Wicked Break (21 page)

The next afternoon the traffic was light moving out of Mission Beach and back over toward USD. I needed to talk with Professor Famazio again before I made my next move, and I didn't want to do it over the phone. I'd called his office several times in the morning but kept getting his voice mail. I got tired of the phone calls and walked into his office as he was packing up his briefcase.

“Mr. Braddock,” he said. “You're still alive.”

“Dumb luck.”

“The dumb part I believe.”

“Do you have a minute?” I asked. “Was hoping you could help me with something.”

He looked at his watch. “I've got about ten minutes before our department meeting.” He gestured at the chair across the desk. “Sit.”

I slid into the chair. “I'll be quick. You mentioned before that you had a database of information. Names, addresses, records. I was wondering if you might be able to check for a name and address in it.”

He was leafing through a stack of papers on the desk. “I suppose. Can I ask why?”

“Part of the investigation,” I said. “I got a name and I'm trying to track him down.”

He looked at me. “Tell me first about the campground. Did you go?”

I told him what had happened. He had, after all, tipped me to the location and what was going on.

“You knew the girl?” he asked.

“Very briefly. I met her while looking for the kid.”

He shook his head. “Animals.”

“Yeah. Everything you've told me has been dead-on.”

“One of the few things I'd rather not be right about.” He swiveled in the chair toward a laptop on a small desk to his left. “You have a name?”

“Lonnie.”

“Last name?”

“Don't know.”

He tapped the keys. “Any distinct body art?”

“Swastika above his eyebrow. His partner had
WHITE IS RIGHT
tattooed on his forehead.”

Famazio chuckled softly. “Superb.”

“His name was Mo. No last name on him, either.”

He tapped the keys a few more times, staring intently at the screen. He leaned back in the chair. “Lonnie Kerrigan. Several assault convictions. Twenty-six years old with a swastika on his head. Sound like him?”

My heart pounded a little faster. “Yeah.”

“It's a Santee address.” He scribbled it on a piece of paper. “Other guy's name was Mo?”

“Yes.”

Famazio looked back at the screen. “He's also in here. Last name Barnes. Done jail time, too. Same address.”

“Not surprised. They seem tight.”

He slid the paper across the desk to me. “Should I even bother warning you about these two? What I've got on them indicates that they are two particularly hateful individuals.”

“I'm aware of what they are,” I said, my voice carrying more edge than I had intended.

Famazio stared at me for a moment. “Yes, I guess you are. No warning, then.”

I stood. “Thank you for your help. Again.”

His eyes were probing me, searching. Finally, he got up from behind his desk.

“You're welcome,” he said. “And I hope it goes well for you.”

“It?” I asked, shoving the piece of paper in my pocket.

“Whatever you are planning for these folks,” Professor Gerald Famazio said. “I hope it goes well for you.”

I was driving back to Mission Beach, trying to ignore the weight of the slip of paper in my pocket, when my cell phone rang.

I didn't recognize the incoming number. “Hello?”

“Noah, it's Berk. You in the middle of something?”

“No, I'm just heading home. What's going on?”

The line buzzed for a moment.

“I think I stepped on your toes.”

“What do you mean?”

“The thing at Liz's office,” he said. “Something was out of place and I think it was me.”

I felt my cheeks flush, even though we were on the phone. “Well, I, uh…,” I mumbled, not sure what to say and feeling awkward.

“Come on, Noah. It was pretty obvious. I got in the middle of something with you and Liz. I saw it the other night at the bar, too. I didn't know and I'm sorry, man.”

“Not your fault,” I said. “It's complicated.”

“Regardless. That's not my thing,” he said. “And I want to apologize.”

The truth was, I'd been pissed at him. It was petty and it was dumb, but I couldn't get the picture of him and Liz out of my head. Sometimes I thought like a fifteen-year-old.

I appreciated his apology. “None needed, Mike. Really.”

“Good,” he said. “Now, I've got the Pluto stuff you wanted.”

“Anything good?”

“Well, I'm not exactly sure what you'd think is good at this point,” he said. “You got time to come over to my place and take a look?”

“Right now?”

“I'd bring it down to you, but I rolled my ankle playing ball yesterday,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “Stupid lawyer's league. Anyway, I'm hobbling. We can have a beer and look at the stuff and you can explain to me these complications with Liz.”

“I'm not sure I even know what the complications are,” I said, laughing.

“Then we can pretend.”

I didn't need the Pluto stuff anymore, but he'd gone through the trouble of pulling it out for me and I was still curious if what Linc had told me about the trust was the truth. I didn't have anywhere else to be and it would give me time to figure out what to do with the address Famazio had given me. “Okay. You still on Mt. Helix?”

“Yep. You remember how to get here?”

“Yeah. I'm in Mission Valley. I'll head up there now.”

“Cool,” he said. “See you in a little bit.”

The phone beeped again as soon as I hung up. Carter's number flashed on the readout.

“Hey,” I said.

“What's shakin'?” he asked.

“Going up to Berk's for a beer,” I said. “Wanna join us?”

“Where's he at?”

“La Mesa. Mt. Helix.”

“Awfully far for a beer.”

Carter subscribed to the theory that there was no life east of I-5.

“It's not that bad,” I said. “He won't care. Come up.”

“Give me the address.”

I did.

“Any plans for today that I need to know about?” he asked.

I thought of the address in my pocket. “I'm working on it. You come out to Berk's, we can figure it out.”

“I'll think about it,” he said. “If I don't show, call me when you're done. Let's get this over with.”

I hung up, feeling the same way.

Where you live on Mt. Helix dictates your economic worth. The folks at the base of the area were the middle class and the salaries escalated as you worked your way up the mazelike configuration of streets. When Mike had made partner at his firm, he'd moved from his downtown apartment to a ranch house about halfway up the hillside. It had a pool, a game room, and a barely visible view of the ocean if the air was clear enough. He'd worked hard, made a lot of money, and he didn't mind showing it off.

I pulled up in the crescent-shaped drive and stepped out into the late afternoon air. The sun was starting to slide away into the haze.

He greeted me at the front door.

“That was quicker than I expected,” he said, extending his hand.

We shook. “The benefits of being my own boss. I don't have to ask for permission to leave the office early.”

He laughed and stepped back. “Come on in.”

“I invited Carter up,” I said, stepping past him. “Hope that was alright.”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure. More the merrier.”

The cathedral ceilings made the house feel twice as large as its actual three thousand square feet. I followed him down the tiled hallway into an expansive circular living room that housed a pool table and a wet bar.

“Beer's good?” he asked, walking down the couple of steps that led to the sunken bar area backed by a mirrored wall stacked with shelves of expensive liquor.

“Fine. Whatever you got.”

Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the pool and the view to the west. The haze was covering up the ocean and the light was being squeezed out of the day.

Mike pulled two Coronas and a lime out of a small fridge and yanked the tops off the bottles with an opener. He pulled a paring knife from a drawer, split the lime, and stuck a piece in the top of each bottle. He slid one across the bar top to me.

He held his up. “To friends.”

“Absolutely.”

We clinked the bottle necks and drank.

“Noah,” he said, a little uncomfortable. “I meant what I said on the phone. I'm sorry about the thing with Liz.”

“You didn't know, man,” I said. “Don't be sorry.”

“Hey,” he said, straightening and putting his hands up in mock surrender. “I didn't know there was something between you guys. If I had, I would never have asked her out.”

I took a drink from the beer. “It's fine.”

“She called me later after I saw you at her office and politely declined any future offers from me,” he said, smiling. “After your reaction, figured it was too much of a coincidence.”

“Things have been weird between us,” I said, appreciating his willingness to overlook my having been a jerk. “But we're trying to get it straightened out.”

“Good for you,” he said, raising his bottle.

We each took a drink.

“Why her?” Mike asked.

“Why her what?”

He waved the bottle in the air, a bemused look on his face. “You know. Why are you hooked on her?”

“Liz?” I said, surprised by the question. “Well, I don't know. Why is it ever anyone? Just something there, I guess.”

He walked over to the windows. The evening was going black beyond the glass.

“Even with what she is?” he asked.

“Yeah, it's weird with her being a cop and me doing what I do,” I said, thinking it was a bit of an odd question. “Not sure it will ever be easy for us, and maybe that'll get in the way. I don't know. But there are always obstacles. Right?”

The room was silent for a moment and I watched his reflection in the window.

He turned around. “No. That's not what I meant, Noah.”

“What did you mean?”

He stared at me for a moment, then tipped the bottle to his mouth. He emptied it, walked back to the edge of the bar, and set it down. The clink of the glass on marble echoed throughout the room.

Something clicked in my head and everything slowed down.

“Ankle better?” I asked.

He glanced down at his feet. “What?”

“You told me on the phone you were hobbling,” I said. “Seem to be moving pretty good, though.”

He looked up. “It's feeling better.”

We stared at one another.

“What did you mean?” I asked again.

His mouth twisted into a heartless smile. “What I meant was, why would you choose Liz, when she's a worthless spic whore?”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room with a giant hose.

Mike laughed. “Oh, wait. Sorry. She's only half spic, right?” He held up his hand. “Don't get me wrong. It's good to get a little variety once in a while. That's what I was looking for. Spending time in bed with a little piece of dark meat isn't all bad. But, Noah, come on. The little senoritas aren't relationship material.” He smiled again.

I tried to stop everything from spinning in my head.

“You sent Peter Pluto to me,” I said.

“I knew you'd bust your ass to find the kid,” he said, nodding. “I knew you would. I didn't intend for you to get the shit kicked out of you, but what can you do?” He held up his hands apologetically.

My conversations with Famazio floated into my mind.

“You're one of the backers,” I said. “The anonymous donors that back up this shit.”

“You call it shit,” he said, amused. “I call it straightening out the world.”

The anger was rising up in me like a tidal wave. “Racist assholes are capable of straightening out the world?”

Berk laughed and shook his head. “That is old-school thinking, Noah.”

“Old-school? The confederate flag and lynchings are out?”

“So to speak,” he said, leaning against the bar. “It's a little more sophisticated now.”

“Oh, yeah. Your buddies in National Nation seem completely sophisticated.”

“Think what you want,” he said. “But what I'm doing is right.”

His arrogance was infuriating. Realizing that someone I considered a friend believed in all this shit was like a kick in the face.

“Linc is safe,” I said. “And you won't get to him.”

“He has our money,” Berk said, pointing a finger at me. “And he lied to the organization. That's a problem.”

“Your money? Are you like the fuckin' Klan treasurer?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “This is for real, Noah. We are going to change the world.”

“Spare me. Drunken powwows at a campground won't do it.”

“They're everywhere,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Nigger athletes taking white people's money, in the local government, and overrunning this state's universities.” He grinned. “Even wetback cops.” He shook his head. “It's gonna stop and National Nation is going to be the leader. I'm proud to fund the cause.”

“Let me ask you this, Berk,” I said, trying to keep control. “Were you always this fucked up?”

His eyes blazed. “I've awakened to the problems in this society, my friend. If you were smart, you'd do the same.” He shook his head in disgust. “Instead of defending that nigger-lovin' kid and sleeping with that half-breed.”

I fired my beer bottle at his head. He ducked and it smashed into the wall behind him, showering him with glass and fluid.

Mike stood up and glanced at the wall. “I was afraid it was gonna go like this,” he said. “I knew you weren't smart enough to see it my way. I am truly sorry for that, Noah. I really am.”

I heard footsteps in the hallway behind me. Felt the adrenaline begin its push into my system, ignited by my anger, and now, fear.

“I believe you are acquainted with my associates,” Mike said.

I turned around, knowing who was waiting for me.

Lonnie laughed and put his hands together, cracking his knuckles loudly. Mo stood there with the same blank expression I'd seen before.

“‘Associates' is the wrong word, Mike,” I said. “I think you meant ‘assholes.'”

Lonnie's smile disappeared and he took a step toward me.

Mo waited for someone to tell him what to do.

Mike said, “I'm sorry it's come to this, bro. I really am.”

“Fuck you,” I said to him. I looked at Lonnie. “And fuck you, too.”

“You're dead, cocksucker,” Lonnie said. “Dead.”

Up until then, I'd feared Lonnie. But standing in that room with him, knowing this was going to finally end between us, the fear subsided and I realized that I hated Lonnie like I'd never hated anyone else I'd ever met. For killing Malia, for killing Peter, and for nearly killing me. If I was going to die, he was going with me.

I fixed my eyes on him. “Come and get me, asshole.”