Grizzly Season

by S. W. Lauden

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? Grizzly Bear was a lie from the start.”

  “People don’t buy products any more, they buy the myth. I’m a marketing guy, not some ‘mad scientist’. You said it yourself. It didn’t matter if Grizzly Bear was real, it mattered that people thought it was real—thought that they had to try it. I just needed somebody interesting to help me spread the word.”

  “How exactly did I fit into that equation?”

  “Don’t you get it? You were the perfect spokesman. A hero cop with a front man’s ego who was already being chased by the media. I could have just hired somebody if I was selling jeans or watches, but this was a special circumstance—and there you were. It was a dream come true for an opportunist like me.”

  “I thought your plan was to sell your creation to the Mexicans and retire.”

  “You’re giving me too much credit. I’ve been on the wrong side of that business relationship, and I’m not itching to go back. Trying to sell them something that doesn’t exist is a great way to get yourself killed. You were the better option by a long shot.”

  “And Marco was your leverage.”

  “I was running out of time until you two came along. Honestly don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  It was getting hard for Greg to contain his anger. Pieces of the puzzle were swirling around his head now, coming together to form a picture he couldn’t stand to look at.

  “But there’s no way you could have known that Grizzly Flats would get raided.”

  “Please, Greg. Who do you think called them in? I manufactured the whole scene. It was a gigantic PR stunt designed to get media attention. And it worked. They fell for it, you all fell for it.”

  Greg felt used up and spit out. He’d fallen right into Magnus’s trap and got swept up. He’d let himself be fooled into thinking he could play the hero again.

  “You got everything you wanted out of me—out of us. So why come after Kristen?”

  “My life won’t only be judged by my career. All of this was for her. The kind of existence, the kind of money, that I never gave her as a child. I wanted to have her by my side when they end comes, to make up for all the years we missed. She’s the only other person I ever truly loved.”

  “You threatened to kill her, and her best friend. That isn’t love, it’s manipulation. You’re nothing more than a twisted control freak.”

  “Call it what you want, but everything was going according to plan—my plan. The only thing that I couldn’t predict was that she’d fall in love with a failure like you. ”

  Greg took the words in. Let them roll around his mind until they disappeared. The shock, the anger, and the temptation to shoot Magnus—all of it was gone. Washed from his body with the realization that none of it mattered. He brought his gun down and turned to face Marco.

  “I’ll be up on deck. Do whatever you have to do, then let’s go home.”

  The crisp night air felt like a slap to the face. Greg was struggling with the lifeboat levers when a shot rang out from inside the cabin. The noise echoed off the water for miles in every direction. Greg knew that sound would never stop ringing in Marco’s ears.

  CHAPTER TWENTY- THREE

  Eddie grunted and groaned as he struggled across the sand. The wetsuit he’d borrowed was bunched up around his arms and legs, but taut across his gut. It was only nine in the morning and beads of sweat already dotted his forehead. He never would have made it to the shoreline if Marco wasn’t prodding him along. Greg was waiting for them when they arrived.

  A wave peaked and crashed not far from where they stood. Eddie jogged backwards from the whitewash that rushed at his feet. Greg couldn’t stop from laughing.

  “Don’t tell me a tough guy like you is afraid of a little cold water.”

  “This is a bad idea, Greg. I haven’t even been in the ocean for twenty-something years. You really expect me to maneuver this thing?”

  He motioned to the paddleboard on the sand at his feet. Greg picked up a paddle and handed it to Marco.

  “You’ll be sharing a board with him.”

  Eddie started protesting even more.

  “The water’s freezing. No way, I’m not going to—”

  “Take it easy, Eddie. You’ll lay flat and Marco will do all the work. We aren’t going far.”

  Eddie looked out to where Greg was pointing. Silhouettes glided along in front of the horizon a couple hundred yards out. Marco gave his passenger a slap on the shoulder.

  “You ready, old man?”

  It was the closest thing to a joke that Greg had heard from Marco in almost two weeks. He’d barely even seen him smile since that night on the yacht. And they still hadn’t spoken to each other about what really happened out there. Probably never would. Which was fine by Greg, since Marco was still alive.

  Eddie followed Greg out into the shallow water and Marco brought the board up alongside him. It took a little coaxing to get Eddie to lie down, but he finally relented. Marco stepped on at the back of the board and shifted his weight. The balance was as good as it was going to get. Greg climbed onto his board next to them and led the way across the waves.

  Eddie’s wiry grey hair was soaking wet when they reached the SUP Sober meeting. Pete watched the trio float up and swung his board around to greet them.

  “Greg and Marco, together. I must be having a flashback. Who’s your friend?”

  He nodded to Eddie who was gripping the rails for dear life, cursing under his breath. Greg stepped in to make the introduction.

  “That’s Eddie. I’m sure you two have crossed paths.”

  “Most definitely. You threw me out of your bar more than a few times, back in the day.”

  Eddie perked up a little at the violent trip down memory lane, as if he briefly forgot that he was in the middle of the ocean waiting for his first twelve-step meeting to begin.

  “I’m sure you had it coming.”

  “No doubt about it, but that was a long time ago. Stoked you’re here today. I hope you stick around.”

  They joined the others and got their boards into a jagged circle. Greg watched Eddie’s face as Pete brought the meeting to order, saw the dawning realization of what it actually meant to be out there with the people he once served drinks to. Admitting he was one of them now.

  It was a start.

  ›

  Chris was sitting on the sand with his surfboard. Greg walked up the beach and dropped down next to him.

  The boy reached over to strap his leash on.

  “Any good out there today?”

  “Not bad. Little mushy for a pro like you.”

  Chris gave Greg an awkward punch to the arm.

  “Whatever, dude. You take grandpa out to that meeting of yours?”

  “Yep. Went better than I thought it would.”

  “Cool.”

  Chris looked out at the waves to watch his grandpa and Marco paddle in. Greg studied the boy’s face. He could see a light brush of acne on his cheek, above a jawline emerging from under baby fat. Greg guessed that Chris would be shaving in a year or two. He searched his own memories for what came after that, but didn’t like what he remembered.

  “How are your meetings going?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Just okay?”

  Greg noticed a confidence in the boy’s gaze that hadn’t been there before. Chris rolled his eyes.

  “Want me to pretend that therapy’s cool?”

  “Beats the alternative.”

  Chris stood up and grabbed his board. Greg reached down, flipping a handful of sand at him.

  “Did you learn that song I taught you?”

  “Bet I can play it better than you can now.”

  “That might be true, but I’m the one who wrote it. Show a little respect.”

&nbs
p; “Whatever, Fred Despair. See you later tonight.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  ›

  Greg tried to be quiet when he came through the back gate later that morning. He leaned his paddleboard gently against the garage and took his wetsuit off in silence. J.J. had worked the closing shift at Eddie’s the night before and would be sleeping until well past noon.

  Things between them weren’t perfect, but he still liked having his old bass player around. Even if J.J. had been inadvertently spying for Magnus ever since he moved in. Greg knew that J.J. was really only guilty of trying to relive his glory years. And who could blame him? Getting old was exactly as terrible as they imagined it would be when they were still kids. Besides, it was nice to have somebody else in his life that could remember his brother Tim—the way he was before the drugs took over.

  Greg turned on the garden hose and rinsed his feet off. Kristen hated it when he tracked sand into the house these days. She’d become a real neat freak ever since the baby was born. When she wasn’t nursing or napping, she followed him around with a dustpan and broom. Meanwhile, the refrigerator was full of eggnog that neither of them would ever drink.

  He opened the door and found her in the rocking chair. It always made Greg think of the cabin when he saw her sitting there, but he kept that memory to himself. She smiled at him while bringing a finger up to her lips. He walked over and gave her a kiss on the forehead, careful not to make a sound. Between J.J. and the baby, a life that was once full of loud music and gunshots had become relatively silent.

  Their son was swaddled tight and sleeping in her lap. Greg still couldn’t look down at his chubby little face without expecting to see Magnus. He wondered how much of his grandfather they would detect in the boy as he grew up. And if there was anything he or Kristen could ever do to stop that part of him from completely taking over. There are so many things in our lives that are so far out of our control.

  Kristen stood up carefully and handed the baby to Greg.

  “I haven’t taken a shower all week.”

  “Take a bath. I’ve got him.”

  “Thanks. What time’s your meeting?”

  “Couple hours. Go relax.”

  She stumbled off to the bathroom in a sleep-deprived daze. Greg took her place in the rocking chair, holding baby Tim in his arms. The boy twitched and threatened to open his eyes, but drifted back to sleep in no time. A smile crept across Greg’s lips as he stared down at his son, thinking of the future.

  ›

  Tommy was already seated when Greg walked in later that afternoon. There was a laptop computer open on the table in front of him, and a couple of notebooks beside it. Greg looked around the empty South Bay café as he sat down.

  “You sure this is a good place to do this?”

  “It’s fine. I work here all the time.”

  Tommy smiled and waved to the barista behind the counter. He held up two fingers and she got to work making a couple of lattes. It was hard for Greg to take Tommy seriously without his motorcycle leathers.

  “Those reading glasses are a nice touch. How have you been?”

  “Really busy trying to get this piece done. My editor thinks that I have a book here.”

  “She the tall woman with red hair?”

  “That’s the one. You really shook her up when you stopped by the office that day.”

  “She’s a good actress.”

  Tommy stopped typing and looked up.

  “I’ll tell her you said so. Now, let’s get this interview over with.”

  “You only have a few minutes to spare for your star source?”

  “You read my column, so you know I already wrote your quotes. This interview is a formality.”

  They hadn’t been face-to-face since that night on the mountain, but they’d traded plenty of texts and spoken on the phone several times. That’s how Greg got the news that ‘Tommy’ was the nickname of newspaper columnist Leslie Thompson. It was a total shock, but a relief to know for sure that his new friend didn’t work for Magnus. It also explained how so much of Greg’s personal information kept getting printed. And why the news helicopter arrived before the police that day on the mountain.

  Tommy whipped out a digital recorder, hit the red button and set it down between them. Greg felt instantly uncomfortable.

  “No foreplay?”

  “I thought you’d be used to getting recorded by now.”

  Tommy had been writing an investigative piece about illegal marijuana crops in the Angeles National Forest when Greg literally burst onto the scene. It was the kind of story that made careers, the kind that was worth putting your life on the line for. And now it was paying off.

  Tommy flashed that familiar smile, diving right into the first question

  “What happened out on that yacht?”

  Greg’s heart started pounding as he recounted the scene that night. Marco was standing just inside the cabin door when Greg rushed back in. The smoking gun was still in his friend’s trembling hand, but his wide eyes were on the limp body at his feet.

  Tommy nodded as Greg went on.

  “I bent down to check his pulse, but he was already dead.”

  “Did Marco say anything?”

  “No. He was in shock. Marco’s done a lot of bad things, but that was the first time he’d shot anybody. I can tell you from personal experience that it takes a pretty big toll.”

  “The kid in Virgil Heights was your first one, right?”

  “The only one so far.”

  The barista brought the drinks over and set them down. Greg sat back and sipped at his. Tommy flipped through one of his notebooks before asking his next question.

  “Then what happened?”

  “I mostly remember the laughter…”

  It sounded like something from a horror movie. Endless screeching and squealing that seemed to suck the air from the room. Greg was overwhelmed with the need to make it stop. He grabbed the gun from Marco’s hand and stepped over the guard’s warm corpse. It felt good to bring the cold metal against the side of Magnus’s head.

  “That shut him up?”

  “Long enough to radio the police. They were there in less than an hour, but that was one hell of a long night.”

  “And it was supposed to be a long trial…”

  Tommy hesitated before finishing his thought. Greg already knew where he was heading, but let him go on.

  “The D.A.’s saying that Magnus is too sick to go before the judge. They don’t think he’ll last through the end of the month.”

  “That’s the word on the street.”

  “Do you feel cheated, considering everything he put you through?”

  Greg took the question in, reflecting on everything that had happened. Not just in the last year, but the events that led up to it too. He knew that he was supposed to forgive and forget, but he wasn’t there yet. Too many people he loved had suffered at the hands of Magnus Ursus. Part of him regretted not shooting the evil son of a bitch himself. He wanted to be as honest as possible when he gave his answer.

  “Not if he suffers.”

  Tommy reached down and hit “Stop”. Greg finished his drink, setting the empty pint glass down. It wasn’t a beer, but it still made a satisfying sound.

  “We through?”

  “I got what I needed. Did you?”

  “That’s a loaded question.”

  “I guess it is. Thanks for taking the time to do this.”

  Tommy put his things in his bag. Greg pushed himself up and got ready to leave.

  “Least I could do for the guy who saved my life.”

  “Come on, now. I was only doing my job as an undercover reporter. I didn’t even fire a single shot.”

  “You keep saying that and maybe one of these days it’ll be true. But, don’t worry—your
secret’s safe with me.”

  “Wish I could say the same. You ready for another fifteen minutes of fame?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR

  The white van pulled up outside of the rehearsal studio. Greg and Chris were standing there next to the El Camino when Marco jumped out of the passenger door. The scars on his face were already starting to fade now that he was regularly eating and sleeping again. He still wasn’t speaking much, but at least he was out in public.

  It took J.J. a minute to get the van into park before he jumped out too. He walked straight over to Greg with a huge grin on his face.

  “What do you think?”

  Greg recognized it from that night with Mary in the Valley, but he decided to sit on that piece of information.

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “I bought it off those girls I told you about.”

  Greg folded his arms and shook his head. Magnus was in custody, but most of the other people in his organization had gotten away. It would have upset him more if one of them wasn’t the mother of his child.

  All four of them took a stroll around the vehicle, stopping to admire the sticker-covered back doors. Chris spotted a sunbaked BCC sticker near the bumper. Marco crouched down and wiped off a layer of grime. The sticker didn’t look like new, but it looked a little better.

  “Haven’t seen one of those things in years. First tour, right, Greg?”

  “Looks like it.”

  A loud power chord roared from inside the rehearsal space. All three of them stood up to find Chris standing in front of his amp with the Les Paul Custom strapped on. He was doing windmills with his arm, letting the feedback ring out into the North Bay night. Marco was the first to speak up.

  “Little dude’s pretty good.”

  “He’s got an awesome teacher.”

  They walked over and each took their positions. Greg brought the rolling door down from the inside while Marco counted off the first BCC song of the night. It ended as fast as it began. So they played another one. And a couple more right after that.

  It wasn’t long before long they’d played them all twice.