by Julie Vail
“Blood is almost impossible to hide,” Alex sighed. “You were right, bubba. He was killed right here.”
SID took photographs and took everything back to the lab for DNA analysis.
I stood above the embankment and stared into the creek. “He was hiding.”
“Huh?”
“The kid was hiding. He was hiding from someone, or something. He was cornered.” I looked up under the small space the overpass offered. “He had nowhere else to go, Alex.”
“Yeah.”
“Someone cornered him like an animal and shot him in the head.” I turned and walked toward the car. “That’s a goddamn shitty way to go.”
††††
I didn’t leave until close to eight-thirty. I called Karen at four and told her I wouldn’t make it by 5:30, and asked her if we could meet for a quick bite after her meeting. She agreed, and I took it as a good sign. But as I said before, things are never how they seem.
I stopped at the market and picked up some essentials, like toilet paper and milk . . . and a nice bottle of wine. I planned to take her home, if she’d allow it.
I drove up and parked in front of a little deli across from the hospital. I’d been to a lot of delis in LA, but I’d never been inside this one. It looked small from the outside, but once you walked in it was cavernous. The long deli case containing such delights as Gefilte fish stretched for a mile at least, and once you got past it, the restaurant began. I walked up to the podium where a woman of about a hundred and six greeted me. I looked over her left shoulder and spotted Karen, so I smiled warmly at grandma and wandered over.
She sat in a corner booth. When she saw me she stood. She was all dressed up. She wore a sleeveless blouse of red linen and a narrow black skirt that came to her calves. Her hair was back off her face, and held together with a big tortoise-shell clip. On her feet she wore a pair of black pumps. A little makeup on her face was all she needed, and all she had. She was gorgeous.
I placed my hand at her waist and kissed her on the mouth. She tasted like roses.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She sat. “You look nice. You go to work looking like an executive, and the rest of the world has no idea what you actually do.”
“I like to keep people guessing.” I gave her the once-over—again. “I think from now on you should wear the faded jeans to all your meetings. That outfit you’re wearing almost guarantees that no constructive work gets done. You get what I’m saying, right?” I tossed my keys on the table and sat.
“You don’t work with many women, do you, John?”
“I work with plenty of women, and none of them look like you.”
She smiled and I was about to reach out and run my hand up her skirt—in my dreams—when the battleaxe that stood at the podium moments earlier, now posed as our waitress. She asked us if she could take our drink order, and as I looked around the room, I noticed that all the waitresses walking around looked exactly like this woman. Now I was confused. Who the fuck would I flag down if I wanted more water, with everyone looking the same. And like this. I shuddered.
“John. JOHN!” I looked up, startled. “She wants to take your drink order.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. A Beck’s, please.” She nodded and went away.
I bent low and whispered, “Wasn’t that the woman at the front a moment ago?”
She laughed. “Maybe. They all look the same, don’t they?”
“Good. I thought I was hallucinating.” I placed my hand over hers. My beer came and so did her iced tea. She squirted two lemons into her glass then opened a package of pink stuff and poured that in. I ran my nails gently over the back of her hand and took a sip of beer. It was cold and I didn’t even bother pouring it into the glass.
“Okay,” I said. “So, I need to get something out of the way.”
“Alright.”
“I need to know when I can see you again. Now, I have a plan.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Mmmhmm. I’d like to have a bite to eat, then take you home to my place, and . . .” I stopped. “You have a look.”
“What look?”
“Like maybe you don’t like my plan look.”
“I like your plan very much, but I have an early surgery tomorrow.”
“Oh.” I paused. “That’s not, like, doctor-speak for ‘I have a headache’, or ‘I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than go to bed with you’, is it?”
“Not even close.”
“Would you . . . do you . . . would you like to . . .”
“Very much.”
“Wow.” I took her hand. “This is heading into R territory very quickly.”
“You’re a nice guy, John. You’re handsome, sexy. What woman wouldn’t want to go to bed with you?”
“Too many to name?”
She smiled. “I hope you’re as sincere as you seem.”
“What you see is what you get.” I ran my fingers over the back of her hand. Time for a different tact. “Tell you what . . . let’s eat, then we’ll drop your car. I’d like to take a walk with you on the beach. Just a walk. Hold your hand, maybe, with your permission, of course.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
She blushed crimson. “Oh, my.” Then her eyes met mine. “I’d like that very much.”
“Good. Me, too.”
††††
The food was mediocre, but it could have been five-star and I wouldn’t have noticed. I followed her to her place, where she parked and got into my car. I drove down to the end of Washington, pulled into the lot and parked. The lot was full for a weeknight. At least seven very good restaurants took up the short block from Pacific Ave. to the beach, mixed in with tiny convenience stores and touristy gift shops.
I grabbed a small black bag out of the back seat and slung it over my shoulder. We walked across the lot, and I caught the eye of a raggedy homeless man sitting on a large rock at the edge of the sand. Dirt caked his face and his lower legs, which peeked out from under his too-short pants. He smelled. Two more were huddled near the entrance to the pier. He smiled, and I nodded, reached into my pocket, and took out a Jackson.
“Nice night,” he said.
“It’s gettin’ there,” I said back.
“Good evenin’ to ya, now,” he said as thanks before tucking the twenty inside his shoe. The shoe had a hole.
“You do that a lot?” Karen asked as we stepped onto the sand. “You know you do them no favors when you give them money.”
I shrugged.
“You know him?”
“He’s a cop. Undercover.”
“You’re kidding!” She turned around to look, but I gently guided her to the front again. “Keep walking. He’s watching those two near the pier. Drug deal probably.”
She couldn’t help herself, and turned slightly again while she pulled her shoes off. “I can’t believe he’s a cop. He looks so . . .”
“Homeless?”
“Yes.”
“Gotta blend in or you’re as good as dead. You don’t last long down here if they think you’re out to steal their business, their sleeping spot, or their women.”
“Their women? Oh, that’s interesting.” She took my hand. “You packing? Is that the right word, ‘packing’?”
I smiled. “I’m ‘heavy’, yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” I turned to her. “That bother you?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Fair enough. I wouldn’t have you out here otherwise. Probably shouldn’t be here anyway. He’ll move on soon if nothing’s going down with those other two.”
“Do you carry a gun all the time?”
“This again?” She touched on the gun thing briefly last night.
“This again. Sorry.”
“Yes.”
“You said no last night.”
“Then why did you ask again?”
“I don’t think I belie
ved you.”
I nodded. “I didn’t want to talk about it last night. I wanted to talk about you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re more interesting than my gun.”
“No, why do you carry it all the time?”
“Because I can.”
She was silent for a while. “Where do you keep it in your house?”
I put my arm around her shoulder and sighed. “I keep my duty weapon tucked away in a drawer, and my off-duty weapon close by.”
“How close by?”
“My nightstand.”
She was silent for a while. “You have more than one?” she finally said.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
I hesitated. Hell. “Three.”
“You have three guns in your house?”
“Yes.”
“Loaded?”
“Yes.” I squeezed her shoulder. “They’re no good to me empty. You okay? We still friends?”
“Yes, of course,” she said quietly.
I stopped on the hard sand near where high tide hit a few hours ago, and turned her to look at me. “You are a beautiful woman.”
She looked up at me. Her blue eyes sparkled under what little light the moon gave off. “You, sir, are changing the subject.”
“Yes. I’d like to.” I kissed her lightly. “You don’t ever have to worry when you’re with me.”
“I know that. You carry a gun.” She shuddered.
“Look, I’ve put away a lot of bad people, and I never know . . .” I looked up at the dark, cloudless sky. “You know what? This is not a conversation for tonight. Okay?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.” I led her another fifty yards down the beach, away from the lights on Washington. We stopped on the edge of the sand, just shy of where low tide now came to rest. I opened the little black bag and removed what was inside.
“Hear that?” I asked. The sound of splashing followed by a larger splash rose above the waves gently rolling on shore.
“What is it?”
“I’ll show you.” I stood behind her and placed the night vision binoculars up to her eyes.
“Do you see them?”
“No . . . wait . . . Yes! Oh, John!” She squealed as a figure rose up out of the water, and crashed back down again with a splash. I saw it without the binocs.
“How many do you see?” I whispered in her ear.
“A dozen at least. What are they? They all look like Shamu, only smaller. Are they dolphins?”
“They’re Pacific White-sided Dolphins. That pod has been out there the past few nights. It’s a small pod. There’s probably close to thirty out there now.”
She lowered the binocs. “And that’s small?”
“For these guys, yeah.”
She put the binocs up again. “Oh, they’re jumping . . . oooh, one just did a flip! Oh, this is wonderful.”
“Now,” I said, taking the glasses off her eyes. “Look over there.”
She gasped. “Oh . . .”
“It rolls right in with the waves.” The bioluminescence was prominent tonight. It sparkled and shimmered on the water, then disappeared, only to reappear again with the waves. “The phosphorescence attracts fish and that’s what the dolphins are after.”
“It’s beautiful.” She leaned back against me, and I wrapped my arms around her waist. “I’ve lived her all my life, and I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve heard about it, from surfers and fishermen, but I’ve never seen it.” She turned to me. “It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Mmmhmm. I thought you’d like this.” I kissed her, making it linger.
“I do.” She turned to face me. “You really know how to seduce a girl, don’t you?”
“What time did you say your surgery was?” I kissed the top of a bare shoulder.
“I have to get up at five,” she whispered.
“Me, too.” I traced the curve of her lips with my finger.
“That’s . . . really e-early.” She laced her hand through my hair, then held the back of my head and set her lips against mine.
“I promise to tuck you in at a decent hour.” I moved down her neck, taking an earlobe, along with a very tasty earring, into my mouth. I stopped and gently pulled first one, then the other earring out. I slipped them into my jacket pocket.
“I’m . . .”
“You’re . . .?”
“Thinking . . .”
“Of . . . ?
“Maybe my place . . .” She slid her arms inside my jacket and around my waist and I held her against me, thinking that I hadn’t made love on the beach in . . . well, ever, when two shots rang out.
I pulled her to the sand on top of me, then maneuvered in front of her, deciding the shots came from the pier. The shots weren’t close, and I saw no muzzle flash in the dark. I stood and pulled out my gun.
“Stay here and stay down.” I heard sirens blaring, then I saw a figure running down the beach. He didn’t see me. I was hidden in the shadows. He dropped something and continued toward me. The homeless man I’d given a $20 to earlier was hot-footing it in my direction, too.
“Kalman,” I shouted. “He dropped something back there.” The suspect came up the beach and started to cross the parking lot. I was closer, so I took up pursuit. Soon he would be in a residential area, where he could easily climb into someone’s small backyard, or enter a house. No one locked their doors on The Strand. “I got him!” I yelled.
I heard Kalman get on his radio and tell a backup to search the beach for what was dropped. Then he took up the chase behind me.
“Freeze, police!” I shouted. The suspect looked back, then if possible, ran faster, heading for a walkway between two large homes on The Strand. I chased after him, IDing myself again, and warning him to stop. I chased him down the walkway toward Speedway, an alley that ran from Marina del Rey into Venice, between homes and apartments. A man walking his dog stepped out into the suspect’s path. The suspect did not stop. He ran full force into the man, sending him airborne. He dodged a car coming down the alley as the flying man came in for a landing, right on top of his dog. I dodged the same car and chased him between two more houses. He turned back to look at me gaining on him, and turned just in time to run into Detective Kerry Kalman, all 150 pounds of him. But Kalman possessed a mean left hook, and caught the suspect under the chin, sending him on his back. Stunned only momentarily, he started to get up. Now it was my turn. I sputtered obscenities as I threw a forearm under his jaw, then wrestled him flat. He was filthy, and I felt moisture on my hands as I turned him over. I continued to search him while Kalman cuffed his hands. I should have let Kalman do the searching. He was the one with the gloves on. I got him to his feet.
“He shot a dealer we were watching,” Kalman informed as we walked him back down the walkway.
“I saw him drop something on the beach. Probably the gun.”
“We’ll find it. Thanks for the backup,” he said, still catching his breath. “Sorry about your date.” He paused. “Good lookin’ chick.”
Karen. I forgot about her. We crossed the alley. Homes were illuminated on either side of the herringbone-pattered walkway, casting a glow over the alley and the walkway, and creating shadows through the professionally placed trees. People walked back and forth in front of their windows, oblivious to what was going on outside. The moon was bright to the north, and the crashing waves in the unusually quiet night sounded like a jet engine. My hands were still damp from touching this guy. He stunk, and the run had taken most of the wind out of his sails. He was babbling incoherently as he stumbled along next to me. Someone was barbecuing. Music was coming from the open window of the stark white home to my left.
Oooh, oooh child, things are gonna get easier
Oooh, oooh child things’ll get brighter . . .
It seemed appropriate somehow. I looked to my left as we crossed the alley.
The man who had been knocked down during the pursuit, sat on a low wall in front of a house. Blood streamed down one side of his face from what appeared to be a cut on his head. He cradled the little white dog in his arms. He was crying. Kalman got on the radio and called for an ambulance and uniformed backup. I wanted to offer a condolence, an apology of some kind. But it couldn’t be found.
We walked to the parking lot where a patrol car was waiting. I handed the scummy perp over and went in search of Karen. I found her at the mouth of Venice Pier talking to another detective I recognized from the night shift.
“I’ll get you a ride home. I need to stay.” I nodded to the detective and he made himself scarce. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Are you alright?” She raised her hand to my face and I pulled away.
“You have something on your cheek,” she said, looking hurt that a minute ago she had full access to me, and now, nothing.
“It’s fine.” I didn’t want her touching me after I’d touched Slimy Sam. I’d explain later.
She looked over at the man I’d given $20 to when we first arrived. Gone was the tattered jacket. His gun hung over a dirty shirt under his armpit. A badge hung on a chain around his neck.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I need to stay.”
“I understand. I can take a cab.” She looked up at me.
“You okay?”
“Yes . . . yes, of course.”
She called a cab and I stood with her until one came, handing him my last $20 for the ride.”
“Let her off right at the door,” I told him. “The lady’s in heels.” To her, I said, “I’ll call you.”
“Yeah,” she said. “See you.”
I couldn’t touch her. I didn’t even kiss her goodbye. Nothing like a good shootout to wreck a mood.
THIRTEEN
The boy picked up one rock after another and threw them against the tree. Tears streamed down his face.
I hate . . . ! Not fair . . . !
He felt the large hand gripping his shoulder, and he turned around and stared into the face of his father.
But . . .
You need to be strong, now, John . . . for your mother. You’re the man, now. You protect your mother and your sisters. You hear me? You PROTECT them.