He’d been trying to get Greg to take the business over for almost a year now.
“I thought Junior was in charge these days?”
“She is, but she needs help. You could run the bar and let her focus on the salon. You know, keep it in the family. Just say the word.”
The only word that Greg could think of at the moment was “no,” but it wasn’t like he had a lot of other options. His police career seemed like a distant memory and he was way too old for a full-time career in punk rock.
“Thanks, Eddie. I’ll let you know.”
Greg walked across the living room, grabbing the knob on Chris’s bedroom door. Surfing posters were tacked up on all four walls. Greg could hear an old Bad Citizen Corporation song playing on the stereo in the corner as he stepped inside. His eyes fell on the empty bed before he saw the open window. He didn’t need to investigate any further to know that Chris had snuck out. It was something Greg had done several times himself when he was about that age.
Chris wasn’t even his son, but Greg suddenly understood how his own father must have felt all those years ago. That magic combination of rage, terror and disappointment that makes you want to murder the people you love the most. Some things never change.
Two Months Later…
September 2011—The van wasn’t moving any longer, but Mary’s head was spinning. She slowly opened her eyes, looking up at the dome light and willing it stop. Wherever they’d brought her, it was much quieter than anything she was used to. There were no police helicopters whirring overhead. No addicts threatening to kill each other all night long.
Something in the back of her mind kept telling her to get up and run. To get as far away from there as she could. But where would she go? The streets of Hollywood didn’t care if she lived or died. And going back to her mom’s house would be a slow death of a different kind. It was sad but true that this might be the safest place she had woken up in months. Hell, she thought, at least I still have my clothes on.
Mary put her hand on the back of the bench seat and pulled herself up. Her head felt thick and her mind was reeling. The view out the window didn’t offer many clues, except that she was in a garage. The cluttered workbench beside the van was filled with a random assortment of greasy tools, silhouetted in the darkness. She reached for the handle and slid the door open as quietly as she could.
One foot out the door, and pause.
“Hello?”
She almost didn’t recognize the fear in her own voice. It sounded so soft, so vulnerable, like the little girl she never got to be. Mary groped her way to a door that led into the kitchen. She opened it up and saw the driver standing there. He was about her stepdad’s age—maybe a little older—with the same hard eyes, but otherwise more polished. The man popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth and gave her the once over.
“Want some food?”
She was hungry all the time these days, but never felt like eating.
“You got anything else?”
He smiled and nodded. “Sure. Follow me.”
Scoring drugs hadn’t been that easy since, well, forever. She knew they wouldn’t be free.
Mary followed him through the small house. The walls were bare and there was almost no furniture. He walked fast, with a sense of purpose. She didn’t hear the moaning until they reached the bedroom door. Glaring lights flooded the hallway as he pushed into the room.
Two young women were on the bed. One was blindfolded and handcuffed to the headboard. Mary recognized the second one from around Hollywood, but hadn’t seen her in a few weeks. She was straddling the other woman with a riding crop in her hand.
They wound through a forest of tripods and a couple of oblivious crewmembers. There was a small sofa pushed against one wall, with a glass
coffee table in front of it. Lines were already chalked up in neat little rows. He handed her a rolled up dollar bill.
“Have as much as you want. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Mary hesitated for a brief moment before sitting down and getting to work.
She did two quick bumps, one right after the other. It was pure and strong. She felt the instant burn and rush as she leaned back. They sat side-by-side, watching the action on the bed. It all seemed so mechanical, like pistons and lube. A fake ecstasy compared to the narcotic euphoria that was pumping through Mary’s bloodstream.
“I’ve never done porn before…”
“There’s no rush. Just join in when the urge strikes you.”
It didn’t take long to make a decision. What was happening on the bed looked way better than what might happen on the sofa. He gave her a fatherly pat on the knee, but left his hand there. That made her choice even easier.
She stood up and slithered out of her tank top. The girls on the bed were waving her over as she unbuttoned her jeans. The driver looked her up and down, smiling his approval.
“There are other ways you can help me, besides all of this.”
“Oh yeah? How?”
“You and I might have some friends in common, Mary. But we can talk about that later.”
CHAPTER SIX
“This is bullshit, dude.”
Marco was talking to himself more than the guard behind him. His bony, hairless chest heaved as he dug his shovel into the ground again. The T-shirt wrapped around his filthy hair was the same one he’d been wearing since he and Greg left to go hiking two months ago. He’d gotten it wet and wrung it out a few times since then, but it was starting to fray and fall apart. Just like him.
Marco had seen his share of hard times over the years. It was the price he paid to live the life he chose. He had survived beatings from cops, been bitten by dogs, gotten shot at by Mexican drug lords, and fought three drunks at once in a jail cell. But this was the first time he’d ever had to do hard labor. It didn’t sit well with him.