by Rick Dakan
Chloe had taken her laptop with her on whatever her mysterious errands were and the TV reception turned out to be non-existent. He doodled away for a while, trying to figure out some way of getting back into the comics business again. Not that he really needed to. He had $840,000 hidden in a storage locker back in San Jose, a fact that he didn't really think about as often as he might have. The money didn't even seem real to him. If he played his cards right he'd never have to work again in his life. Buy a little house somewhere. Invest the rest.
He didn't need much more than $20,000 a year to be happy. As a comics artist he'd lived for four or five years on less than that.
If he wasn't going to make comics for money, then what was he going to make them for? Flipping through the sketchbook, he looked over the elaborate revenge-inspired sketches he'd been working on in the bar when he first met Chloe. There was a thought. He could do a comic about what he'd experienced since then. It was, so far, the most interesting thing that'd ever happened to him. Of course he'd have to change it so as not to implicate himself in the crimes he'd committed. But that was easily done. Change the setting maybe, make it a sci-fi story. Or maybe horror. Maybe a sequel to the "End Dead" comic that Chloe had liked so much. It was a starting place anyway, which was all Paul needed to begin drawing.
But Paul found it hard to concentrate on images of revenge. His first attempt at a zombie was a buxom, undead cheerleader using severed arms as pom-poms. He liked the joke, but the sketch turned out to be surprisingly sexy and, most disturbing of all, the creature had Chloe's lips and eyes. Well, almost Chloe's eyes.
He flipped the page and started again, trying to capture her face on paper. Then he moved on to full body portraits, recreating her luscious form as he remembered it from the night before. As the day went on, the drawings became more and more erotic and then explicit and finally, just plain pornographic.
It was nearly 4:00 PM before he heard the car in the driveway. He slammed the sketchbook shut and tucked it away in his backpack, pulling out a paperback novel. The last thing he wanted was for Chloe to see what he'd been drawing. At least not until after he'd had a chance to act some of those images out in real life. He heard voices in the entrance hall. Had Chloe brought a friend?
"Hello?" he said. "I'm in the dining room."
Silence. Then a thick Spanish accent. "Hello? Is someone here?"
Who was that? He got up from the table and went through the living room to the front door. There stood two middle aged Hispanic women with a vacuum cleaner and a basket of cleaning supplies. That explained why the place was so clean. They seemed startled to see him.
"Oh...um, hi," he said.
"There's no one s'posed to be here now," said the maid with the vacuum. "Who're you?"
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"I'm a friend of...my friend Chloe. She's friends with the owners. We're visiting."
"My list said no one's s'posed to be in this house until one more week," she said, pulling a folded piece of paper from her pocket.
"I don't really know anything about that. Like I said, I'm just a guest here. Maybe you should come back or..."
He was about to suggest that she call the owners, but suddenly realized that that might not be the smartest move. "Yeah, could you just come back tomorrow?"
The maid was looking down with supreme concentration at the piece of paper from her pocket. Paul didn't think she'd even been listening to him. "No, no. No one's supposed to be here all week. This is from this morning." She waved the paper at him.
"Listen," said Paul, "I don't know anything about that, ok? I mean, I'm just here as a guest." What would Chloe do? She'd spin a story. He could do that. He thought about yelling at them, blustering and shouting his way through the situation, but he realized that would backfire. It might even make them call the cops, and certainly the owners. No, he needed sympathy.
"I've had a just..." He stammered. "It's been a bad week, a bad month, ok? I found out that...I found out...let's just say I found out something about my health? Something not good." He tried to make it sound like he was choking back tears. The two maids looked at each other, not sure what to do. Were they buying this?
"I don't have a lot of time left, ok? Months the doctor said. My girlfriend and I wanted to have a vacation...one last trip before I...before it gets too bad." They looked sympathetic, or at the very least embarrassed. "She called up her friend and arranged for this last minute. Maybe it's off the books or it's a favor or whatever. I don't know. I'm sorry..." He put his hands to his face, as if hiding tears, although in fact it was because he couldn't make himself cry on cue and didn't want them to notice that.
"We'll come back," said the lead maid. "We're sorry you're not feeling well. We'll come back."
"Thank you. Sorry to have inconvenienced you or thrown off your schedule or whatever." He sniffled.
"It's no problem. Really. We'll come back." She and her companion backed out the door, shutting it behind them. He heard them talking in low voices as they left, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.
"Damn! What the fuck!" he said to no one in particular. And then, not for the first time in the last five minutes, he wondered where the hell Chloe was.
She finally showed up around 6:30. When he heard the SUV in the driveway he went to a window, fearing the maids or even the owner had returned. But no, it was Chloe, thank God. The SUV was a little dirtier than he'd last seen it and she'd obviously driven through mud somewhere, since the wheel wells were coated in it. He met her at the door, opening it before she put her hand on the knob.
"And where have you been, young lady?" he asked in mock (or maybe not so mock) disapproval. "Your mother and I have been worried sick!" She smiled and handed him one of the two bags of groceries she'd brought in from the vehicle.
"Oh you know, Dad, skipping school and doing drugs with my friends, the usual stuff."
He followed her into the kitchen. "How was your day? When did you finally wake up?" she asked.
"Around 11:30."
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"I was going to let you come along, but you looked so peaceful there, snoring away in your bed, I couldn't bear to wake you."
"Yeah, right. How was your secret mission?"
"Oh swell. Stole the secret plans, blew up the enemy airbase, and rescued the girl. Plus I picked up some decent wine and a couple of steaks for dinner." She said as she unloaded the groceries.
"Sounds good. I actually had an interesting day as well. We had visitors."
She stopped dead in her tracks for a moment, then turned around to look right at him. She was smiling, but Paul detected surprise, maybe concern. "Really? The neighbors come by looking for a cup of sugar?"
"Nope, it was the maids. They wanted to clean the house. They were more than a little surprised to find me here. Apparently, your friend didn't tell them we were coming."
"Yeah, imaginary friends are really bad about that kind of thing. They never talk to anyone but me."
"So I'm guessing this isn't really your friend's house."
"Um, no. Not really. Which is to say, not at all."
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"It means we should go. Right the fuck now." She started to put the groceries back in the shopping bags.
"What did you tell them?"
"That I was dying of cancer and that this was my last hurrah with my girlfriend before I died."
"No, really, what'd you say?"
"Just that. I said I was dying and that the owner was a family friend who hooked me up at the last minute. I think they even believed me, but I'm not sure."
She looked over her shoulder and eyed him for a moment, scanning him up and down with a quick glance.
"Not bad there, sport. You might have bought us 'til morning. But we can't risk it."
"So we go back to San Jose? You know, if we find a hotel or other rental around here, I wouldn't mind springing for it..."
"No need
for that," she interrupted. "There's a kind of party we were invited to later tonight anyway. It's a camp out kind of thing. We'll go there."
"I guess that sleeping bag you had me bring will come in handy after all."
"Of course. You should know by now that I always think of everything."
"Except the maids."
"Ok, except the maids." She smiled. "Now come on, let's pack up and get out of here."
They were packed and in the car ten minutes later, ready to head out. Chloe went back inside to do one last Chapter 14
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sweep of the place, using a damp towel to wipe down everything she remembered touching, or at least all the obvious places. When they were done there wasn't a sign that they'd ever been there. She got in the driver's seat and they took off, heading out of "town" and back north, towards the Pacific Coast Highway. Or at least Paul thought it was north - the roads all twisted and turned so much that he'd lost track of which way was up.
Chloe seemed to know where she was going, even in the gathering fog and darkness. She hummed tunelessly to herself, as if she didn't have a care in the world.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked. "You're really grooving on the fact that we have to run."
She thought for a moment before answering. "I guess I am. It's exciting, right? Almost getting caught doing something you're not supposed to be doing? That's part of the fun of this whole life-of-crime deal."
"So what crime exactly were we committing back there? I thought the house belonged to a friend of yours?"
She laughed. "Oh come on, you never really believed that, did you?"
"No, not really. I think I've figured out that particular code of yours. Unnamed friend equals 'I stole it.'"
"Not always - I'm not that predictable - but in this case you're right. A while back we pulled a scam that tangentially involved using some vacation rental properties as safe houses and cover locations. We broke into the offices of one of those big property management companies that takes care of a couple hundred of these vacation places and, well, we copied all their keys. Plus we got hooked up on their computer system. Anyway, it lets me know when a place is being rented and when it isn't and so on. So whenever I need a break, I just check their reservation computer and see what's available that day. The perfect plan."
"Except for the maids," Paul added.
She slapped him on the leg playfully. "Will you shut up about the fucking maids? They usually come right before and after someone rents the place, and no one was scheduled in this place for two more weeks. They must either be behind schedule or maybe they were going to be doing some uninvited goofing off, just like us.
Either way, we're out of there and no one's any the wiser."
"Don't you think the owners or property managers or whoever will get suspicious when they hear the maids'
story?"
"Maybe. But what are the odds they're going to suspect what actually happened; that I have the master keys to all their properties? Who'd be crazy enough to dream up something like that?"
"Someone pretty damn crazy, I'll give you that."
"That's me, guilty as charged."
She concentrated on the road for a while, as they came into a particularly twisted section that led up onto the highway. As it turned out, the Pacific Coast Highway wasn't much of a highway at all, but rather a two lane paved road that wound dangerously along the aforementioned Pacific coast. Paul had a slight wave of vertigo as he looked off to the left and saw nothing but fifty feet of sheer rock plunging down into the fog (and presumably the water below). He imagined it would be a beautiful sight in the daylight, but now, in the darkness and mist, it looked like the end of the world.
Chloe turned on her iPod and played one of her many Ska bands - Paul couldn't tell them apart - and they drove on through the dips and curves of the road. They passed several other small beach towns like the one Chapter 14
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they'd just left, along with lone homes and clusters of houses. Paul thought about what an odd life it must be to live in such a place. Sure you've got a great view, but you're not near anything convenient, like a grocery store. And at the same time you're right on top of one of the most famous highways and tourist attractions in the state, so it's not like you have a ton of privacy and peace and quiet either. Not the life for him.
Not that it was an option - he bet even the smallest of those houses would've cost every cent of the $850,000
he'd gotten off his old partners. If he bought a place like that he'd have to get a real job to put food on the table and he had no intention of doing that anytime soon. He needed a break. Of course there was the Chloe option.
She and her Crew certainly didn't have straight jobs and they seemed to be having a blast. The past week that he'd spent with them had, truth be told, been about the happiest time he'd had since moving to California.
And now here he was, driving along a famously romantic stretch of road with a beautiful, vivacious con woman and $850,000 stashed away. All he needed now was a way to figure out if Chloe was really interested in him or not.
"We're almost there," she said, all of a sudden.
"Almost where? The party?"
"Yep."
"How can you tell?"
"Because I know where I'm going, you goofball. How do you think?"
Paul looked out into the fog beyond. "How can you even see where you're going in this stuff?"
"You just have to listen for the signs."
A few minutes later Chloe abruptly slammed on the brakes and pulled her SUV over to the other side of the road, across the (thankfully empty) oncoming lane of traffic. They came to a sudden stop in a patch of gravel along the side of the road, which had enough room for maybe ten cars to park. Right now there were two others besides theirs: a rusting white conversion van and a late-90's Honda sedan. Nothing you'd ever look twice at.
"We're here."
"Great! Where's here?"
"The party, of course, can't you hear the music?" She turned off the car and the stereo with it. With the music off Paul could now hear the beating of drums coming from somewhere below.
Chloe got out of the SUV and went around back to get her gear. She slung her messenger bag across her shoulders and then pulled on a small backpack with a sleeping bag lashed to it. She fished a flashlight out of her pocket and pointed it in Paul's face. "You're going to want to figure out a way to tie that sleeping bag to your duffle bag or back or something. You'll probably want both hands free for the descent."
"Isn't there a path?"
"Nope, not really. Sort of. You'll see."
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or fifty feet high. It wasn't quite a sheer drop and shrubs and brush covered the cliff side. Chloe's light revealed a thin trail of sand that cut down through the undergrowth at a severe angle. It wasn't quite a path, but it would almost serve as one. Below was a beach, a stretch of sand maybe fifty feet wide that followed the curve of the cliff and disappeared around a corner. Paul could hear the drums much more clearly now, although he still couldn't tell where they were coming from. Looking back at the trail, he decided Chloe was right. He would need both hands free to safely climb down. Even then, he felt the odds were good that he'd slip or fall.
After messing around with the bulky sleeping bag for a few minutes, trying to figure out a way to attach it to his back, he gave up. He carried the mass of cushioned nylon to the cliff's edge. Chloe whooped with appreciation as he took a three step running start and hurled it into the night. She followed its arc with her flashlight as it sailed through the fog and landed in the brush about five feet from the beach.
"Not too shabby," said Paul, stepping down onto the precipitous path behind Chloe.
"You have a future in the Olympic sleeping bag toss."
"I think it's going to be an exhibition sport in the X-Games next year."
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Chapter 15
The way down was even trickier than Paul had anticipated, and several times he fell on his ass when he lost his balance - better than falling face first down the cliff though. Chloe seemed to have less trouble, although she was the one holding the flashlight. After he'd retrieved his sleeping bag from where it had landed, they set off down the beach towards the sound of the drums. It was downright cold this close to the water, and a fine mist of condensation from the fog already covered his entire body. He wished he'd put on a sweatshirt before they left the car.
They followed the thumping, swirling drumbeat through the mists. As they rounded the corner of the cliff, Paul saw a large bonfire about a hundred yards up the beach, surrounded by a circle of several dozen people.
As they drew closer, Paul could see that most of the figures were sitting astride or beside various kinds of African drums, while in the center, four or five figures danced with wild abandon around the fire, grooving to the tribal-inspired beat.
"Wow," said Paul.
"Yeah, isn't it great?" said Chloe "I love these guys."
As they approached, a figure stepped out of the shadows near the cliff and intercepted them. Paul wasn't sure if he'd been standing guard or had just wandered away from the circle to take a piss or something.
"Hey, Chloe, glad you could make it," he said as he hugged Chloe.
"I wouldn't miss it." She released him from the hug and motioned to Paul. "Keith, this is Paul. Paul, Keith"
The man embraced Paul in a friendly hug that smelled of patchouli and sweat. "Good to meet you, brother."
"Hey," said Paul, who had no problem with friendly hugs but really didn't like the sickly sweet herbal stench of patchouli. "Nice to meet you."
Keith led the way towards the drum circle, chatting with Chloe enthusiastically about who was there and what kinds of drums they were using and who had the best pot. Paul followed along a pace behind them; his attention focused on the dazzling spectacle of fire and beat just ahead.
The fire pit was big, at least six feet across and piled high with fresh logs on top of older, red-hot coals. There were five people dancing in the space between the drummers and the fire, two men and three women. They were so close to the fire they wore little in the way of clothes, despite the chill in the air. Two of the women had on flowing skirts and tank tops, while the third danced in sweat pants and no top at all. The two men were also shirtless, one of them young and extremely fit, the other a middle-aged man with a frizzy white beard and a drum-like round belly. This last dancer seemed the most lost in the beat, twirling and jigging madly. To Paul's utter surprise he even took a running leap through/over the fire, eliciting cheers and whoops from the assembled group.