Wicked Break (17 page)

I needed the water.

Carter and I drove back to Mission Beach. He left the second we arrived at my place, saying he needed a nap. I knew that even Carter—tough, indifferent, and rarely bothered—needed to decompress in his own way after our bloody altercation.

I changed into a pair of navy board shorts and a red rash guard, grabbed my board, and headed out.

The beach was nearly empty in the late afternoon, the gray skies probably more responsible than the time of day. The sand felt cool under my feet. The water was greener than it was blue and greeted me with soft ripples at the end of the sand.

Goose bumps rose on my arms as I walked into the chilly water. I slid onto the board and duck-dived under the first two small waves that came at me, the salt water dripping down my forehead, stinging my eyes as I came back up for air.

I paddled out past the break line, but instead of sitting up and watching for the sets, I stayed down on the board, the side of my face resting on the waxy fiberglass, my gaze fixed out over the flat ocean to the west.

The image of Malia's face wouldn't leave me. Carter and I had done what we could, but it hadn't been enough. I could deal with that because we hadn't expected to encounter such an ugly situation. Seeing her life end in such a hideous way was going to leave scars that I didn't think would fade.

Swells formed on the horizon and I sat up. I spun around and got myself into position, paddling just as the water rose beneath me. Popping to my feet, shifted my weight hard against the wave and sped down to the bottom. I cut back to the top and snapped the nose of the board through the lip of the wave, grunting as I twisted my body with more force than usual. The ocean spray freckled my face. The nose whipped back toward the bottom and bounced on the last breath of the wave as it closed out and dissolved into the ocean.

I went back out several more times, pushing my body harder through the water than it was used to. Anger and frustration fueled my muscles and I wanted my body to feel tired, sore, and empty.

I trudged out of the water an hour later, salt sticking to my arms and face, mission accomplished.

A familiar face slowed me as I came up the sand.

“Started to wonder if you were gonna stay out there all night,” Liz said, sitting on the wall that surrounded my patio.

She was the last person I expected to see, but I wasn't disappointed. I crossed the boardwalk and leaned my board against the wall. “Thought about it.”

She wore a black T-shirt, faded jeans. Her hair was pulled back away from her face, mirrored sunglasses resting atop her head. Her blue eyes looked gray beneath the overcast sky. A thick brown folder was next to her.

I sat down on the wall next to her and pushed the wet hair off my forehead. “Needed the exercise.”

“It looked like more than exercise to me.”

I watched the water, the waves getting smaller as the tide pulled the evening in. “Did it?”

I felt her shrug next to me.

“What do I know?” she said. “I don't surf and you've never offered to teach me.”

I looked at her surprised at her interest. She'd never mentioned it in all the years I'd known her. “Is that a request?”

She met my gaze. “Maybe.”

We stared at each other for a moment, then I laughed and looked away.

“John said you had a tough day,” she said.

A small spark dissipated inside me as I realized she wasn't just there to say hello. “Wasn't the best.”

Purple and orange strands punched through the gray marine layer and tickled the horizon as the sun hit the edge of the water.

I glanced at her. “That why you're here? Wellton wondering if I was okay?”

“John asked me to take a look at some of the paperwork,” she said, dodging the question. “I just did some quick nosing around. You knew that the Pluto father was involved in this National Nation crap, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know that the main suspects in his murder were gang members?”

“No.”

“Nobody was charged, but two witnesses gave descriptions that matched a couple of bangers, low-level guys. Turns out they were known associates of Wizard Matellion. They had alibis, but the case notes indicated they were soft. Since Anthony Pluto wasn't an upstanding citizen, no one really gave a shit and the case dead-ended.” She pushed the brown folder in my direction. “I didn't have time to read through the whole case file, but I thought you might find that interesting. Keep it for as long as you need it.”

Liz had found a solid connection between Linc, the skinheads, and the gang, and that gave me encouragement. There were still some gaps that needed to be filled in, but she had tightened some of the gaping holes and I hoped that reading through the file might allow me to do the same.

“Thanks,” I said, placing my hand on the file. “But you didn't answer my question.”

She thought about that, her expression indicating that she was measuring her response.

“John thought I'd want to know that you had a rough one,” she said finally. “He knew I'd want to know. And I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

We sat there silently, watching the water go flat as the strands of sunlight evaporated slowly. I didn't know how to address what she had said. There was meaning in it, meaning that we never seemed to be able to clarify between us. We danced around both our feelings for each other and our differences with each other, finding it easier to argue and dodge and avoid rather than actually deal with those things.

I was tired of the dance.

Liz stood. “Six months. You never called.”

I leaned forward, my forearms on my knees, nodding.

“Yeah, I was royally pissed at you,” she said. “So I understand why you might have stayed away at first. But you
never
even called me. Never came to see me. We had that fight at the hospital and that was it—you didn't even try to work things out. It was like our relationship didn't even matter to you. What was I supposed to think?”

I stayed quiet.

“Now we're running into each other again and…I don't know.” She paused. “I hate saying it, but I've missed you. And everything you've said and done in the last few days—the way you reacted to seeing me with Mike, the junior high put-downs—even if it was all stupid and inappropriate and irritating, tells me you feel the same way.”

“I do,” I said.

“And I want to believe that, Noah,” she said. “I do. Except that it seems like I'm the one that's always making the overtures here. And it makes everything feel one-sided.”

“Yeah, but six months ago it was one-sided,” I said. “You walked away from me. You made the decision. Not me.”

“Because you, once again, did something utterly stupid that nearly got you killed.” She paused. “That scared me. And it angered me because you were only thinking of yourself. Not us.”

The conversation we were having now was the same one we should've had the day after the argument—and could've if I'd been adult enough to see that then. Liz had thrown her emotions on the table and I hadn't bothered to take a look. Or do the same.

“You caught me off guard with Mike,” I said. “I wasn't expecting any of that.”

“I know that. And none of it was meant to piss you off. He asked me out. I said yes.”

“I know. But it hurt. Seeing you with someone else.” I looked at her. “I don't want to see you with any guy but me.”

She pointed at me. “
That's
what I'm looking for. Statements like that. Actions that back that up. That's what I need.”

I stared at the concrete boardwalk, the sand scattered around my wet footprints. I wanted to remove myself from all this crap and focus on Liz, be where I wanted to be with the person I wanted to be with. Let everything else fall away and make things right.

But a small part of me knew I couldn't leave the past few days behind. Any attempt at a relationship with Liz would be halfhearted until I could put it all behind me. Permanently. And Lonnie and Mo weren't going to go away just because I wanted them to.

I stood, the grains of sand rough between my bare feet and the concrete. Liz had given me an opportunity. She told me what she needed from me and it was up to me to follow through. If I didn't, I had no one to blame but myself.

“Okay. It's on me, then. It'll change.” I pointed at the file. “I'm gonna finish this. Soon. And then it's just me and you. I promise.”

Her eyes searched my face, maybe attempting to see if there was anything but sincerity in my words.

I knew there was nothing else for her to find.

“Okay,” she said. She walked toward me, touching my arm lightly as she went by.

I watched her walk down the boardwalk toward the roller coaster, turn left at the corner, and disappear, leaving me with all the incentive I needed.

After Liz left, I paged through the file she had given me. It confirmed all of what she had told me, but didn't really provide any more new insights. Still, I was energized by the fact that I could fit Linc, the skinheads, and the gang into the same puzzle now and I decided to drive up to Linc's apartment.

My conversation with Liz had made me anxious to see the end of the case, so I could get on with my life. I'd been to Linc's during the day and hadn't learned much of anything and I wondered if the evening would show me something else.

It didn't.

Three hours of sitting and watching gave me no Linc, no gang members, nor any skinheads. As I headed home to bed, that rush of energy I'd gotten from Liz was turning into frustration.

I got up early the next morning, my body feeling refreshed from the tough session the day before in the water and my mind feeling clear from Liz's visit. I was disappointed by the fruitless time I'd spent outside Linc's apartment, but I was determined not to let that slow me down.

I was pondering how to be more fruitful when the phone rang.

“I know where he is,” a female voice said after I picked up.

I didn't recognize the voice. “Who is this?”

“It's Dana. I know where he is,” she said, rushing her words.

“Linc?”

“Yeah. I'm in Ocean Beach. Can you get here?”

“Tell me where.”

I took I-8 to the point where it ended, down past the Sports Arena and south of Quivira Basin. Robb Field, normally packed with soccer players and their families on the weekends, stood eerily empty on a weekday morning as the freeway dumped me onto Sunset Cliffs Boulevard.

Dana's call had surprised me, to say the least. I was skeptical as to what I'd find when I met up with her, but it was better than sitting around and doing nothing. And she had sounded pretty sure of herself on the phone.

I hung a right on Narragansett, then a left on Bacon, taking me into the heart of Ocean Beach.

OB prided itself on being different than the other San Diego beach communities. No beachfront hotels, no chic eateries that hung out over the cliffs, and no signs that they had bowed to the commercialization that had overwhelmed many of the other seaside areas. Locals only. Local eateries, local merchants, and local residents. Nobody got into anybody else's business and as a result, the neighborhood had become an eclectic mix of aging hippies, college students, artists, and folks who viewed society with a skeptical eye.

I turned left at Santa Cruz and spotted Dana's Xterra just past the stop sign. I pulled in behind her and she jumped out and ran to the passenger side of my Jeep.

“I think he's in there,” she said, out of breath, pointing up the block and across the street.

It was an old bungalow, the exterior weathered by the proximity to the ocean. A dilapidated wooden deck fronted the house, decorated only with a red sofa that had seen better days. There was no yard to speak of, just clumps of bushes that had taken up residence. The shingled roof was in disrepair, with rotting corners and a sagging middle. Still, the place wasn't much different than the others around it.

Character, I believe the residents called it.

“You think?”

She nodded. “This morning I heard some banging around in his apartment and it woke me up. I got up and looked out the window and I saw him getting into that car.” She pointed again and I saw the brown pickup in the driveway. “I waited until he pulled out of the lot and then I followed him.”

“Was he alone?”

“Yeah. But he was already out of the car when I pulled up. I didn't want to get too close. But I'm guessing he's inside.”

“Any idea whose house this is?”

“No.”

It occurred to me that Dana was really eager to play junior detective and I thought I knew why.

“Did you call Carter first?” I asked.

Her face reddened. “Yes. But he didn't answer. Then I called you.”

Impressing Carter had become a priority for Dana.

“Stay here,” I said, getting out of the Jeep. “I'm going to go up to the house.”

“Wait—he had a bag with him,” she said.

Wellton told me the apartment had been cleared out. “Guns?”

“I couldn't tell. But why else would he have been back at his apartment?”

I nodded and closed the door.

Walking up the sidewalk, I came to the front edge of the house and moved carefully along the porch. I stepped onto it gingerly, hoping to avoid creaks and rattles. Nothing emanated from the wood, so I continued up, moved next to the screen door, and listened.

Quiet.

I grabbed my gun from my waistband, held it at my side, and knocked on the door.

Nothing.

I tried the screen, but it was locked. Moving down off the porch, I retraced my footsteps to the fence and looked over it. An empty backyard.

I put my gun back in my waistband and hoisted myself over the fence. I fell to the ground and rolled close to the house and pulled my gun out again, creeping low next to the home until I came to the edge, and peered around the corner.

A small patio. An old hibachi barbecue sat on the ground. No tables or chairs.

I moved near the sliding glass door on the back wall of the house. Taking a deep breath, I crouched down, raised my gun, and pivoted so I was looking straight in through the door.

No Linc.

I rose up slowly and tried the slider. It started to move, but then caught. An old lock making it a little loosey-goosey.

I was starting to doubt Dana. Maybe she'd smoked a little too much pot the night before.

I rattled the door some more, seeing if I could shake it loose.

A figure darted out from the hallway on the other side of the door and sprinted for the front of the house.

I spun and ran back the way I'd come, throwing myself over the fence. I came around the corner of the house to see a young man sprinting parallel to the property in the opposite direction, glancing back at me.

Which explained why he never saw Dana step out from the side of the house and clothesline him with a straight right arm.

The guy fell to the ground in a heap.

Dana looked down at him, then at me. “This is Linc.”