by S. W. Lauden
Guitar was about the only connection that Greg had with Chris these days. They’d spend hours together some weekends, strumming in unison without saying a word to each other. Which was fine with Greg. He knew what it was like to be young and full of rage. He also knew that music was one of the best ways to connect with other people, especially when talking seemed utterly pointless.
Greg never thought of himself as a guitar player, but he could fake it. He was just thankful that Chris mostly wanted to learn songs that he actually knew, including a handful by Bad Citizen Corporation. It had already gotten to the point where Chris knew those old punk songs better than Greg did.
Greg walked in and went to the counter. The woman seated there dropped her eyes and reached for the phone as he approached. Chris’s doctor emerged from the doors to the left. He was tall and lean with thick blond hair. Two burly attendants flanked him on either side, arms folded across their bulging chests.The doctor lifted his clipboard, studying it for a moment. He had a way of stressing certain words when he spoke, as though he was consciously trying to annoy whoever he was addressing. It always did the trick on Greg.
“Hello, Mr. Salem. I’m afraid there’s been another altercation. Is Chris’s mother with you?”This was the same dance they did every time he came to visit Chris, especially when Greg showed up without Junior. The doctor had it in his head that Greg was a bad influence. It might have been because of his tattoos, or his checkered past. Or it could have been that Chris talked about him a little too often. It didn’t matter much to Greg either way since he was listed as a legal guardian in Chris’s file.
“What kind of altercation?”
“We have him isolated for now, but we have some serious concerns.”
Greg slammed the guitar case to the floor. A stale note rang out from inside of it as he stepped forward. He was the closest thing Chris had to father, whether the doctor liked it or not.
“Is he all right? What happened?”
“He put another patient into the infirmary today. The boy needed five stitches in his forehead by the time Chris got through with him.”
Greg wasn’t surprised. Chris had gone through a growth spurt ever since he’d been admitted. Starchy food and physical activity had turned the pudgy twerp into a raging, hormonal teen. Mix that new found strength with the boy’s endless well of anger and you got a recipe for disaster. But none of that mattered to Greg at the moment.
“I want to see him right now.”
“Fine, but I’m warning you.
He was practically walking on the doctor’s heels to get him moving faster. A TV blared in one of the rooms as they passed, loud rap music thumping from another. Greg felt a chill run down his spine the deeper they went into the facility, as if his entire body was telling him to grab Chris and run. They took several disorienting turns before reaching his room. It was a little too quiet for Greg’s comfort.
“When’s the last time you checked on him?”
The doctor looked over to one of the attendants.
“Fifteen minutes. Maybe a little longer.”
The second attendant slid a master key into the lock, twisting the handle on the door. It swung open in a silent, swooping arc. Greg’s eyes fell on the bed first, the bare mattress covered in stains and the blankets shoved to one side. The attendants were already pushing past him before he noticed the dangling feet right above it. Chris was hanging from a sheet attached to an overhead light. His limp body folded and fell as they grabbed his legs, pulling him down to the cold linoleum floor.
One of the attendants took off running down the hall, screaming as he went.
“Code blue!”
Greg didn’t move as he watched the doctor go to work on Chris’s lifeless body.
›
It was almost eight when the emergency room doctor finally emerged. Greg listened in as he explained the situation.
“We’re very lucky they discovered him when they did. From what we can tell he’d only been up there a minute at most. There are still more tests to run.”
Junior and Eddie were both speechless. so Greg inserted himself.
“Is he awake?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid he isn’t ready for visitors. Are you his father?”
“I’m a close family friend. What kind of tests?”
The doctor turned to face Junior when he answered Greg’s question.
“He was really only up there long enough to cut off the flow of oxygen, but we need to be sure there wasn’t any permanent cerebral damage. It’s still early, but I’m expecting a full recovery.”
Eddie let out a long, slow breath and collapsed into the nearest chair. Greg caught a whiff of stale whisky on the old man’s breath. It was becoming his signature scent.
Junior squeezed Greg’s arm and tucked her face into his neck. He wanted to hold her like that forever, close his eyes and pretend that nothing had ever changed.
His phone buzzed repeatedly, like an angry wasp trapped in his pocket. He did his best to ignore it. The doctor lingered for a second, waiting to see if there were any more questions before eventually slipping away. There was a brief moment of calm before Greg’s phone started up again. Junior released her grip and stepped back.
“You should probably get that.”
“It’s just my boss.”
Eddie stood up and walked over. Greg noticed that he’d developed an old man’s shuffle in the last few months.
“You can always come back to work at the bar.”
“Thanks, Eddie. We’ll see.”
“Anything would be better than that guy who replaced you.”
Greg held his phone up to reveal a screen full of missed calls and text messages.
“I guess I should go deal with this. Keep me posted on Chris. And call if you need anything. I’ll come right over.”
He hustled into the elevator, checking his phone on the way down. Maggie’s first text message was a simple: ‘Where the f r u?’ That had come an hour before. The most recent one was brand new, and a little more involved: ‘U r so fired. Drop the car at my house and leave the keys in the mailbox. Goodbye.’ He didn’t bother reading or listening to the dozen messages that came in between. He typed ‘Will bring it over in the morning.’ and moved on.
Greg had his hand on the town car’s door handle when he heard footsteps. A television reporter was rushing towards him, her camera crew in tow. Greg thought he recognized her from the media mob on the mountain, but he couldn’t be sure. They were all starting to look alike. He was thrilled that she didn’t have red hair.
He only managed to get the car door open a crack before they cornered him. She shoved her microphone in his face, barraging him with questions. Her suffocating perfume stung his nostrils.
“Is it true that there has been another overdose?”
Greg turned his head, flinching as the cameraman shined a blinding light in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I think you’ve got me confused with somebody else—”
“Don’t be modest, Mr. Salem. Is it true that you came out of retirement to join the task force investigating this lethal new street drug?”
Greg clinched his fists. There were so many things he wanted to say, but the camera made him nervous.
“What? No. I don’t have anything to do with any Grizzly Bear special task force—”
The reporter was practically salivating as she landed her next question.
“But you do admit that Grizzly Bear exists?”
She wasn’t nearly as dumb as he’d assumed. And she had him right where she wanted him. Greg knew he needed to do something fast, say something smart, but the most he could manage was “No comment.” He yanked the door open, forcing his way into the town car.
The reporter was pounding on the window. He started the engine and sped off.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Greg was only vaguely aware that Christmas was around the corner. It was mainly because Kristen had developed a craving for eggnog. He’d already cleaned out all the local liquor stores before wising up and ordering online. The six cartons came packed in a Styrofoam container filled with dry ice. They’d gone through three shipments in the last four weeks.
Kristen was still in bed when he brought her breakfast on a tray. He had to set it on the comforter beside her because her belly was too big to fit underneath.
“Your cinnamon eggnog waffles, and a decaf eggnog latte to wash it down.”
“I could get used to this service.”
“And I could never smell eggnog again and be happy about it.”
She giggled and tore into a waffle with her fingers. He liked to watch her eat now that she had put some weight on. Her face was fuller and she seemed to savor every bite, whether it was eggnog muffins or eggnog cheesecake. She always did a good job pretending not notice him staring at her. It took a minute before he could tear himself away.
“Enjoy your breakfast. I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Going back to the hospital?”
“Not until this afternoon. I have to take Maggie’s car back, and then I’m going surfing.”
He didn’t have to look to know she was disappointed. It stopped him in his tracks.
“You’ll be fine without me for a couple of hours, right?”
“I guess, it’s—”
She caught her breath. Greg went back to the bed and sat down beside her. There wasn’t much he could do in these moments, so he held her hand and waited. It was hard to tell if she sensed his impatience, or if she even cared. He did his best to hide it anyway. Her tone was cold when she finally spoke again.
“Can’t Maggie wait?”
“Not really. I mean, I’m pretty sure she fired me last night.”
“After what happened with Chris? Let me talk to her for you. I’m sure she’ll get over it.”
Greg clamped his teeth in imitation of a smile. He’d only lost his job the night before, but he was already stressed out about supporting his new family. Eddie’s L Bar was still his standby, unless he committed to becoming a private investigator full time. Both options seemed less appealing by the minute. Going back to being a cop wasn’t even a consideration.
“Let me handle it.”
Kristen eventually went back to picking at her breakfast. That’s when Greg made his move. He kissed her on the cheek, jumped up and headed for the backyard. It crossed his mind to wake J.J. up and bring him along, but he reconsidered. His old bass player had been crashing in the garage apartment since starting the bartending gig. Greg thought he would appreciate another couple hours of sleep after closing down Eddie’s the night before.
Greg grabbed one of the surfboards that was leaning against the back gate and stepped into the alley. Maggie’s town car was parked behind the El Camino, right where he’d left it the night before. Greg swung the back door open and laid his board across the leather seat. It took a little maneuvering to make it fit with the door closed. What’s a little sand and wax between friends?
His plan was to drop the car off before walking to the beach for a session. But not until he’d begged Maggie for his job back. She was probably drunk when she fired him anyway.
He wanted to go surfing more than anything else. A new swell had rolled in over the last couple days and he looked forward to blowing off some steam. He hadn’t been out in a few days, but it felt like an eternity. Greg climbed behind the wheel and wound through the maze of narrow beach streets that twisted around South Bay.
Greg pulled into her garage ten minutes later. The classic beach house that he’d so admired was completely gone. Every inch of available space had been filled with a boxy, modern monstrosity that looked like a high-end motel from the outside. Four sheer walls climbing to whatever heights the zoning laws allowed. It obscured her neighbor’s beach views for blocks in every direction. He thought it was a minor miracle that she’d gotten so much done in less than a year.
Greg unloaded his surfboard and left it leaning against the house. He wanted to make one more sweep of the car to be sure that there wasn’t anything of his he’d forgotten. There was no way to know if Maggie would even be in any condition to speak. She was a good drinker, but terrible at dealing with hangovers.
He was locking the town car up when he heard the kitchen door squeak open. Greg looked up expecting Maggie, but found Mark Lathrop instead.
One hand was tucked into the pocket of a plush bathrobe, the other was holding a mug. His jet-black coif was perfect as always, but the bags under his eyes told a different story. Greg didn’t want to know anything about what he and Maggie had done the night before. He would pay good money to avoid learning any of the details, money he didn’t have.
If Lathrop sensed his discomfort, he didn’t let it show.
“Interest you in a cup of coffee?”
His voice was even and smooth, but his eyes flicked around the garage. It seemed like he might be looking for something or somebody.
“I was actually about to go surfing. Maybe next time.”
“The waves aren’t going anywhere. Come on. It won’t take long.”
Lathrop stepped aside, motioning to the door. He was being friendly, but it didn’t seem like he was asking. Greg guessed a couple of his goons were champing at the bit just inside the kitchen.
“Where’s Maggie?”
“She’s a little tied up. But that’s actually what I wanted to speak with you about.”
Lathrop hit the garage door button on the wall. The friendly twinkle in his baby blue eyes turned cold. Greg listened to the door slam shut behind him, sure that he was out of options. That cup of coffee was sounding better by the moment.
Greg could smell last night’s cologne on Lathrop as he squeezed by him. Much to his surprise, there was nobody waiting for him in the kitchen. Lathrop went straight to the cupboard and pulled down a mug.
“How do you take it?”
“Black’s fine.”
“I’m a little surprised that a man of your age can handle it without a little cream. How old are you anyway, thirty-six? Thirty-seven?”
He filled the mug, setting it down on the counter. Greg climbed up onto a stool and took a sip. The coffee was way too hot to drink.
“Forty. You?”
“Thirty-six, if you can believe that. Hollywood ages you, especially your skin. The good news is that if you have enough money you can always buy new skin.”
His smile was almost blinding as he raised his mug.
“To new skin.”
Greg did the same, but didn’t repeat the toast. He gave the room a casual once over while waiting for Lathrop to play his hand. There was no sign of Maggie that he could see, and it was starting to worry him. It wasn’t like her to stay out of sight for this long with Greg in the house. She might be pissed off, but he wasn’t willing to let some psycho billionaire harvest her skin.
Greg decided he had nothing to lose.
“Is there something you wanted to discuss, Mr. Lathrop?”
“Call me Mark.”
“No need to get friendly. I’m not staying long. I’d like to see Maggie, though.”
“Fine.”
Lathrop slammed his mug down hard on the granite countertop. The coffee was still sloshing around as he went to find her upstairs. Greg guessed he only had a few minutes, so he jumped up to take a look around. He followed the flow of the open floor plan into the living room. There were two wine glasses on the coffee table beside an empty bottle. Maggie’s dress from the day before was in a small pile on the cold wooden floor; a balled up wad of Lathrop’s clothes were right beside it.
He went through the dining room on his way back to the kitchen. It didn’t look like any of the gleaming furniture had been u
sed yet. Must be nice to have that kind of money to waste, he thought, pushing his way through the service door. Greg climbed back up onto his stool, grabbing the untouched morning paper. He wanted to appear oblivious when Lathrop came back.
The bottom headline on the front page caught his attention.
LA Buzz: “Hero Cop’ Confirms Existence Of ‘Grizzly Bear’”
by Leslie Thompson, Staff Reporter
Former Virgil Heights police officer, Greg Salem, has confirmed the existence of the lethal street drug commonly known as ‘Grizzly Bear.’
In a brief television interview that hit the airwaves late last night, Salem, the ‘hero cop’ who saved a woman and her son from a serial killer in The Bay Cities last summer, accidentally let slip that he is involved in a joint law enforcement task force assigned to investigate reports of the toxic marijuana strain.
Greg’s mind raced. Leslie Thompson might only be doing her job, but it was making Greg’s life impossible. He was so startled by Lathrop’s reappearance that he almost fell off from his stool.
“No dice. She’s in the shower. But honestly, she’s still so pissed off at you that I doubt she’ll come down anyway.”
Greg flipped the newspaper over, pushing it away. He set his coffee mug down on top of it for good measure. Lathrop took his seat across the counter from Greg to continue their conversation. He motioned to the newspaper instead.
“Anything interesting in there?”
“Same shit, different day.”
“Talk about a dying business. I haven’t looked at one of those things in years.”
Greg nodded, relieved that he was off the hook about Thompson’s latest column—at least for the moment. He hoped that everybody else he knew shared Lathrop’s opinion about newspapers. The TV piece from the hospital parking lot was of greater concern. Luckily, Lathrop moved on.