by Ken Douglas
“Mine said I was from Thief River Falls, Minnesota,” Gordon said.
“Was he the first gay elected to the board of supervisors?” Maggie said.
“He was the first openly gay man elected to anything on the planet,” Jonas said. “He brought us into the human race.”
“You should know that,” Gordon said.
“When was he killed?”
“Nineteen seventy-eight.”
“I was a baby.”
“You know about those other guys.” Gordon pointed to the photos of John, Bobby and Martin. “You weren’t even born when they were killed.”
“I know about George Washington and Abe Lincoln, too. Come on, guys, it’s not the same.”
“It is,” Jonas said.
“If it isn’t, it should be,” Gordon said.
Maggie wanted to protest further, but she saw they were serious, so she bit back her words.
“Harvey Milk faced death every day. Back then gays weren’t just discriminated against, they were persecuted. We were beaten, defiled and jailed. Sure, Martin Luther King was hated by a lot of stupid people, but it wasn’t against the law to be black.”
“Harvey said in his will, ‘If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door,”’ Gordon said. “He knew it was going to happen, but he kept on anyway, stayed in front of the public and the cameras, showing the whole world it was possible to be gay and do your job.”
“He told me he expected it to happen one day,” Jonas said, “but he didn’t dwell on it.”
“He was my friend and I miss him,” Gordon said.
“Me too,” Jonas said.
“So, you two guys go way back?” Somehow Maggie didn’t have a hard time picturing Jonas and Gordon together.
“We do,” Jonas said and Maggie wondered if they’d been a couple in the past or would be in the future. She knew Jonas lived alone, though she didn’t know why. She grinned. They might be good for each other.
“What?” Gordon said.
“Nothing. I think I’ll go.”
“Go where?” Gordon’s arms were crossed, eyes scolding now. He was acting like a parent.
“Home, where else?”
“Not alone you’re not.”
“I’m a big girl, Gordon. Besides, you’ve got a game to finish.”
“I’ll drive her,” Jonas said. “I need a break anyway.”
“No you won’t,” Maggie said, adamant. “I’ll jog on home. Nothing’s gonna happen.”
“They could still be out there,” Gordon said.
“Who?” Maggie said.
“That guy with the ferret face and his big friend,” Gordon said.
“Or Darley and Theo,” Jonas said.
“The first two are long gone,” Maggie said. “And Darley and Theo are under the pier where they’ve probably been every night since I’ve lived in the Shore. They’ve never bothered me before, they’re not going to start now.”
“You’ve had too much to drink to walk home alone. I’ll get my keys,” Jonas said.
“No,” Maggie said. “I’ve had a little to drink, but I’m gonna run. I wanna work up a sweat and clear my head before I see Nick.”
“Not gonna go down by the beach?” Gordon said.
“No. I’ll stay on the sidewalk all the way home. Satisfied?” Maggie pushed her unfinished drink toward Jonas. Then, “Your boys are calling you again.”
Gordon turned toward the back booth.
A man at the end of the bar raised his hand for another drink.
“Okay, you guys, I’m outta here.” Maggie went to the door and started running as soon as her feet hit the sidewalk.
A couple minutes later, she slowed to a jog as she neared home. In front of her duplex, she did a few quick stretching exercises, then keyed the door and jogged up the steps to her second floor apartment. She was eager to tell Nick about her night, but she’d come home to an empty house.
Inside, she was instantly hot, but Nick was gone. Though he’d mostly grown out of the asthma that had plagued him as a child, sometimes the sea air would bring on an attack and he’d grab his inhaler on his way to the thermostat. The contractions in his lungs could go on for three or four days and during that time he kept the apartment dry and as hot as the Mojave desert at high noon.
She wondered why he was out. It was unlike him. If he was going through one of his bad periods, he should be home in his hot as Hades bedroom, under the electric blanket, heat cranked up to the max. But he wasn’t home. It must be a heck of a story if he’d rushed out without turning off the lights.
Maggie opened the door to the balcony, stepped outside to free herself from the heat. From her angle of view, she saw both the pier and the Olympic pool. Cool shivers rippled up her spine as she thought about being alone in the dark with Darley and Theo as she huddled in fear, hiding from that slow witted Virgil and Ferret Face with his gun. Why were they after her? She’d done nothing to anybody to warrant such behavior. Could Darley and Theo be right? Could they have been after her because of something Nick had done?
And she thought about what Jonas had said about the two men who lived under the pier. He’d said she was lucky to get away from them, that she should fear them, but he was wrong. They were gentle and kind. Down on their luck, sure, but they’d certainly been no threat to her. On the contrary, they’d saved her from a fate she didn’t even want to contemplate.
She shivered. She saw that pier every day, had fished on it with her parents, had taken photos of it, had eaten at the restaurant on the end of it, but she’d never suspected someone lived under it.
She looked out over the ocean. That sailboat was still out there. She sighed. So much had happened to her in the last hour, it was as if her life had been on fast forward, but to the people on that boat, nothing had happened at all. They were lazily moving through the water, powered by a slight breeze. She sighed again. She used to sail with her dad. She missed him.
And her mother. Now more than ever she needed her wise counsel. But they were gone. There was nobody for her now. Nobody she could talk to, confide in, ask advice from. Certainly not Nick. She could talk to him about most things, but not this, not about the baby.
She’d thought about Gordon. But she could never bring herself to tell him she’d betrayed Nick. It would be like one of the Musketeers had deserted, gone off with the enemy. He was a man, after all. He’d take Nick’s side.
Oh, why did there have to be sides? The three of them were so close. Maggie wished they could sit down together and talk it out, but she knew that would never happen. This was her problem, her fault. Nobody was going to help her but herself and she felt woefully inadequate.
A cold breeze blew in from the sea, chilling her. She came in from the balcony, shutting the double doors after herself, plopped down on the sofa, sweating in the heat. For a second she thought about opening the door again and turning the thermostat down, but that wouldn’t be right, not if Nick was sick.
She picked up the remote, clicked her way through the channels, clicked it off. As usual, plenty of channels, but nothing worth watching.
Something smelled. She sniffed, frowned. It was her.
She pushed herself up, went to the bathroom, stripped, got into the shower and stayed till there was no more hot water. With her hair shampooed and rinsed, she put on a robe and came back out to the sofa. She couldn’t sleep and the thought of watching television till Nick came home didn’t appeal to her.
The phone rang. “Hello.”
“It’s me.” It was Gordon. “Where were you? I called and got the machine.”
“I took a long shower. I guess I couldn’t hear the phone.”
“What are you doing now?”
“Sitting on the sofa feeling sorry for myself.”
“What have you got to feel sorry about?”
“Nothing.” She paused, almost blurted it out, decided against it. “Girl stuff, you wouldn’t understand.”
“You want
me to come over? Do you have something you want to talk about? Is it Nick? He’s not home, is he?”
“What are you, the question man?” She laughed in spite of the way she felt.
“Just the answers, ma’am, just the answers,” he said, imitating Jack Webb from the old Dragnet TV series.
“No, I don’t want you to come over. No, I don’t have anything I want to talk about. No, there’s nothing wrong with me and Nick. And yes, I mean no, Nick’s not home. There, satisfied?”
“No, I’m not satisfied. Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Probably still working on that stupid drug story. Now that’s something I don’t get. How could he be so excited about drugs in high school? That kind of story’s been around since I was a kid. It’s hardly earth shattering. I mean, even if you filmed it live, who cares?”
“So, you’re upset because Nick isn’t home?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did. I’ll leave now and we’ll talk about it.”
“No, Gordon, don’t do that. I’m in my pajamas and I’m going to bed. You have a good time. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure, see ya.”
“Yeah, bye.” He hung up.
A half hour later Nick still hadn’t come home and she hadn’t moved from the sofa. Anger was gradually easing away her depression. Where was he? Still out with that ass wiggling bimbo? She had to do something. What? She couldn’t sleep and she didn’t want to sit on the sofa worrying and waiting.
She got up, went to the bedroom, threw on a clean pair of faded Levi’s and a tank top, grabbed her keys and a corkscrew from the kitchen, then went out the back and padded barefoot down the stairs, skipping over the squeaky step, to the garage. She keyed the lock, hit the lights and went straight to the walk-in wine cellar, where she grabbed the last bottle of sixty-eight Heitz. It was her all time favorite. If you could get it now, it’d cost a fortune.
She locked the garage, walked between the duplex and the apartment building next door, crossed the street to the beach. The cool sand tingled her toes as she started toward the pier. Soon she was at that place where the Olympic pool blocked out the cars on Ocean. She slowed her pace, eyes on the pier, thoughts on the men that lived underneath it as she approached.
Her heart thumped a quick tattooed rhythm as she got closer. Earlier, with those men chasing her, she’d run right on under. Now, with no one after her, she found she was afraid of the two men under there. Maybe it was stupid, this idea of bringing a bottle of wine out to share with them. She didn’t belong here, not now, not after dark. This was their place. She was intruding.
She was about thirty feet from the dark under there when she stopped. She willed herself to go on, but her feet froze in place. She wanted to call out to them, tell them she’d brought them something, but she couldn’t. All of a sudden she was more afraid than when she was running from that big Virgil character.
In her rational mind she knew it was nonsense. Those men under there had helped her, saved her. But deep down she was shaking. She took a step backward, another. Then a few more. She moved a good way away before she turned, head down, and walked along the edge of the water, the ocean sounds soothing her fear. But now the depression was back.
She dropped the bottle of wine, dropped to her knees and sat Japanese style, staring out at the dark sea and cried. Quiet tears at first that welled up into great racking sobs.
She was alone.
She was going to kill her baby.
All of a sudden, she was back in the Borneo rain forest, driving as fast as she could on a muddy track with Sara shouting out the turns as Maggie concentrated on the driving, squinting through the rain, doing her best to see through it, trying to see what Sara told her should be there, then all of a sudden the child was there, eyes wide in fear as Maggie drove the car into him, cutting off his scream.
She’d killed him.
Snuffed out his life.
And she was going to do it again.
She was going to kill her baby, let some abortion doctor rip it from her womb, throw it away as if it were no more than a bloody tampon. A thing not wanted. A thing better off forgotten. But she’d never forget. She’d remember for the rest of her life.
If only she had the courage to face up to what she’d done. If only she had the courage to tell Nick. But she didn’t. She couldn’t even drive past the speed limit. No, there was no way out for her, save abortion. She was such a coward. She bit her lip, wiped the tears away with cold hands. After a bit she felt she could stand. She reached out for the bottle of wine.
It was gone.
Chapter Seven
“Fuck, what are we gonna do now?” Horace put the right blinker on as they passed the Edgewater Marina. “You coulda gone in there after her.”
“Not me. It was scary under there and there was those men.” Virgil was wringing his hands in his new T-shirt.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Horace really couldn’t blame the big guy. Did you blame cows ’cuz they couldn’t fly? “Besides, there coulda been more than two of ’em.”
“Coulda been a gang,” Virgil said.
“It don’t matter anyway. She’s scared, so she’s probably gonna go straight home.” Horace turned right off of Second Street onto Pacific Coast Highway. “When she gets there, we’ll be waiting.”
“I don’t think I like your work.” Virgil was rocking back and forth in his seat now.
“Stop that! And put your seatbelt on!”
“Sorry.” Virgil stopped the rocking, belted up, rolled his window down.
“Not gonna smoke in the van, are you?” Horace said.
“Can’t help it.” He unwrapped the pack from his sleeve, pulled his Zippo from the left front pocket of his jeans, lit the cigarette, took a deep drag. Virgil had arms like an ox, it was a wonder the cigarettes weren’t crushed between the tight fitting T-shirt and his bulging biceps.
“You didn’t give me back my knife,” Virgil said.
Horace handed it over.
Virgil loved that knife. It was the best thing Horace had ever given him. The big guy spent hours flicking the blade. Horace was surprised it still worked. He’d picked it up in Tijuana for almost nothing and expected it to last about a month, but Virgil had been abusing it for a couple of years and it kept on flicking.
“Try to keep the smoke outside.” He shook his head.
A car honked. Horace snapped his attention back to the road. He’d started to drift over into the oncoming traffic. He jerked the van back to the right. “Fuck head.”
“Want me to drive?” Virgil said.
“No.” Horace frowned.
“So, we gonna go home now?”
“No, I still gotta serve those papers, remember?”
“You should get another job.”
“Somebody’s gotta pay the bills. If I didn’t do what I do, we’d all starve.”
“Maybe I could get a job, work at a gas station.”
“That’s a thought, but right now I gotta finish what I promised to do. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Yeah, I suppose. So, what are you gonna do?”
“I’ll think of something.” But Horace wondered what. If she went to the cops about what happened, they’d give her around the clock protection. He’d never get to her.
Fifteen minutes later, they were in Huntington Beach, passing the Sand and Sea Condos where Margo Kenyon lived. Horace turned left on Main Street, made a U-turn and parked in front of Jerry’s Surf Shop, facing PCH and the condos on the other side of the street. It was a little before nine and though the stores were closed, the restaurants were open. People were out and about.
It was quiet in the van.
Virgil lit another cigarette. Horace wanted to tell him to put it out, but he bit back the words. Instead, he said, “She’s got this fag boyfriend she don’t want anyone to know about, that’s where she’s been all week. That could be good for us
, she might think we were a couple a crazies who chased her just ’cuz she was there. She might think she’s safe when she gets back home.”
“She is safe, all you’re doing is giving her those papers, right?” Virgil said.
“Well, la de da,” Horace said, ignoring his brother as a red Porsche convertible turned into the condominium complex. “And they say lightning don’t strike twice.”
“What’s that mean?” Virgil said.
“It means we get a second chance and we better not blow it this time or I’m gonna get fired.” Horace opened the door, changed his mind, closed it again. “And put out that damned cigarette.”
“What are you gonna do?” Virgil stared at the driveway into the Sand and Sea Condos, took a drag, then tossed the cigarette out the window.
“The guard rail’s propped up,” Horace said. “The guard just waved her on in.”
“Maybe he knows her.”
“Maybe he’s lazy.” Horace watched as the woman stuck her hand out the window, pointed it at a sliding fence gate and waited while it opened. “Look, she’s got a clicker to open the gate into the parking lot, that’s why the guard didn’t hassle her. You can’t get into the lot unless you got one of those. We need to get in there.”
“Maybe we should just go home.”
“We can’t to that.” Horace was thinking a mile a minute. He’d have to get the girl, cuff her in the back of the van, then drop Virgil somewhere. Where? Then he saw the theater across the street from the condos. “You wanna see a movie?”
“Yeah, boy!”
“After we get the woman in the van, I’ll drop you at the theater. Then I’ll take her to her husband’s, serve the papers and come back. How’s that sound?”
“Great!” Virgil wiggled in his seat. A dog waiting for a bone.
He started the car, drove past the condos, made a U-turn, parked on the ocean side of PCH. “Now all we gotta do is follow the next guy in.” And as if the Devil heard, a few minutes later a black Ford Taurus passed them and turned into the driveway. Horace had the van behind him in an instant, hugging the Ford’s tail. There were two guys in the guard shack, an old black guy and a much younger white guy. They were talking, probably changing shifts. The fence gate opened for the guy in the Ford. Horace followed him in. The security guys didn’t even notice.