by S. W. Lauden
“At least we can look out for each other.”
“Totally. I’m looking forward to a little hang time with you, too, bro. Is Kristen pissed you’re bailing?”
“She’s always pissed about something these days, but she’ll be fine while I’m gone. At least I hope so.”
They walked another few yards across the sand before Marco broke the momentary silence.
“You think I’ll ever find a chick to settle down with?”
“Of course. There has to be at least one woman out there crazy enough. You ever think about signing up for one of those online services?”
“Like a dating app?”
“I was thinking more like a mail-order bride.”
“Hilarious, bro.”
Greg stopped laughing when he spotted a familiar figure in the distance, leaning against a cinderblock wall. His pressed jeans and long-sleeved shirt were hard to miss at the beach, but Greg couldn’t take his eyes off the blue hat.
The sun shined directly in Greg’s face, but he’d recognize that face anywhere. His cheeks had filled out a little since the last time they spoke, and there was a wispy mustache on his upper lip now—like his older brother’s. Greg wondered if it really was the kid who cost him his badge and haunted his dreams.
Whoever it was stood there watching Greg and Marco for a few more moments, before disappearing around the nearest corner and out of sight.
“Did you see that, Marco?”
“See what, bro?”
Greg decided to make a phone call the minute he got home.
h
“Hey, Chief. It’s me.”
There was a long pause. Greg actually worried for a moment that his old Police Chief in Virgil Heights hung up on him. They hadn’t really spoken in a few months, mostly because Greg kept finding reasons not to call. This wasn’t just his old mentor and boss, this was the man who finally got Greg sober after his brother died.
The response Greg finally got was a few degrees above freezing.
“How’s the PI business?”
“Good. We’ve actually got a stake out later tonight.”
“Like old times. What’re you calling me for?”
“Nothing. Wanted to check in.”
That one got a dismissive chuckle. It sounded like the Chief was working hard not to blow a gasket.
“Cut the crap, Greg. You only call when you need something.”
“Come on, Chief. I’m—”
“Get to the point, I’m busy.”
Greg took a deep breath. This wasn’t how we wanted the call to start.
“Fine. I was wondering if you’ve heard anything about the kid, you know, since my last meeting with him?”
His question was met with a deep sigh. Greg braced himself. Whatever info the Police Chief had, it wasn’t going to be good.
“You didn’t hear? He got out last month, when he turned eighteen. Came home to live with his parents.”
“So he’s back in Virgil Heights…”
“Yes and no. The whole family moved right after—”
Greg felt a familiar rage rising up in his chest.
“You telling me you guys lost track of him?”
“Of course not. He’s signed up with a trade program downtown. One of those non-profit halfway houses that rehab gangbangers. I’ve actually been mentoring him. Why do you ask?”
There was no good answer to his question, but Greg knew he had to come up with something. In the end he decided on the truth since the Chief had already seen Greg at his absolute worst.
“I thought I saw him today, down here at the beach.”
“I suppose that’s possible. He’s got a parole officer, but he’s free to come and go as long as he keeps his nose clean. And you don’t have a restraining order…”
“So he’s free to lurk around my neighborhood, making me feel uncomfortable?”
The line went silent again after Greg’s explosive response, but only for a second. The Police Chief’s voice tinged with a familiar concern now.
“I wouldn’t worry if I were you. From what I can tell he’s on the straight and narrow. I’d be willing to bet it wasn’t even him.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“He’s changed. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
Greg was dazed when they said their goodbyes and hung up. He went into the bathroom, took out his clippers, and shaved his hair down to a buzz cut. Small patches of dye still clung to the tips of the inch-long strands, but his natural blond was already poking through. It was time to get to work.
Chapter 3
They sat in a darkened car high up on the peninsula a few hours later. It was a non-descript compact number that Greg bought Marco for exactly this purpose. His baby blue El Camino would stick out like a sore thumb among the Range Rovers and Teslas the valets were lining up along the driveway. And he wasn’t willing to risk having his precious ride get banged up again after all the time and money he’d spent to restore her.
The stake out had just begun, but Greg was ready to call it quits. He was behind the wheel with Marco in the passenger seat. The ornate fences of enormous homes lined the narrow road on either side of them, creating a canyon of brick, ivy, and wrought iron winding down for a couple of miles to the cliffs above the tidal pools. From there, the black ocean spread out in a panoramic view bordered by the twinkling lights of South Bay.
Greg and Marco were positioned across the street, hoping they looked like two more members of the Hollywood press. A camera bag was on the floor at Marco’s feet, along with a file folder and a couple of empty energy drink cans.
The multi-million-dollar home they were watching was set a couple hundred yards back from the street. A circular, cobblestone driveway swooped across the rolling front lawn, delivering carloads of guests to the columned front porch. A throng of paparazzi was stationed outside on the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of anybody from the exclusive guest list.
“Are all of these vultures here for our girl?”
“Not really sure. The dude told me she was some kind of musician, but I’ve never heard of her before.”
“Glad you did your homework. You’re a total pro.”
“You’ve got a computer, too, boss.”
“What’s her name again?”
“Gabriella Flores.”
They had a clear view of the valet stand and front door, as well as one side of the house. A DJ was set up in the backyard, the beams of an elaborate light show causing the night sky to pulsate with color. The low-end from the DJ’s speakers was so loud that the dashboard in front of Greg and Marco vibrated in time to the electronic dance music.
Greg almost had to scream to be heard.
“How they hell do they listen to this crap?”
Marco snorted.
“That’s what our parents used to say about punk rock.”
Greg reached over to give his partner a solid punch on the thigh. Marco jumped up in his seat, ramming his stringy blond hair into the roof of the car.
“What the fuck, dude? That hurt!”
“Be quiet. Those leeches across the street will hear you.”
“What’s a matter, bro? Afraid they’ll want to take your picture?”
Greg ignored him, checking the clock on his phone instead. They’d already been there for an hour without any sign of the woman they were trailing.
“Are you sure she’s inside already?”
“For the millionth time, yes. The driver dropped her off. Chill out.”
“This doesn’t make any sense. Why are we trailing her if she has a driver?”
“I told you, her old man’s paranoid. He thinks everybody’s screwing her, including the driver. What do you care, anyway? It’s easy money.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘easy money
.’ What’s her husband’s name?”
“Hell if I know. Some lawyer set this whole thing up. Said she’s totally out of control, doing blow and hooking up with all these random dudes. Or at least that’s what they think she’s up to, so they’re looking for proof.”
“Does this lawyer have a name?”
“I think it’s Torres, or something like that. Maybe Trujillo?”
“Once again, that’s some solid detective work.”
“What the hell’s your problem? I’m trying to make some extra cash here.”
“I don’t know. There’s something off about this whole situation.”
“Maybe that’s what happens when an old guy marries some hot young chick.”
Marco smiled, arching an eyebrow. Greg didn’t find it funny at all.
“Kristen isn’t that much younger than me. Besides, what the hell would you know about—”
Greg didn’t have the chance to finish his come back. Marco started banging on the dashboard and pointing toward the house.
“There she is. Getting into that car with those two dudes.”
“You sure?”
Greg squinted to take a closer look. She was medium height with straight black hair that bounced and swung as she stumbled toward the car. Her form-fitting white dress seemed to glow in the darkness, calling attention to her killer curves. Marco reached down and grabbed a black-and-white headshot from the file folder at his feet. He looked from the glossy image to the girl in the driveway a few times before making up his mind.
“That’s totally her.”
“Quit acting like she’s an old friend of yours.”
“She might as well be, as much as I’ve been staring at this picture.”
Greg turned the key in the ignition, but left the headlights off. An expensive European sports car shot from the driveway a moment later and tore off down the street. He counted to three in his head before putting Marco’s car into drive to give chase. They’d gone half a block before he flipped the lights on.
It was late at night and there weren’t many streetlights in the secluded, hilltop neighborhood. Greg gave his prey plenty of distance. He kept his eyes focused on the red brake lights blinking and flashing in front of him as they sped along the serpentine streets. A few minutes passed before the two cars encountered their first stoplight. Greg eased his car to the curb two blocks back, waiting until the light turned green and the sports car went left.
Greg stepped on the gas, barely making the quick-changing light as Marco screamed “Go! Go! Go!” The sports car was reduced to a couple of small red dots in the distance as they sped along the desolate four-lane boulevard connecting South Bay with the grungy harbor town on the other side of the hill. In between were ten miles of winding roads where local teens came to race the souped-up cars and motorcycles their wealthy parents bought them. But nobody else was around on a school night.
The only sign of life was a high-end golf resort called The Cliffs that locals treated like a private country club. The sports car barely tapped the brakes before screeching into the driveway and skidding to a stop outside the lobby. Greg killed his headlights and pulled over, watching as both doors flung open. The two men climbed out, pushing the passenger seat forward to help their guest up. The driver tossed his keys to the valet and they each took an arm to lead Gabriella inside, practically holding her up.
Marco tried to open his door, but Greg stopped him.
“Where are you going?”
“This whole scene’s sketchy. We have to stop those dudes before they get her into their hotel room.”
“Hold on. The lawyer told you she slept around, which is exactly what this looks like to me. We can’t go around kicking doors in.”
Marco sat back with a groan.
“Whatever. You know you aren’t a cop anymore, right?”
“That’s my point. We don’t have badges and, from what I saw, there’s nothing illegal going on.”
“She seemed kind of wasted.”
“People get wasted and fuck all the time. That’s how we got this job in the first place, right? Speaking of which…”
Greg grabbed the camera from the floor at Marco’s feet and started snapping pictures. He had more than enough evidence to collect a check before the trio disappeared.
“Now we wait for them to come back out. Might be a while from the looks of things.”
Greg reached over to turn on the radio. He tuned it to an AM news station that ran through the day’s headlines. Greg felt a sense of relief these days whenever he didn’t hear his own name mentioned.
Marco, on the other hand, still seemed pretty annoyed.
“Can you at least play some music?”
“In a minute. I want to catch the surf report.”
Greg turned the car stereo’s dial back and forth, trying to pick up a clean signal. Marco sighed.
“You think it’ll be weird for us to go on tour without Tim?”
Greg stopped twirling the dial long enough to look up.
“What the hell made you think of that?”
“I don’t know, bro. The whole thing feels fucked up. Like maybe we shouldn’t be messing with ancient history, or something. Out of respect for your brother.”
Greg went back to tuning the radio, but not before putting an end to the conversation.
“It’s just music. Tim’s dead and he isn’t coming back. Take a nap or something.”
Marco swung the passenger door open to step out.
“Whatever, bro. I need to piss.”
“Fine. You know where to find me.”
Marco slammed the door, and for a brief moment the station broke through the static.
“…speaking about his new book, Among the Grizzlies. Thanks for joining us today, Mr. Thompson…”
Greg sat back, waiting to hear his friend’s voice.
“Thanks for having me.”
“This is quite a book you’ve written about your time undercover with a drug cult in the Angeles National Forest. A New York Times bestseller, I might add. When did you know you had such an exciting story on your hands?”
“It’s hard to say. I’d been chasing after Tom Schulte—”
“The drug kingpin better known as ‘Magnus Ursus.’ Did he really call himself that?”
“Yep. I’d been keeping an eye on Magnus and his crew, hanging out at the biker bar up near their camp—”
“Grizzly Flats.”
“Wow. I’m impressed you actually read the book. I was looking for a way in when they kidnapped a couple of hikers. One of them turned out to be a former police officer and punk musician named Greg Salem…”
Greg changed the station the second he heard his own name. He turned to the right to say something to Marco, realizing too late that his partner had been gone for a while. Greg looked out the windshield to the lobby. Marco walked through the front doors, turning in the same direction as Gabriella Flores and her two escorts.
He slammed his hands against the steering wheel before reaching over to grab his Glock from the glove compartment. Gun in hand, he flung the door open and jumped out. He started off jogging, but slowed to a fast walk when he passed by the valet stand. There was no sign of Marco when Greg got inside. He scanned the small crowd gathered around a piano bar in the lounge, drunkenly singing along to a Neil Diamond song. His eyes wandered through the window to an enormous pool glowing blue in the darkness outside.
Greg headed for the restaurant, catching a glimpse of Marco between two closing elevator doors. He ran over to catch him, but didn’t make it in time. Greg watched closely as the floor lights counted up from “L” to “4” before stopping. He slammed through the stairwell door, climbing the steps two at a time.
He was winded when he exited into a long hallway a minute later. There were a couple of antique chairs and a small
wooden table near a window on his right. Ornate mirrors and paintings lined the walls between the guest room doors. And there was Marco at the far end, his ear against a door and his hand on the knob.
Greg hissed at his partner as he approached.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Marco brought a finger up to his lips, signaling for Greg to be quiet. He motioned to the room with his head.
“They took her in there.”
“So what? She went with them on her own. There’s nothing we can do about it.”
Greg reached out to pull Marco back, but his friend wouldn’t budge.
“Something’s not right, bro. I know it.”
That’s when Gabriella started screaming. It sounded like it might be laughter at first, but it quickly evolved into sheer terror. And then they heard her shout, “Help!”
Greg shoved Marco aside, stepping back to give the door a solid kick. It crashed inward with a spray of splinters.
He stormed in with his gun raised, sweeping it back and forth to cover the room. The two guys were bent over a nightstand covered in coke. One had floppy blond hair and the other dark curls. They were taking turns with a rolled up hundred-dollar bill. Both of them wore tight-fitting underwear that barely concealed their rock-hard erections. Gabriella was naked on the mattress, wrists tied to the bedposts. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Marco rushed over to set her free.
Greg kept his gun trained on the two men. They looked like a couple of frat boys from one of the private colleges downtown.
“Having a little party in here?”
“This was all her idea, I swear,” said the blond.
“But then she started freaking out,” added the other one.
“Lie to me again and I’ll blow your dicks off.”
Greg lowered the gun for emphasis. Marco lifted Gabriella off of the bed to help her find her clothes and purse. They were scattered across the room in a crooked line ending near the door.
She went into the bathroom to get dressed. Marco came over to join Greg, pointing at the two terrified men standing before him.
