Devil's Claw

by Valerie Davisson

  Of course, with this much oil, Ester might decide to buy an adjacent lot and drill sideways right under the center and just ride out any complaints.

  But Felix knew Bill. He’d back out if he caught wind of any complications. No deal, no payday for Felix.

  The only thing that could screw up his plans now was the sea otter center. He hadn’t been able to prevent it from being built, but hopefully, his most recent efforts would prevent it from ever opening.

  19

  Saturday, July 4, 2015

  Felix could be such an asshole. Who did he think he was? Being greedy got you caught. When this last deal was done, maybe he’d pull the plug. He didn’t need Felix.

  Greasy Mexican.

  Seeing the time, Bill loosened his tie, tossed a file into his inbox, and pulled on his jacket, dropping his keys into the front pocket. He even left his laptop. He could get Felix’s report on his phone. That was the only file he planned on opening this weekend. Once he and Rhonda checked in at the hotel, he was off the clock.

  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

  But first, he had to check the wife box. Maureen expected him at La Folie at 7:00 p.m. sharp. Her parents were in town. That meant hearing all about their latest trip to Europe. The evening ahead held all the appeal of wet sand recently visited by a cat. He closed his office door more firmly than necessary, engaging the automatic lock.

  “Night, Bill! Have anything fun planned?”

  His secretary, Sally Monahan, whose desk was right outside his office, looked up as she turned off her computer and quickly pulled her purse out of a bottom drawer, gathering her things to go. They were the only two left on this floor.

  “Meeting the wife for dinner in the city,” Bill said, not stopping to chat.

  “Sounds like fun!” she said to the back of his head as he continued walking.

  He nodded, heading for the elevator without bothering to ask if she needed him to walk her to her car. The parking lot was not well lit. Last year one, of the girls in accounting had been raped on her way out.

  Once inside the elevator, he pressed “P,” waving aimlessly back at her as the door closed.

  At least he had the Porsche. With his new promotion, the one his wife didn’t know about, he could have afforded more but didn’t want to draw attention to his new windfalls, or listen to his father-in-law tell him to invest in the stock market instead. As if that ever helped anyone. His father-in-law was always giving him financial advice. What did he know, anyway? He had all his money given to him, along with being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Bill’s family may have been able to claim they came over on the Mayflower, but Maureen’s folks owned the ship. They had the real money.

  For years, that had been enough for him to put up with her snide, supercilious attitude. Maureen equated big wallets with big brains, and when Bill had failed to deliver the goods, she sadly accepted her poor decision in the matrimonial department. She didn’t file for divorce.

  “Van Burens don’t do divorce.”

  Instead, she got very busy with her committees and firmly but politely placed him on a separate shelf. A bottom shelf. One marked “loser.” He felt her condescension every Goddamn day.

  But not anymore. It used to eat him up, but he was amazed at how little it bothered him since Rhonda came along. Rhonda with the open heart and smile. Rhonda with the long legs and little brain. Just thinking about her perfect breasts made him hard.

  He floored the gas pedal and passed several cars. The sooner he got there, the sooner this evening would be over and he could get on the road to Napa. For New Year’s, when Maureen went to her spa, Rhonda found them a great little B and B. It had become their place. Just like in the movies, the owners remembered their names and always welcomed them with open arms, making sure he had extra pillows and Rhonda had her pom juice and peanut butter cups. Rhonda did not need to diet.

  He told Maureen he had a conference to attend. She didn’t even pretend to mind anymore. He knew she wouldn’t want to come.

  Maureen hadn’t come in years.

  He checked his watch. Being late was another Van Buren no-no. Nothing to be done, though. He’d just have to endure his father-in-law’s judgmental frown. Traffic always slowed down around the Embarcadero.

  Bill checked his chin in the rearview mirror. Pulled out an electric razor from the glove compartment for a quick shave.

  Maybe he should pull the plug. He almost had enough squirreled away. He’d love to cut Felix loose and be done with that whole arrangement.

  He didn’t need much to keep Rhonda happy. Unlike Maureen, who required annual shopping trips to Paris and increasingly prolonged stays at an exclusive spa in Palm Springs, Rhonda was not high maintenance. Like an eager puppy, she squealed with delight at the smallest gift. For her birthday, he’d surprised her with a pair of small diamond earrings, a gift Maureen wouldn’t have deemed worthy to give the maid.

  You’d have thought he’d given her the moon. To thank him, Rhonda walked around in nothing but the earrings for most of the rest of the weekend. Quite a return on his investment.

  He doubted his father-in-law would approve.

  20

  Thursday, July 9, 2015

  Morning, you guys are here early,” Gina greeted Amy, Jeff, and Logan with a smile. The trio was just getting off the elevator.

  Liam was taking the afternoon shift today. Dennis was back and insisted on working, but Gina said she felt better having someone work with him. The ER doctor kept him overnight, ran him through some tests, but said overall he’d been lucky. He hadn’t sustained any lasting damage. All he had to show for the explosion was a three-inch square bald spot, a few stitches, and a large square gauze bandage. The police said there had been two devices. Probably meant to go off at the same time but set by amateurs, so there was a delay. Dennis said when he heard the first explosion, he took the elevator up to see what was going on. The second went off just as he got to the lobby.

  Seated at the stainless steel island in the center of the lab, Gina looked up from her laptop.

  Hanging her fringed leather purse on one of the wall hooks near the door as she walked in, Amy took one of the black ponchos, slipped it on over her T-shirt and jeans, and grabbed a welder’s mask off the shelf above. Jeff did the same.

  Logan wasn’t going to be working directly with Otter 1 today, so she didn’t have to put on the Darth Vader outfit. They were hot and clumsy to work in, so she couldn’t say she was terribly disappointed, although she loved grooming and feeding Otter 1. How could you not fall in love with the beautiful little sea creature when those sparkling black eyes looked up at you with intelligent curiosity?

  “Hi, Gina—we wanted to get a start. This is Sa—I mean, Otter 1’s diving debut, right?” Amy said.

  “Well, not diving yet, that will have to wait for a surrogate mom, if we get that far, but yes, today’s her first day in the pool. Want to carry her down?”

  “Yes!”

  Gina didn’t have to ask Amy twice.

  The large viewing area of the aquarium was upstairs, off the lobby, separate from the newborn tank on level 2. That’s where the public would be able to watch and learn about southern sea otters. Rocks made to look like the natural ones in the cove below, a resting platform with ice-chip beds, and a pool that curved around in front all made for maximum otter viewing.

  One floor down, on level 2, where they were now, was where most of the behind-the-scenes work took place—it contained Gina’s lab, the newborn tank, an oil-spill cleanup room, two small offices, and an exit leading to the employee parking lot on the south end of the facility.

  The only natural light on this level came from a pair of floor-to-ceiling sliding doors in the back right corner of the lab. Whenever possible, these were left open to let in sunshine and fresh air. There was an elevator, but everyone preferred to use
the long set of metal stairs that zigzagged down to get to level 1, where the training pool was. It was faster, at least until their charge became too heavy to carry easily.

  Tucked back into the curve of the building, level 1 contained the above-ground swimming pool where Otter 1, with the help of her Star Wars accomplices, was going to learn how to be an otter.

  While waiting for Gina to finish what she was doing, Logan walked through the lab and out onto the small metal landing deck, which stuck out from the building about five feet. From this vantage point, she could see directly down to the training pool, which was only steps away from the cove below. Gina said that even though the otter pool on the lower level was separated from the waves crashing onto the rocks, for the safety of the trainers, they had built it ten feet higher than the small crescent of rocky beach framing the cove. Without that extra height, a good storm surge could sweep the training pool right into the Pacific.

  Jeff offered to let Amy be the one to carry the otter pup. She’d put in more hours than he had. It was only fair.

  While the kids were suiting up, getting ready to load Otter 1 into her carrier, Gina called Logan over and showed her the data she needed entered into the computer. It looked pretty straightforward. They tracked everything from supplies to how much Otter 1 ate, had grown, and weighed. They also tracked her accomplishments, like hauling out, paddling, and, soon, diving.

  “Can we get her now?” Amy asked.

  “Sure, go ahead, she can haul herself out now,” Gina said. “I’ll be right there, just need to finish this up.”

  When Amy left the room, Gina turned to Logan.

  “You are aware that Jeff has a major crush on your daughter, right?”

  Logan rolled her eyes. She had definitely noticed. You’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to see the lovelorn puppy eyes he made at Amy every time she entered the room.

  She didn’t like to butt in, but she’d have to talk to Amy about it soon. Jeff was such a sweet kid, she didn’t want to see him get hurt. The other day, a few lines of a song he was writing—something about the sun glinting off silky strands of fair hair and falling into deep, green eyes drifted up the stairs from the recording studio to her office. Yep—it was definitely time to have a talk with the boy.

  Gina completed the seafood order she’d been working on and hit “Send,” then gave up her stool to Logan.

  “It’s a good thing we’re going to get some more exposure at that city council meeting,” Gina said. “We sure need the money. Even one little otter eats a lot, and if things continue to go well, we’ll have another one soon—I got a call from La Jolla. Another stranding. Male. Not a pup. We’re seeing more migrate down . . . We need to be ready.”

  “When is the meeting?” Amy asked as they walked by. “Can Liam and I or Jeff say something?”

  Gina donned her own Darth Vader gear. “The meeting’s next Monday night, and yes, I think anyone can speak at a city council meeting. You just have to get there early and sign up for a three-minute slot. They ostensibly want to hear from the public.” Gina rolled her eyes.

  “You’re speaking, right?” Amy asked.

  “Yes—we’re on the program. Solange asked me to do the presentation, which will be followed by public comments. The city council members have been pretty supportive, but I don’t trust any politicians, even local ones. We need to get the word out there every chance we get. That land developer Scott Dekker’s going to speak, too,” she said. “He may win some of them over. Supposedly he has proof Solange’s dad is also his father, and he left that piece of property to him in a handwritten letter.”

  They had all been surprised when Solange told them about the title dispute, but no one wanted to quit, even after the attack on the center that put Dennis in the hospital. He was the first one to volunteer to keep going.

  “You can’t let those guys win,” he said.

  He reasoned that if they had wanted to hurt people, they would have blown up the lower level, where everyone knew Gina and Dennis worked. They agreed this was just a scare tactic. They hadn’t planned on one of the explosives going off late just when Dennis came up to investigate.

  If anything, this attempt to intimidate Solange into not opening the center and help the sea otters made everyone feel more determined to stay on and work harder. Once they were open and the community saw how valuable they were, it would be harder for the land developer to win in court. Or so they hoped.

  Amy looked anxious.

  “Well, what if the land turns out to be his?” she asked. “What will happen to this place?”

  “We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it, but as of now, Solange has title, free and clear,” Gina said. “So we have to have our ducks in a row. We’ve got to convince the city council not to withdraw their support for this project. My main goal is to explain why we need this center, why they made the right decision in the first place. We need to keep people on our side.”

  “You’ll do great, Gina!” Amy said, her voice rising. “We have the right on our side! We have tons of houses and hotels and things.” She waved her arms vaguely inland, encompassing all of Southern California. “What we don’t have is a place to help sea otters!”

  Listening to Amy, Logan hoped people would see things her way, but understood how easily public opinion could be swayed. People were sheep.

  And money talked. Things could go either way.

  21

  February 2015

  Most real estate titles were fee simple absolute, but if there was one thing Gary knew, it was that the law was rarely simple and never absolute. If it were, people wouldn’t need attorneys like him. Everything was open to interpretation. Whoever had the better lawyer and the most money won.

  Gary loved not having any skin in the game. Win or lose, his fee was paid. That’s why he was sitting here in a beige room indistinguishable from a thousand other bland, bureaucratic rooms, laboring with other clerks and attorneys under eye-straining fluorescent lights, hunched over long tables and uncomfortable plastic bucket chairs, methodically digging through records.

  His mission? Establish clear title for lot 429. Lot 429, now located at the intersection of Pacific Coast Highway and Goldenrod, a piece of coastal property in Jasper, California, in which Felix had invested heavily with Scott Dekker, the young man who had inherited it—or thought he had.

  Having drawn up the paperwork, Gary knew all the details. Scott put up the land, and Felix put up the cash to build Scott’s dream project, Pacific Shores, a luxury residential development right on the beach. Each home would sell for millions. If Solange’s title was upheld, they both stood to lose.

  Scott had the most to lose, though, as the bulk of Felix’s financial commitment to the project came with the build-out of Pacific Shores, which could not be started until the title issue was resolved.

  Felix rubbed his eyes and pushed his elbows back to squeeze out the tension between his shoulder blades. He thought about the merits of Scott’s case.

  Scott’s claim to ownership was fairly strong, as claims go. He had a one-hundred-percent handwritten letter from his biological father giving him the property. His father’s name was not on his birth certificate, but there was a family resemblance. And DNA testing had been used in other probate cases to establish a high probability a half-sibling relationship existed.

  This letter, which Scott hoped would be accepted by the court as a holographic will, met many of the requirements for authenticity. It was dated, signed, and contained an unambiguous description of the property and the owner’s intent to leave it to his illegitimate son.

  Of course, Gary knew that truth had nothing to do with it. There would be a lengthy court battle, but this Solange wasn’t a starving artist. It would just be a matter of whose pockets were deeper, hers or Felix’s.

  Gary’s job was to look for any irregularities that would bolster t
heir case and save them the time and expense of a long, drawn-out battle. Most title disputes were settled out of court. Two years and one-hundred-thousand dollars was the current average for a case to come to trial in Orange County Superior Court. Felix could swing it but wasn’t one to spend money if he didn’t have to.

  For convenience, Gary got a room at the Courtyard Marriott on Jamboree Road in Irvine, just down from the main Orange County courthouse. He hadn’t been down to Southern California for a while and forgot that probate court was in downtown Santa Ana, a good ten miles and sometimes over an hour away with traffic.

  Once he’d parked and made his way through the crush of jurists, bailiffs, and other attorneys, he checked in and asked the clerk, out of curiosity, why the probate court wasn’t located with the main courthouse. The tiny Asian woman, who for some reason had dyed her bangs a bright mermaid blue, informed him frankly that the county had run out of money before they could complete the build-out of the ancillary courts in that location.

  Brilliant.

  He hoped this wouldn’t take more than a few days.

  Felix put him on the job just after he got the call from Scott.

  Felix wanted this problem solved.

  Yesterday.

  Gary knew Felix had more than just a real estate deal to protect. Although Felix thought he’d covered his tracks, Gary knew all about the thumper trucks and the “bonuses” his friend Bill from the oil company slipped him for tips about where to drill for oil. He knew how Felix stood to benefit not only from the sale of Pacific Shores, but from these extra influxes of cash. He had to admit—Felix positioned himself well. He was set to make money twice off this land, if he timed it right.

  As soon as Pacific Shores was built and sold and Felix had his money safely in the bank, he’d give Bill the green light and the oil company would swoop in and “explore” for the oil Bill already knew was there.