Danger Point

by Douglas J Bourg

  He looks down at his empty beer bottle and says, “I have to think of Maria.”

  “I know that.”

  “You can’t do this by yourself. You’re so fucking stubborn, Bobby. You’ll get yourself killed.”

  “So let’s go to San Clemente and find Micky’s box.”

  DJ sighs and pulls himself up out of the deck chair. “I just know I’m going to regret this.”

  We get into DJ’s truck and drive about ten minutes before we pull up to the curb outside Micky Webber’s parent’s first house in San Clemente. We get out of the truck and slip down into the canyon, which is overgrown with shrubs and trees.

  “Remember when we were kids playing down here?” DJ asks with a smile.

  “Those were the days, bro. We played with pellet guns, hunted for frogs and snakes and played army with our friends. It looks totally different from the way I remember it.”

  We find the approximate area where the old fort had been and begin searching for the box. We push away dead leaves and spider webs, startling lizards and a rabbit. After about an hour and a half of looking in the hot, humid canyon, we’re scratched, mosquito-bitten and still haven’t found anything. We’re both frustrated.

  I freeze and listen, then say, “Did you hear that? Was that a rattlesnake?”

  DJ stops in his tracks, stands silent for a moment, listening. “I don’t hear anything. Stop scaring me, you sack of shit. I already saw a Black Widow spider.”

  After another half an hour of this we discover nothing.

  “You know, Bobby, I’m beginning to think it’s not here. We’ve looked everywhere we used to play. There’s no sign that Micky, or anyone, has even been here lately.” He reaches into his t-shirt pocket for his cigarettes. I put my hand out to stop him.

  “Are you crazy? You can’t smoke down here. There’s too much dry brush. You could torch the whole canyon.” DJ sighs and puts the pack back in his pocket.

  We’re just about to head back up to the truck, when something catches my eye. Just off the path there’s a medium-sized, round rock with no debris around it, like it had been swept clean. I squat down and push the rock away. Underneath it is a small hole.

  “Hey, DJ, check this out. There was something here, but it looks like someone beat us to it. I wonder if some neighborhood kids found the box and took it. If they did, we’re screwed.” I sit back on my heels and look up at DJ. I can tell he’s unconvinced.

  DJ leans over, “You’re sure this is where Micky said we would find the box?”

  “Sure I’m sure. This doesn’t make sense. I wonder if someone found it and doesn’t know what they found.”

  “What if someone found it and does know what they’ve found?”

  “So, we might be dealing with kids or bad guys, but we don’t know which.”

  We look around some more, playing detective, but we don’t see footprints, or whatever else that those guys on CSI look for. In real life, the crime scene techs look for that stuff, not the cops, so it was never part of my job when I was on the force.

  “Bobby, we’ve looked all over this place and all we’ve managed to do is get scratched and sweaty, find an empty hole and waste our time. I took today off to help you figure out what’s going on and we’ve found squat. Let’s get out of here, take the boat out and go sailing.”

  “Can’t. I have a meeting with an architect in a couple of hours for plans for my house. I need to get some prices together to see if the insurance money is going to cover all the replacement costs. You still want to bid on the project, right?”

  He looks over at me with mock distain. “I guess so. Are you sure you can afford me?”

  As we make our way out of the canyon and back toward the truck, a flash catches my eye from up on the street. My instincts take over and I push DJ down. We hit the ground at the same time as three or four shots whistle just above us. A couple more shots are fired in our direction and then it’s quiet.

  “DJ, are you all right?” I whisper.

  “Yeah, I think so,” he whispers back.

  “Did you see who was shooting at us?”

  “I didn’t see a thing. I was too busy trying to keep from getting hit. Are they gone?”

  Just then we hear a car door slam and tires squealing away. I have to make a choice, call the cops or split. I don’t feel like explaining what we were doing here, but fuck! People were shooting at us. Somebody was going to get hurt. I roll over on my back, pull out my cell phone and punch in Murph’s number.

  “Murph – Bobby Paladin. DJ and I were just shot at over by T-Street canyon. No, they missed us. Yes, we’ll wait here. I know the drill, Murph.” I hang up and look over at DJ, who is pale and obviously shaken. “Murph wants us to stay put ‘til the cops get here he said.”

  DJ nods and we lie there, waiting. After a few minutes, which seems like hours, we hear the sirens coming toward us. We finally feel safe enough to get up off the ground, dust ourselves off and make our way out of the canyon. As we wait for the sheriffs to arrive, I look around for shell casings or any other evidence the shooter might have left behind. I haven’t found anything when the sheriff’s car pulls up, and right behind him is Murph’s car.

  “Let me do the talking. That way, if he catches me lying to him, you won’t get into trouble. Just sit there on the curb acting as if you’re in shock, ok?” I say.

  “I am in shock, you asshole. I don’t have to act.” He sits down on the curb, his face grey.

  Murph runs toward us, “Are you guys all right? Do either one of you need an ambulance?”

  “No, we’re okay, Murph” I say. “Just rattled, that’s all.”

  He looks down at DJ then over at me. “Do you guys mind telling me what you were doing down in that canyon?”

  He pulls out his notepad, and for the next forty-five minutes he asks us questions while the two uniformed cops search the area. DJ doesn’t say much. He just sits on the curb his elbows on his knees, his head down. I try to explain to Murph the best I can about what we were doing here, without telling him anything about the note or the box that Micky had hidden. I tell him that because of Micky’s death we’d been feeling nostalgic about playing in the canyon. After I’m done spinning my story, I’m not sure if he’s buying it.

  “Okay, you guys get the hell out of here but if I call you’d better answer. I might need more information,” Murphy finally says. “Bobby, I hope you’re telling me the truth. Ex-cop or not, I’ll put your ass in jail for obstruction of justice if I find out you’re looking into this on your own.” He gives me with that steely-eyed cop look of his.

  “Yeah, I get it Murph.” I reach down and give a hand up to DJ. As we get into his truck, I say, “Can you take me over to the house so I can get my van?”

  “Sure,” DJ says. And that’s the only thing he says as we drive to–what used to be–my house. I know that canyon shit scared him.

  We pull up in front of what’s left of my house, and as we’re getting out of the truck, DJ finally says with a forced laugh, “Well, the garage looks good.” I’m relieved to hear him finally crack a joke.

  “Yeah, thank God.” All my tools were in the garage and so were some of my surfboards. Luckily, I had parked my van on the street that day.

  I look around the lot but there is nothing really left of my house. The city had red tagged. I open the garage door and look inside to make sure all my stuff is still there and re-lock the door. I still can’t believe that everything I had worked for so hard was gone. At least I hadn’t ended up dead. Not yet anyway.

  I say, “I’ve got some errands to run and then go to that meeting. Are you going back to the boat?”

  “I don’t think so. I have a bunch of paperwork to do at home, plus I have to get the kids to practice this afternoon. Call me later. And whatever you do, please don’t say anything to Maria about what just happened. She’ll freak.” He climbs back into his truck, starts it up, waves goodbye and takes off up the street.

  I turn and look bac
k from the street. I have had my house blown up, one of my best friends murdered, and someone has tried to kill me, twice. This is really starting to piss me off. I’ll find out who did this and get even, if it’s the last thing I do.

  Chapter 16

  DJ is very worried about Bobby, but he has to protect Maria and the kids. He doesn’t need this in his life, especially right now with work really starting to take off.

  He’s preoccupied as he drives down Pacific Coast Highway and doesn’t notice the truck coming up fast on his driver’s side. He’s just reaching for his cigarettes when his truck is hit from the side. Suddenly, he’s being spun around and forced off the road. His truck slams into the K-rail so hard his airbag explodes in his face, as parts of his truck fly off into oncoming traffic. He hears a crash, horns and the sound of scraping metal as he losses consciousness. He doesn’t register the big black truck with tinted windows pull away from right beside him.

  ◆◆◆

  “Well, well, well, DJ, what is it with you and Bobby lately?” Dr. Gus says as he walks into DJ’s hospital room. “It seems like both you guys are having a streak of really bad luck. What happened?”

  DJ is relieved. He can tell by the tone in Dr. Gus’s voice that his injuries must not be too serious. “Beats the hell out of me, Doc. One minute I’m driving down coast highway, and the next thing I know, I’m waking up an in ambulance on my way to the hospital. I have to call Maria and let her know I’m okay.” He wonders where his cell phone ended up. He looks over to see his clothes, wallet and phone in a neat pile on the rolling tray beside his bed.

  “I called her while you were down in X-ray. She’ll be here as soon as she can.” Dr. Gus puts the chart down and continues. “Your X-rays were negative, but you’re pretty banged up. You’re going to have some major bruising on your face from hitting the air bag. Your shoulder was strained against the seatbelt and you were bounced around quite a bit, but you’re okay to go home.”

  After Dr. Gus leaves, DJ calls Bobby. Fuck, does that guy ever answer his phone? He leaves a message. This is getting serious and DJ has to get Maria and the kids out of town before they get caught in the crossfire.

  As he puts the phone aside, he looks up to see Maria frozen in the doorway. He can tell she’s been crying. She walks over and gently kisses him.

  “Are you alright, honey?” She asks. “Gus called and told me that you had an accident and that you totaled your truck. He said you were just banged up. Nothing was broken, thank God. I was so scared.” She starts to cry again. He’s so sorry to have upset her like this.

  “I’m fine, Babe.” He kisses her and holds her away from him a little so he can look into her eyes. “When was the last time you saw your folks? Why don’t you to take the kids and go up to your parents’ house in Oregon?”

  This surprises her and her eyes search his face. “What are you talking about? I am not leaving you. Is it Bobby? Has he got you mixed up in whatever happened to Micky Webber? Are you in some kind of trouble? Tell me.”

  “Maria,” DJ says sternly, “You need to grab the kids and fly up to Oregon. Go home, pack and take the kids to your parents’ house. I’ll call you every day but I want you out of Orange County. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t risk you’re getting caught up in whatever this is. Stay there until I call and tell you it is safe to come home. Okay?”

  ◆◆◆

  I walk into DJ’s hospital room and see Maria and DJ hugging. She’s about to say something to him but turns to glare at me.

  “Hi, Maria.”

  “Don’t you ‘Hi Maria’ me, Bobby Paladin. My husband was almost killed today and it’s entirely your fault.”

  “I am so sorry, Maria,” I say, attempting to placate her. “I heard what DJ said and I think both of you and the kids should go to Oregon until this is all over. I think that would be best for everyone.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Bobby.” DJ says. “I’m working on two jobs right now, and I’m not going to quit because of some crazy asshole ran me off the road.” He looks at his wife and says, “Maria, please go pick up the kids, call the airline and get the first flight out. Call your parents and let them know you and the kids are coming to visit for a few days. Don’t tell them about what happened to me, please. Just tell them you and the kids miss them and you want to come and see them. It’s been a while anyway and they’ll be glad to see their grandkids.”

  DJ stops talking as Detective Murphy walks into the room. Maria’s eyes go straight for the badge hanging around his neck and pales. “Maria,” DJ says softly, “Get going and I’ll call you in an hour or two.” She nods, her eyes filling again. She kisses DJ goodbye, glares at me and turns to go.

  Murph watches as Maria leaves the room, then turns to look at both of us, “Okay, you two, what the hell is going on? I know this is related to Micky Webber’s murder, and before I leave here I need to find out what you are not telling me. I’m sick and tired of getting the run-around.”

  “Bobby,” DJ says as he turns to me, pain sliding across his face, “You need to tell Murph what you know. I have a wife and three kids and they can’t be part of this.”

  “Okay,” I say and look straight at Murph, “I’ll tell you everything I know, but I want in. I want to help you catch the people who killed Micky. The same ones who’ve been trying to kill me and my best friend, okay? I still have my gun permit and a license to carry. I can get into places you can’t. And I promise to do what you tell me.”

  Murph glances over at DJ, lying in bed his arm in a sling, then looks back at me and finally says “You’re doing a bang-up job so far, Bobby. Okay, I’ll let you help out on this case, but unofficially—off the record—okay? I could get into major trouble, maybe even lose my job and pension for letting you in, but if you come clean with me now, I’ll share what I can with you.”

  “Sit down, Murph and let me tell you a story.” I say, and can hear the relief in my own voice as I realize I’m actually happy to finally unload this burden on Murphy.

  ◆◆◆

  For the next hour, Murphy listens to Bobby and DJ tell an incredible story as he tries to figure out what parts are bullshit and what parts are true. He’s known Bobby for many years, known the whole Paladin family for that matter, but hasn’t spent any real time with him. Hell, he even worked for Bobby’s dad at his hardware store, The Nail Apron, before he decided to move to San Francisco. He was pretty sure Bobby would mostly tell him the truth, but there was always the chance he would hold something back, just so he could keep his hand in the investigation. And that could be the single fact that would help him figure out what was going on and who killed Micky.

  Scowling, Murph says, “First thing, I need that letter from Micky. DJ you’re smart for getting your family to safety but not too smart for staying around here yourself. I’ll have a patrol car cruise through your neighborhood a few times tonight to keep an eye on your house. I’ll also make sure your family gets to the airport safely. Bobby, can you keep an eye on John G.? You’ll need a different vehicle. He’ll recognize your van. I need you to be upfront with me at all times from now on. Don’t ever try to bullshit me again. I know you want to do right by Micky, but don’t get yourself into a situation without any back-up. Call me if you suspect anything. The sheriffs can act on it, and do it legally, so no more of this cowboy horseshit. I’ll try to keep everything under the radar, so don’t go getting killed on me. I hate the paperwork.” He finally gives them a reluctant smile. “I’ll talk to both of you guys later. Thanks for coming clean with me.” And he walks out of the hospital room.

  ◆◆◆

  Dr. Gus releases DJ and I take him home. I stick around to make sure he’s settled in okay. When his cell phone rings, I know it must be Maria, so I get up to leave, waving goodbye. I head out to the van, get in and check my cell own phone. One missed a call. I know the number, it’s John G.’s. I listen to his message and call him back.

  “John, it’s Bobby Paladin. I saw you called. Yes,
DJ was in a car accident but he’s fine. Dinner? Sure, I can have dinner at your house tonight.” So much for discrete surveillance, I can just sit across the table from him and ask him questions. “I’ll be there by eight. See you then.” As I hang up, I think, this ought to be interesting.

  Shit. It dawns on me that I don’t have any nice clothes. I drive over to Hobie Surf Shop and pick up some shorts and a couple of nice shirts, so I’ll look presentable. You know, in case Alexis is there. I head back to the boat to shower and change. I call Murph and leave a message about my dinner plans tonight.

  While I’m driving up to John G.’s house in Laguna, I think about how I’m going to handle this situation. John G. is surely going to ask me about everything that’s happened over the last couple of days, so I need to be careful.