Wicked Break (5 page)

I sat out on my board, just beyond the break, for about an hour. I moved out to the side of the lineup, ignoring the looks I was getting from the others out on the water when they took in my appearance, just watching and resting. The water and air felt good on my body and it gave me a chance to clear my head. By the time I paddled in, I felt better.

I spent the rest of the day napping and watching television. Every couple of hours, I'd walk outside and do some stretches on the patio, trying to make sure nothing stayed locked up. The stretching hurt, but I'd knew it would pay off in the next couple of days.

After a night of sleep and a slow morning walk on the beach to loosen my muscles, I called Mike Berkley and arranged to meet him downtown after his workday ended. I figured I needed to do a little backtracking. Peter Pluto had said that Mike had given him my name, so he seemed a logical place to start.

I ate lunch, paid a few bills, and took another brisk stroll on the sand before making the twenty-minute drive down I-5 to the west end of the downtown area to meet Mike. I parked at the corner of Ash and Columbia and took a quick glance at myself in the rearview mirror. The bruising on my face seemed to be less pronounced, but there was no denying that I looked like a raccoon. At least I was downtown, where sights like my face might blend in.

Mike had suggested meeting at the Columbia Street Brewery and, as the name indicated, it was on Columbia Street. Situated between several of the newer skyscrapers to creep up the downtown San Diego landscape, it was an after-hours hot spot.

The interior consisted of oak, brass, and glass. The giant mirrors on the walls made the interior look twice as large as it actually was. The restaurant area was pushed off to the left, tables nearly stacked on top of one another to accommodate the growing crowd. The bar ran lengthwise down the right side, bartenders in T-shirts and jeans scurrying back and forth behind it.

I hesitated in the entryway, scanning the crowd. As my eyes panned across the room, I realized I wasn't just looking for Mike. My brain was keeping an eye out for Lonnie and Mo, as well. It was silly to think they'd be at this kind of place, but the beating had put me on full alert.

I found Mike at the far end of the bar. He was loosening the blue and red tie from the collar on his white oxford. He glanced at me, looked away for a second, then whipped back in my direction.

His eyes widened as I approached.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asked.

“Hazard of the job,” I said, extending my hand and avoiding an explanation.

He shook it and nodded at the stool next to him. “Sit down before I have to pick you up.”

“I'm okay.”

He looked at me. His light brown hair was cut close to his head. His eye color matched the hair and his complexion was vibrant and tan, not something you usually see on an attorney who spends a lot of time in his office. He was a couple of years older than me and I hadn't seen him in a few months, but every time I saw him, he seemed to get younger.

“You seriously alright?” he asked.

“Fine.”

Mike stared at me for a second, then shrugged. He waved at the bartender, pointed at his beer and then the empty space in front of me.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I said after the beer arrived.

“Hey. Thanks for coming here,” he said. “I'm meeting a date here in a little bit.”

“Don't let me get in the way.”

He grinned, exposing bright white teeth. “Don't worry. I won't.”

Mike lived a serious bachelor's life and liked it that way. His good looks, charm, and wit made it easy for him.

I took a drink from the beer and set the glass on the oak bar. “Guy came to see me. Said you sent him.”

He finished pulling the tie from his shirt. He folded it up and shoved it in his pocket. “Pete?”

“Pluto, yeah.”

Mike raised eyebrows. “He actually came to see you, huh?”

“Yep.”

He took a drink from his beer. “I wasn't sure if he was serious or not.” He shrugged. “Yeah, I gave him your name.”

I looked toward the mass of working stiffs gathering after a day of depositions, day trading, and number crunching. “You know him well?”

He shrugged. “Enough. I handled his mother's estate when she died. Seems like a decent guy.”

“You know the brother?”

Mike smirked and rolled his eyes. “Linc? Sort of. He was kind of a little prick the two times he came to my office. I tried to chalk it up to the fact that he'd just lost a family member, but I got the feeling it was a regular thing with him.”

As I watched the overpaid yuppies laugh and talk, I thought of Peter Pluto's body in the canyon. Liz hadn't released his name yet, so I didn't feel ready to mention it to Mike.

“What's Peter do for a living?” I asked.

Mike thought about that for a second. “Was selling real estate when I first met him. Assume he's doing it still.” He grabbed his glass off the bar. “What's going on, Noah?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. “Any idea where the kid would go?”

“No clue,” he said. “Pete just said he couldn't find his brother and he was worried. I gave him your name.” He paused, stared at me a little harder for a moment. “This have anything to do with the way you look?”

I laughed. “You're not fond of my new appearance?”

“No. It looks like you really pissed off the wrong guy.”

I nodded and looked back at the crowd. “Something like that.”

“Hey, Noah, if this guy's into something you don't want any part of, don't feel obligated because of me.”

I looked back at him. “My curiosity's been piqued.”

Mike smiled and drained the rest of his beer. “Fair enough. Well, from what I know, Pete's a good guy. But I really only know him from the estate and trust work I did for him. He was pretty straightforward and completely hassle-free.” He set the empty glass back down on the bar. “Like I said, Linc to me was a little bit of a punk. But most of my dealings were with Pete.”

“Any way I could find out about that trust left to Linc?” I asked.

He frowned. “Come on. You know that's confidential.”

I finished my beer and nodded. “Yeah, but look at my face.”

His frown morphed into a reluctant smile. “I don't think there's much there, but I'll see what I can get you.”

“Peter said Linc had hooked up with the wrong crowd at some point. Any clue as to what he meant?”

He thought about it, then nodded. “Yeah. Pete tell you anything about the father?”

“He got pretty upset when I asked, so I didn't push it.”

Mike nodded, as if that sounded right. “Not surprised. He was into the white supremacy thing. And Linc got into it, too. I'd assume that would be the wrong crowd Pete was talking about.”

I thought of Lonnie and Mo. “How involved was Linc?”

“Not really sure,” Mike said. “Pete didn't go into it much. I think he was embarrassed by it. I just knew he was worried about him.”

“Peter wasn't into it?” I asked.

“I don't think so. Like I said, I don't know Peter all that well. But I highly doubt he's involved with white supremacists. He got visibly upset when he told me that Linc was into it.”

It seemed like Linc had been keeping company with a pretty volatile group of friends and I wondered if it had become too much for him to handle.

Mike looked over my shoulder. “And now, if you're finished with me, my date for the evening has arrived.”

I laughed and stood. “I said I wouldn't get in the way.”

“You are a friend.”

“I try.”

Mike stood up and waved. “Actually, I think you know her. We were all in court together one time, if memory serves me.”

“Really?” I said, and turned around.

The bar was crowded now, people stacked four deep at the railing. The tables in the restaurant were filled completely. Mike could've been waving at anyone in the place, trying to get the attention of any of the gorgeous women in the room.

But it was clear that he was waving at the best-looking woman in the bar.

He was waving at Liz.

She froze for a moment when she spotted me, her expression indicating she was as surprised to see me as I was to see her. But then it was gone and she made her way over to us.

Mike stepped around me. “Liz, you know Noah, right? His eyes were probably different last time you saw him.”

She wore a blue blouse and tailored skirt, her hair piled on top of her head. The makeup around her eyes was a little darker than normal, the blue in her eyes a little brighter. She smiled nervously. “Yeah. Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” I looked at Mike. “I gotta run. I'll call you, alright?”

I didn't wait for an answer. I pushed past them, through the crowd and out the front door, feeling as if I'd taken a beating all over again.

I turned up Johnny Lang in the CD player, gripped the steering wheel of the Jeep, and stepped on the accelerator, driving away from the Columbia Street Brewery, Mike, and Liz as fast as I could.

As I forced my way through the traffic headed north on I-5, I unclenched my jaw and tried to relax. Liz and I weren't together. We weren't anything. I didn't have any right to get upset with what she was doing in her personal life, yet my gut felt like it was filled with jagged stones.

I took the I-8 westbound exchange behind the old Sports Arena and past Sea World, exiting at West Mission Bay Drive, and headed into Mission Beach as I thought about my anger. I wasn't ready to admit that Liz was over me. I'd imagined our relationship as one of those like you see on television, where the couple is apart until no one can take it any longer and then they end up back together. You just have that feeling that two people are supposed to be together.

I had that feeling about Liz and me, but she apparently didn't watch the same shows.

I parked the Jeep in the alley outside my house and walked the five blocks up Mission to the SandDune. My legs were stiff and heavy and the walk helped bring them back to life. The bar was half filled; a quiet buzz of conversation mixed with the overhead television monitors.

I slid onto the first stool and waved at Marsha behind the bar. She was wearing a tight black T-shirt cut just above her navel and her blond hair hung straight to her shoulders.

She strolled over and winced. “Who danced on your face?”

“Guy with big feet,” I said, leaning against the bar, breathing harder than I would've liked. “Shot of Cuervo and Red Trolley on the back.”

She nodded and pulled the bottle of tequila from below the counter. She turned up a shot glass in front of me and filled it with the liquor.

“Gonna be here awhile?” she asked, pushing the small glass toward me.

“That's my intent,” I said.

She produced a bottle of the beer, flipped the top off, and set it next to the tequila. “Okay. I'll be back in a bit.”

I turned my attention to one of the monitors above the bar and watched the Padres play another meaningless game late in the year, trying to shut the image of Liz and Mike out of my thoughts.

It was two beers and an hour later before Marsha wandered back to me.

“You feel as bad as you look?” she asked, throwing her towel into a bin behind the counter.

“Not until people start telling me how bad I look.”

She laughed and nodded. “Right. Sorry.”

“No problem. I'm getting used to it.”

She leaned on the bar. “Guy was in here earlier, looking for you.”

I sat up a little straighter. “Really?”

“Yeah. About an hour before you rolled in.”

Images of Lonnie and Mo fired through my head. I turned around and did a quick scan of the room. No one with a shaved head.

I turned back to Marsha. “Get a name?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

I could feel the hair on my neck come to attention. “What did he look like?”

“Black guy,” she said. “Maybe twenty or so. About your size. Lots of gold on him, wearing a Raiders jersey and a Dodgers cap.”

I relaxed a little at her description, realizing it hadn't been Lonnie or Mo. “Say what he wanted?”

“No,” she said, pushing herself off the bar. “Came in, asked Marco if he knew you, Marco pointed him in my direction, I told him I hadn't seen you today.”

Her description reminded me of Deacon Moreno, the kid that Rolovich had complained about at the apartment complex. If it had been him, I wasn't sure why he'd be looking for me, but I was immediately uncomfortable with the idea that he knew to find me at the SandDune.

I stood up from the stool. “Thanks, Marsha.” I fished some money out of my pocket and slid it across the bar. “He comes back, give me a buzz, alright?”

She scooped up the money. “No problem.”

I walked out of the SandDune into the cool evening air. Mission Boulevard was heavy with traffic, cars crawling at a snail's pace, but no one seeming to mind. The late summer tourists walked slowly down the street, pointing and smiling at nothing in particular.

A Toyota Camry with a thumping bass coming from the interior broke out of the line of traffic and pulled to the curb in front of me.

I stepped back and reached around my waist, touching the butt of my gun for reassurance.

The passenger window dropped and the volume of the music went down with it. A kid, about eighteen, with skin the color of black licorice leaned out. He didn't match the photo Rolovich had shown me.

“Yo,” he said, exposing a gold tooth in the middle of his mouth. “How we get to Garnet?”

I tried to glance around him, but couldn't see the other face behind the wheel. “About two miles up to the north. Same direction you're going.”

He leaned on the window, a thick chain around his neck jangling against the inside of the door. “This way? You sure, dude?”

“Yeah.”

His tongue snaked out the corner of his mouth and he nodded slowly. “Cool.” He lifted his chin as a way of saying thanks, then leaned back in the car. He turned to the driver, said something, and then turned back to me. “Good thing we found you standing out here. Makes things easy, know what I'm saying?” He winked and the window and the volume of the music both went up.

The wink didn't fit as I watched the Camry pull away from the curb, back into the northbound traffic, my heart beating faster than I would've liked. I took a step forward, trying to get an eye on the receding license plate, when I saw the red Escalade coming on the southbound side of Mission.

The back window on the driver's side slid down and two gun barrels poked their heads out like a pair of twin cobras.

The kid in the Camry had done his job and served me up on a platter.

I dropped to the sidewalk, my already aching body taking another jolt, and hit the concrete, the first wave of bullets whistling above my head. Tires squealed, people screamed, and glass shattered as the guns fired into the front window of the SandDune. I ignored the throbbing in my ribs and rolled to the curb, trying to avoid the falling glass and taking cover next to the parked cars on the street.

The gunshots stopped as quickly as they'd started. An engine roared and as I moved to my knees and drew my gun, the Escalade tore down the middle of Mission and jerked left onto Mission Bay at the roller coaster, disappearing around the corner.

It was quiet for a moment and then a cacophony of confusion and fearful voices filled the air.

I looked in through the entrance of the SandDune. People were starting to stand back up inside, eyes wide with terror and shock. I couldn't tell for sure, but it didn't look like anyone was hurt. Marsha was on the phone, probably calling the police.

I stood up awkwardly, my muscles screaming in pain and my gun hanging impotently in my right hand. I stepped back onto the sidewalk, pieces of the painted glass that had spelled out the bar's name crunching beneath my shoes. Sirens wailed in the distance.

I took a deep breath.

I didn't know where Linc Pluto was.

I didn't know who shot Rachel outside her apartment.

I didn't know why Lonnie and Mo had killed Peter Pluto.

And I didn't know who had just tracked me down in my own neighborhood and tried to ventilate my body with bullets.

But as I stood there amid the gunsmoke, burnt rubber, and chaos, with my stomach in knots and my thoughts speeding through my brain on a conveyor belt, I did know one thing.

It was time to go on the offensive.