Grizzly Season

by S. W. Lauden

  He cackled manically. The media he hated so much had saved his life.

  Magnus and his soldiers drove off in a hurry, taking their wounded with them. Tommy tore from the front door of the cabin with his helmet already on. He ran around back where his motorcycle was hidden and sped off down the driveway. The chopper overhead noticed the action through the dissipating smoke and turned to follow after him. Greg listened to the revving engines and spinning blades as they sped away.

  Eddie and J.J. came out of hiding and stood beside Greg in the fading smoke. He looked over to where Kristen and Mary shared a hug on the porch. Nobody spoke a word, but their eyes said plenty. They all knew that this war was far from over.

  ›

  Marco was chilling out at the processing facility in Van Nuys when Magnus stormed in. He walked straight up to him, grabbed a fistful of hair and drove his knuckles into his nose. Blood exploded across his face, blurring his vision as he resisted fighting back. Magnus wasn’t impressed, dropping Marco to the floor with a right and several kicks to the ribs.

  “Greg Salem is a dead man.”

  Marco was rolling on the ground, bracing himself for the next round. His arms were up over his head and he was trying to make himself as small as possible. Magnus took one look at the pathetic scene at his feet and stepped back.

  “Get up. I said, GET UP!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The sun had already set when the El Camino glided down the Bay Cities off ramp. Greg was behind the wheel; Kristen was beside him with her head on his shoulder. Mary was riding shotgun. The plan was to stop by Eddie’s on the way back to South Bay so Junior could see with her own eyes that everybody was safe. They were barely through the door when she charged over to smother them with hugs. It wasn’t anything that out of the ordinary, except that Mary had never met her before.

  Greg managed to pry himself between them so he could ask about Chris.

  “Where is he now?”

  “We honestly don’t know, but he’ll come home when he’s ready. Right?”

  Greg knew that it could go either way. The best he could do was offer to help.

  “I’ll go find him. Try to talk some sense into him.”

  “Good luck. I hope he listens, but I’m not so sure. Might be a few years.”

  He gave her shoulder a squeeze. She braved a smile, trying to change the subject.

  “What happened up there today?”

  Greg told her everything, up to when the Sheriff’s Department finally showed up. That was long after the action was over, and mostly in response to the news helicopter. Junior knew the rest of the story because Eddie and J.J had beat Greg back. And because they’d all watched the action unfolding on the TV behind the bar.

  The news chopper had followed Tommy down the mountain as he chased after Magnus and his men. There wasn’t much that Tommy could do unarmed and alone on a motorcycle, but he managed to stick with them—at least until they started shooting at him. He hit his brakes to avoid the bullets and laid his bike down. It slid out from under him and skidded along the pavement for a few hundred feet with Tommy right behind it.

  Convinced he was hit, the chopper swung back around to cover the carnage while Magnus and his men got away. They hovered there for two or three minutes, focusing the camera on Tommy’s unmoving body. That was the scene playing out again and again when Eddie grabbed the TV remote and turned it off. There were some groans from the assembled customers at the bar, so Junior bought a round of drinks to shut them up.

  It looked worse on the screen than Greg had imagined. More terrifying even than the radio reports he’d listened to all the way home. Greg looked at his phone again to make sure that he had read Tommy’s text message correctly. ‘Alive and well. Spending the night in the hospital. You good?’

  Greg was exhausted. He let the girls do a quick toast before escorting them to the car. Eddie tried to protest, so Junior ran interference to let them escape. Mary was the only one of them drinking, but managed to down her whole beer before they got outside. She was fast asleep when they pulled up behind the house in South Bay ten minutes later. Kristen guided her inside to the bedroom while Greg stopped by the garage to see J.J.

  There was no response to his knocking, so Greg went in. A suitcase was on the bed and J.J. was busy filling it.

  “You really leaving?”

  “Looks like it.” J.J.’s tone was neutral, but his body language screamed a different story.

  Greg took a seat at the end of the bed and tried to get through to him. “You saved our lives today. I owe you for that. We all do.”

  “I’m no hero.”

  He shoved a few dirty T-shirts into the suitcase, on top of his crumpled jeans. The only thing left to pack was his bass guitar. It was leaning in the corner next to Greg’s acoustic. Greg suddenly wished that they had played together more often while J.J. was living there. Now was definitely not the right time to suggest it.

  “I’m probably the only one around here who knows how you feel. People have been trying to make a hero out of me for as long as I can remember.”

  “You don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  J.J. took a step back and blurted out what was eating him up.

  “It was me, Greg. I’m the one who told them what you were doing. The one who was spying on you this whole time. I mean, not on purpose, but still…”

  Greg jumped up instinctually. J.J. flinched, waiting for the punch that never came.

  “How is that even possible?”

  “I didn’t know. I thought they were BCC fans at first. We’d get high and they’d start asking questions—”

  Any exhaustion Greg felt was being eaten alive by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He wanted to rip his old bass player apart with his bare hands, but not before he got the information he needed.

  “Who, J.J.? Tell me who, Goddamn it.”

  “Some girls I met down at the beach. Weed dealers.”

  “Were they young?”

  “I don’t know, man. Yeah, twenties or whatever. Not underage or anything. I thought they wanted to party with me.”

  “Did either of them have any tattoos?”

  “Now that you mention it, one of them had a—”

  “Bear paw on her left shoulder? No shit. What else? Tell me everything about them.”

  “One of them said her dad had a yacht. You should have seen it. Thing was unbelievable.”

  “All yachts have names. What was it called?”

  “Oh man. I know this…It’s the…the…”

  J.J. brought a palm up to his forehead and pounded, as if he could beat the answer from his hazy memory. Greg was ready to jump in and help when J.J. finally came up with it.

  “The Ursula.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “They have it moored off shore, about a mile out. We took a dinghy from the harbor, but you can probably see it from the pier. Thing’s huge.”

  The perfect hiding place, with plenty of escape options. It would also explain why Maggie washed up on the shore instead of turning up in a shallow mountain grave. Greg had a strong suspicion that if he found that boat, he would find Marco.

  ›

  Greg sprinted across the moonlit beach in a full body wetsuit. The surfboard under his arm banged against the serrated scuba knife strapped to his bicep. He took a last look at his iPhone before flinging it onto the sand. The thing would never survive the trip and it wouldn’t do him any good when he got there.

  Kristen and Mary were already in bed when he’d made his decision. He considered waking them up, but left a note for Kristen on the kitchen table instead. It explained what she should do if he didn’t come back. There was bank account information, the deed to the cabin, and a telephone number for the Police Chief in Virgil Heights. He’d also left a P.S. that said
he liked the name Greg for their son, but fully trusted her with the decision.

  The icy water was black as Greg charged in. He climbed onto his board and paddled for the small triangle of lights on the horizon. He tried not to think about everything that might be wrong with this plan as he torpedoed through the breaking waves.

  His arms ached and his hands were tingling by the time he made it out past the breakers. The gloves and booties were helping, but the cold still felt like it was crushing him from the outside. It would have been an easier trip on his stand-up paddleboard, but it also would have taken him longer to get down to the beach. And he would have been an easier target for gunfire once he got closer to the yacht.

  Every minute mattered now that he thought Marco might be close by. Nothing would stop him until he knew for sure. He kept paddling and tried not to think about the sharks that had haunted his dreams since childhood.

  Greg looked over his shoulder and was disappointed by the progress he’d made. The lights of South Bay danced on the sloping hill behind him, like stars in the mountain skies. The yacht bobbed in and out of view as Greg got closer. He gritted his teeth and paddled harder, the surfboard gliding across the choppy surface. It wasn’t long before he was close enough to see the deck was empty, at least on his side of the yacht. Lights glowed through the cabin windows, but there was no movement inside. The boat was either empty, or they were waiting for him.

  He had less than fifty yards to go when a glimmering fish jumped out of the water, bouncing off the tip of his board. Greg leapt back and uttered “Jesus!” a little too loud while he thrashed in the water. There was a small commotion along the rail of the yacht. Two silhouettes were leaning over, trying to locate the source of the noise. His heart was racing as he climbed on his board and forced it down with all of his weight. He was a dead man if they saw the light reflecting off of it and started firing into the water.

  It felt like an eternity before they finally gave up and went back inside. Greg waited a few minutes before paddling forward. He rolled from his surfboard and swam the remaining distance to the dive platform. The name of the yacht was painted there in thin, curving letters.

  Music was playing somewhere inside, below deck. Greg took his gloves off and inched along the mounted lifeboat, stopping to take cover. Somebody was definitely smoking nearby. He peeked around the curve of the small vessel and saw a man standing near the bow. The slight ocean breeze blew his hair to one side as he looked out over the water. A cherry burned brightly on the cigarette pinched between his lips. The handle of a gun stuck out from the back of his jeans.

  Greg clenched the knife in his fist and got ready to attack. He knew there would only be one chance to take him out quietly and grab his gun. After that, Magnus and anybody else onboard would be on him. He tiptoed forward to get within striking distance and sprang.

  The guard heard the noise and tried to turn, but a moment too late. Greg landed a solid punch to the man’s jaw and sent him sprawling to the deck. He reached for his gun, but Greg knocked it loose with a swift kick. The gun clattered and slid away in the scuffle.

  The guard grabbed both of Greg’s ankles and yanked his legs out from under him. Greg landed hard on his back, but managed to hold onto the knife. He brought it up in front of him as the guard clawed at Greg’s eyes. He slammed his forehead into the guard’s nose, finishing him with a punch to the throat. Greg found the gun and scurried back to the lifeboat. He couldn’t be sure if anybody inside heard the scuffle, so he knelt down to wait and catch his breath.

  Greg was standing up to make his way into the cabin when he felt an arm wrap around his neck. It was tight as a vice and instantly cut the flow of air to his lungs. He managed to bring the knife up at an awkward angle, but still made a clean slice. His attacker cursed as Greg spun away. He was still gasping for air when he recognized the voice.

  “That hurt, dude!.”

  Greg almost couldn’t believe his eyes. Marco’s body was still inside the lifeboat, but his head and arm were hanging out. Blood was dripping from his latest wound. There was a pained smile on his face.

  “About time you showed up.”

  “Are you all right?”

  Greg stepped forward, but Marco brushed him off. He dropped out of sight for a second beneath the canvas cover. A filthy T-shirt was tied around his forearm when he climbed out a few moments later. The two of them stood there taking each other in.

  Marco still had his junky physique, but ropy muscles bulged from under his leathery skin now. There were more cuts on his face than the last time Greg had seen him, and his eyes had grown colder. But under all of that, he was still Marco.

  “Aren’t you freezing?”

  “You can get used to almost anything.”

  Greg slapped the side of the lifeboat.

  “You know how to put this thing in the water?”

  “Hell yes. I’m practically a pro, you just flip those levers over there. But I’m not going anywhere yet.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Marco held his hand out for the gun. Greg hesitated.

  “We could still get out of here pretty easily if we bail now.”

  “Not until I settle this. You can wait here, or leave without me if you want. I’ll find a way back to shore on my own.”

  “How many more are there?”

  “Magnus and one other guy.”

  Greg wrestled with it for second. There was nothing legal about to happen, but part of him knew that it had to end like this. Who the hell would miss Magnus any way?

  “You sure this is what you want to do?”

  “All I’ve been thinking about for months, bro.”

  Months. Greg could suddenly feel every second of agony that Marco had endured. All the beatings he took. The endless days and sleepless nights filled with constant fear and humiliation. It was bound to leave scars that nobody else could see, the kind of pain that Marco would live with for the rest of his life. So who was Greg to deny his friend a little revenge?

  He handed the gun over.

  “Need me to come with you?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  Marco led the way to the cabin. The polished wooden staircase was narrow so they had to go single-file. That meant Magnus could end this quick if he was sitting down there ready to pick them off. But there was no other easy way down, and Marco wasn’t leaving until he had some closure.

  The music got louder as they descended. Some ridiculous seventies prog rock that neither of them could identify. The smell of marijuana smoke filled the air and made the tight space even more claustrophobic. They were almost at the bottom when Marco turned around.

  “Thanks for coming to get me.”

  He took the last two steps at once and tumbled into the space below. Greg was right behind him with the knife in his hand. They both jumped to their feet to search for cover, but the bullets never came.

  The room was small, but luxurious. Heavy brass lamps flanked a leather sofa behind them. Soft light reflected off the wooden walls to create an orange glow, like fire dancing in a cave. Lush oil paintings of grizzly bears hung on either side of a closed door. A carved bar and two stools took up the far corner. Magnus was seated behind a small table in the opposite corner, eating dinner. He set his fork down on the plate and leaned back with a glass of red wine.

  “Welcome aboard, Greg. Happy holidays.”

  “Where’s your other man?”

  “Around here somewhere. Keeping you honest.”

  Marco moved toward Magnus, gun first. Greg went over to pat him down. Magnus had Greg’s Glock under the cloth napkin in his lap.

  “I was wondering what happened to this.”

  Greg took a few steps back. Magnus brought his wine up to drink. Tiny beads of red liquid clung to the stubble that grew around his sneering lips. He nodded to Greg.

&
nbsp; “Why don’t you take a seat?”

  “Your business is with him.”

  They both looked at Marco. His face was an unreadable mask. Greg brought his gun up and walked over to the closed door. Locked from the other side.

  “Where’s the key?”

  “Must’ve misplaced it.”

  Marco leapt at Magnus, bringing the gun down across the side of his head. Two streams of blood ran from either end of the narrow gash over his ear. Magnus grunted and sat back up. He sounded slightly less confident when he spoke again.

  “I bet that felt good. Huh, Marco?”

  Marco leveled his gun, the barrel trained on Magnus. Greg’s eyes darted between the two doors and the narrow windows high up the walls. If anybody was coming to save Magnus, they were taking their time. Magnus brought the napkin up and held it against his wound.

  “I know it did, because I’ve felt that kind of rage myself. Let it build up inside of me until I exploded.”

  Greg was getting antsier with each passing second. He could sense the phantom bodyguard circling, waiting for the signal to pounce. With everything else that had happened, he had no patience for another lecture from Magnus.

  “Let’s just go. Officer Bob can take care of him.”

  “No way. He’s a dead man.”

  Greg was still staring at Marco when Magnus spoke up.

  “It’s more true than you know. Got diagnosed with brain cancer last year. Terminal. A bullet would honestly be a relief.”

  Greg’s face flushed with rage.

  “Is that what this has all been about? A last hoorah?”

  “No man wants to go to the grave without leaving his mark.”

  “Come on, Marco. He doesn’t need any help from us with his pathetic little legacy.”

  “You’ve already helped plenty.”

  Now Greg’s gun was pointed at Magnus too. He knew that he could end all of this with one shot. Shut him up for good with a bullet right between the eyes. He could save Marco the trouble, and the crippling regret that would surely follow. But Greg couldn’t stop himself from asking some of the questions buzzing around his mind.