Grizzly Season

by S. W. Lauden

  “You guys want to put up fences so bad, dig the holes yourself.”

  “Shut up and get back to work.”

  The guard sounded half asleep as he spat out the order. It was hot out and none of them had taken a water break for a couple of hours. Marco’s hands were raw and blistered as he kicked the blade deeper into the hard ground.

  “You shut up.”

  There were a couple of other slave laborers right behind Marco. They were waiting to put the post in the ground once he finished digging the hole. He wasn’t sure what they had done to get on Magnus’s bad side. Marco felt like he’d been born there.

  The three of them had been digging since sunrise. They’d made their new camp near a box canyon deep inside the forest where no hikers or campers ever came. There was a natural spring nearby that provided plenty of water, but they had to hunt for most of their food. Marco never thought he would miss baloney and beans so much.

  Magnus and the dozen guards that escaped the raid all slept in the tents they grabbed on the way out of Grizzly Flats. Marco and the rest of his ilk camped outside on a couple of sleeping bags they shared. He didn’t really mind it, except for the wildlife. A rattlesnake had bitten one of the men on his crew a few days ago; he died in his sleep. Marco discovered the body in the morning, so he got to dig the grave.

  He finished the current hole and leaned on his shovel for a catnap. The guard stuck the barrel of a rifle in his back, escorting him a few yards down to dig the next hole. There were only a few more posts to sink before the fence on this part of the field was completed. Marco guessed that they would move on to clearing the brush and trees next, before they got to planting. It was anybody’s guess if Magnus would let them live beyond that.

  Marco had tried to escape a couple of times since the raid. He’d even gotten a few miles away once, but the overgrown animal trails all looked the same out there. Left, right or straight-ahead, there was no way to know whether you were headed for civilization or deeper into the wilderness. In the end he always made a wrong turn and practically walked right back into camp. Magnus usually gave him a slap on the back and an extra helping of venison stew.

  “Welcome back,” he’d say, practically laughing himself out of his chair. “We were starting to worry we’d lost you.”

  Marco was exhausted. He’d had enough for one lifetime.

  “Just shoot me then!”

  “I probably would, but then I we’d never see your friend Greg again. You’re the bait in this elaborate mouse trap of mine.”

  Marco slammed the shovel into the ground and imagined he was digging a grave for Magnus. The hole got deep really fast, but it was wider than it should have been. Marco smiled to himself until the guard shoved him another few yards down the line.

  “Take it easy, dude. Or I might have to dig a hole for you next.”

  ›

  Greg set the bottle of beer down and went back to wiping glasses. He’d only started picking up shifts at Eddie’s L Bar in the last couple of weeks, once the news coverage about him died down. The bar took up most of a non-descript building on Bay Cities Boulevard in North Bay. Junior’s beauty parlor was the only other tenant, but now that her father had retired, she was managing both places.

  The regulars were seated in their usual spots at the bar, arguing about something pointless. Eddie was right there beside them, pretending like he didn’t own the place.

  “Hey, Greg! Bring these idiots another round, on me.”

  Greg reached into the cooler and popped the cap on two bottles. He set them down and cleared the empties.

  “Want a little more coffee, Eddie?”

  Eddie looked down at his watch, squinting to check the time.

  “You know what. I think I’ll have a beer too.”

  “You sure? It’s not even eleven.”

  “What the hell. It’s not like I have anywhere to be.”

  Greg brought a third beer over. The trio tried to get him to join their conversation, but he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. He went over to the jukebox instead. There was still a lot of classic rock in there, beside the punk and reggae discs that were taking over now that Junior was in charge. It was funny to hear Black Flag’s “TV Party” back-to-back with “Welcome To The Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses. Those songs sounded more and more similar to Greg the older he got, just an endless angry mash-up of snot, piss and angst.

  A Bad Citizen Corporation song called “Heading South” came on next. Marco’s drumming sounded just as frantic and unpredictable as the man himself, wherever he was—if he was still alive at all. Greg reached for the kill switch under the bar, almost ripping it from its socket. His hand was still shaking when he heard a familiar voice.

  “Hello, Mr. Salem.”

  Greg looked straight into the neutral gaze of Bay Cities Police Chief, Robert Stanley—or as he was known locally, Officer Bob. They had been archenemies from the time Greg was a teenager, doing battle on the streets of The Bay Cities. These days it was more like a cold war, ever since Greg helped solve one of the biggest murder cases in BCPD history. It was something he was reminded of by the regulars at Eddie’s during every shift he worked.

  “Something to drink?”

  “No, thanks. I’m actually here on police business. I thought you’d want to know that we’re reopening the case on your brother.”

  It was the news he’d been waiting to hear for almost twenty years. The police had originally ruled his brother’s death a suicide, but Greg never bought it. The Tim he knew would never do that to his friends and family, no matter how screwed up he was on drugs. They would always be brothers, no matter how bad things had gotten between them after Bad Citizen Corporation broke up.

  Greg’s hand instinctively went to the phone in his pocket, but he pulled it back. He could go next door to Junior’s salon and tell her in person, as soon as Officer Bob left.

  “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but there’s new information we’re looking into.”

  “What is it?”

  Officer Bob raised his eyebrows, looking around to make sure nobody else was listening. Greg made a show of doing the same and nodded along expectantly.

  “You know we’re still trying to track down information on Quincy McCloud.”

  Hearing his ex-girlfriend’s name gave Greg a stabbing headache. She’d had his best friend Ricky killed, and finished-off Junior’s ex-husband, Mikey, herself. She and Chris would probably be dead too if Greg hadn’t rescued them before Quincy committed suicide at the tidal pools.

  Officer Bob saw the blood rising in Greg’s face and gave him a second before going on.

  “We traced her family to a small town in Missouri. She and her brother were Army brats. Family moved around a lot before the father finally drank himself to death.”

  Unwanted memories of Quincy flashed in Greg’s mind. He pictured the way she smiled, the way she smelled coming out of the ocean, her laugh. It was troubling how much Kristen sometimes reminded him of her.

  “What’s all this have to do with Tim?”

  “Her brother hung himself in the attic at their aunt’s house when he was a senior in high school. Sounds like Quincy found him.”

  Greg frowned, disgusted with himself for feeling sorry for her. They had found his brother, Tim, the same way, hanging from the rafters in the record store right next door. Officer Bob pressed on.

  “She ended up going to a local college, but got thrown out freshmen year after having an affair with a professor. Does the name John Jacoby ring a bell?”

  “J.J.? The bass player from Bad Citizen Corporation?”

  “That’s him. Local police found a diary at her aunt’s house. From what we read, he apparently gave her a lot of dirt on you, Tim, and the rest of your old band.”

  “J.J. never could keep his mouth shut when a girl was involved.”

 
“According to her diary, it seemed like he might have some information about the circumstances of your brother’s death.”

  Greg slammed the bar repeatedly with his fist until all the nearby glasses and bottles were dancing. There weren’t many people in the place, but they were all watching him now. Officer Bob put his hand on Greg’s shoulder and motioned him outside.

  “I hoped that telling you in public would have the opposite effect.”

  Greg snorted and kicked the side door shut.

  “I need to go to St. Louis and talk to J.J.”

  “He’s not there. University fired him as soon as they found out about the alleged affair.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Leave the police work to the professionals, Mr. Salem.”

  “I’ve got a little experience of my own.”

  “Far as I can tell, you’re a bartender now. I’ll be in touch.”

  ›

  Afternoon traffic was light on Bay Cities Boulevard. The Gun Club was bashing out “Sex Beat” through the car stereo as Greg sped toward South Bay. Kristen was reclining on a lounge chair wearing only bikini bottoms when he came through the back gate. They were living in the main house now, ever since his landlady relocated up north to be near her grandchildren. She told him it would be a temporary arrangement, but there was a for sale sign in the front yard.

  Kristen looked up when he came in.

  “Hey, baby. You going surfing?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Is it that obvious? Greg muttered “nothing” under his breath and stormed inside his old garage-apartment. In the last few weeks, he’d turned it into a makeshift recording studio. A couple of guitars and amps were scattered around the room, along with a laptop computer and a small mixing board. Not that he’d managed to write or record any new songs in there. Mostly, it was just a place to keep his old gear and think about everything that had gone wrong.

  Kristen came out there with him too, sometimes. At first, she would just sit and watch him play, but eventually she started singing too. She had a soft, scratchy voice that forced Greg to play gentler than he ever thought he could. Her heartbreaking lyrics were the only thing that could take his mind off of Marco, often for hours at a time. But she wasn’t out there with him at the moment.

  He lifted the dust cover on his turntable and watched a Peter Tosh record start spinning. Reggae was what calmed him down when he was alone. That, and surfing, but he barely had any time for either anymore. He was working the morning shift at Eddie’s Monday through Friday, and up in the Angeles National Forest almost every weekend.

  The official search for Magnus and his crew hadn’t produced anything, and nobody who was taken into custody was talking. That didn’t keep Greg from doing some searching of his own, especially since they never found Marco’s body.

  Greg looked up at the geological maps pinned to the walls in the garage. Large areas of the forest had been highlighted and checked off. Some of which he had done by chartering private helicopters, but it wasn’t a hobby that he could afford to keep up on a bartender’s salary. After that he had taken to the trails himself, riding his mountain bike to look for his friend and to clear his mind.

  Some small part of Greg knew that he was just doing all of this to alleviate the guilt he felt for leaving Marco behind. The cop in him knew that his partner probably went up in flames with the rest of the camp that night. But as his friend, Greg found this image too horrible to accept. Greg’s only choice was to keep searching until he had closure of one kind or another.

  He looked over at his backpack, already stuffed and leaning in the corner. He half considered taking off for the mountains right then, but didn’t want to leave Kristen alone for an extra night. She was still in shock from her time with Magnus and needed a lot of support from him. It was a bit draining, but there were plenty of benefits too.

  He reached for a nearby guitar and strummed a few chords before somebody started banging on the door.

  “I already told you that you don’t have to knock, Kristen.”

  Junior stormed in with a scowl.

  “When were you going to tell me that Officer Bob came to see you about your brother?”

  Greg set the guitar down and tried to act surprised. She took a seat beside him.

  “You know those drunks at the bar were listening to everything you two said.”

  “You were the first person I thought of when I heard the news, but things got a little out of control.”

  “Good to hear. I thought maybe you rushed home to tell your plaything instead. That’s quite a show she’s putting on out there, by the way.”

  “We were young once too.”

  He instantly felt like the dirty old creep that Junior thought he was. Maybe it’s true.

  “We both know my body never looked like that.”

  Greg fumbled to change the subject.

  “What did the guys at the bar tell you?”

  “Just that Officer Bob is reopening Tim’s case. They said that he mentioned J.J.”

  Greg pushed himself up and went to flip the record over. Even after everything that had happened, it was still hard for him to be that close to Junior and not want to hold her. He lowered the needle onto Side Two and tried to move on.

  “You think he could have anything to do with it?”

  She exhaled loudly and crossed her arms. Greg could almost hear her thinking. Deep down inside they both suspected that nothing would come of this new lead.

  “The only thing I remember about J.J. is that he never shut up.”

  “For sure. You really had to watch what you said around him, unless you wanted everybody in The Bay Cities to find out about it. But he was much quieter when we were on the road. He spent most of his time in the van reading.”

  “You think it could’ve had something to do with all the drugs he was taking? Books are a great way to isolate yourself.”

  “No doubt. He was probably just staring at the page and nodding out. I’m still not surprised he became a professor, though.”

  “Well, I always thought he was a doofus. What does he teach?”

  “No idea.”

  Greg made a mental note to find that out. Junior stood up to leave, but had one more question to ask.

  “You gonna do anything about it?”

  “Officer Bob told me not to. So, yes.”

  ›

  There was only about an hour of sunlight left when Greg paddled out. The beach was mostly empty this time of day, which was just how he liked it. The waves had been pretty small all week, but he still liked getting in the water. Nothing quite compared to watching the sun set over the Pacific while sitting on a surfboard. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to live anywhere else.

  He caught a couple rides before the sun dipped down behind the horizon. The last one took him most of the way to shore. He thought he saw Kristen up on the sand in the distance as he paddled the last few yards and picked up his board. She had her legs tucked under her arms and was wearing a hoody over her head. Her eyes were on him as he undid the leash from his ankle and trotted up the beach. It was getting dark now, so he didn’t see who it actually was until she was right in front of him. They both seemed surprised.

  “Maggie Keane. What’re you doing down here at this time of night?”

  “Looking for you. Why haven’t you returned any of my messages?”

  “Just been out of town a lot. And working. Stop by Eddie’s sometime, you can usually find me there.”

  Greg turned to trot off. Maggie took hold of his surfboard leash.

  “I prefer it down here in South Bay, by the beach. Have a seat.”

  He reluctantly laid his board on the sand, dropping down beside her. His hair and wetsuit were still soaked. The breeze was making him shiver,
or was it Maggie? She had a knack for popping up at exactly the wrong time.

  “I heard you had a new kitten. You ever date women your own age?”

  He could hear the smile in her voice. She’d been blatantly coming onto him ever since they bumped into each other at a coffee shop last year. That was right around the time that everything went to hell. Greg tried to push the memories from his mind.

  “It just sort of seems to happen that way—”

  “I thought you’d learn your lesson after the last one”

  That was a low blow, but Greg didn’t respond. There was no point getting into a fight with a high school acquaintance that he barely remembered. Looking at her life now you might forget that she came home from D.C. with her tail between her legs after an embezzlement scandal. She spent all her time, these days, sipping mimosas and kissing up to the South Bay elite.

  “Are you happy with your little bartending gig?”

  It was more of a jab than a question.

  “Pays the bills and keeps me busy.”

  “What if I told you I had a job offer that might be a little more exciting? Something that’s right up your alley.”

  Greg squinted to look at her face. It was too dark to determine if she was serious or not.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ve got a new business partner. Could be very lucrative, but I’m not sure how much to trust him. I was hoping I could hire you to do a little digging.”

  “Sounds like you need a private investigator.”

  “I need somebody I can trust. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  The thought of getting paid for something he was good at did sound pretty appealing.

  “How much digging?”

  “You’re the expert, so I’ll leave it to you. All I want to know is if I can trust him or not. And that you’ll keep this between us. If you can agree to those terms, I’ll pay you twenty-five hundred dollars.”

  Maggie picked her phone up, punching out a message with her thumbs. She crossed her legs and stood up without using her hands. She was already disappearing into the gloom when Greg called out after her.