by Kit Crumb
But his fellow officer just kept laughing and climbed to a higher rock. “Everyone’s in place and Ramos is wondering where you are, buddy.”
Inside the cave on a horizontal shelf at the base of a vertical shaft, a second wire was being attached to a battery sending electricity through the wires into the sub-basement, basement, and long forgotten wall space, signaling the incendiary devices that it was time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
RAMOS SHUFFLED THE DECK for the third time, then laid out his favorite solitaire configuration for his tenth game. A soft pop brought him to an upright sitting position, hand instinctively reaching for his gun. Frozen in place he strained to hear a second pop, or the sound of footfalls. Nothing. The peephole in the door revealed an empty hall.
Buck and M felt a temperature change seconds before the wall on either side of the entry hall door bust into flame. M staggered back from the front hall when she saw the paint begin to peel, but had only seconds before the entire wall was consumed by flame.
Ramos decided as long as he was up, he’d answer the call of nature and headed for the bathroom. He reflexively jerked his hand back from the doorknob. Before he could look at the burned flesh, the bathroom door burst into flame.
M ran into the kitchen where she’d seen a fire extinguisher, but was driven out when flames shot up from the floor.
Buck stood trapped in the center of the living room. Flames raced up the hall that led to the bathroom, while the entire kitchen was awash in bright, orange flames. Drawing his Glock, he spun around and emptied the clip at the window, knocking out the remaining glass with a couch cushion.
Ramos was on the radio. “It’s a trap. Buck, M, get out, now!”
The hall walls were an inferno. M twisted her hair into a knot and sprinted, slamming a shoulder into the flaming door, bursting into the hall where the floor should have been.
Hearing gunfire and the sound of shattering glass Ramos understood what Buck must be doing in the next room and raised his military issue
.45 and took out the windowpane at close range.
Without a second look, Buck dropped the fifteen feet to the gravel lot below, getting to his feet in time to watch Ramos do the same, but without getting up. He rushed to his side.
Ramos was trying to stand.
“Your knee?” Buck said.
Ramos threw an arm over his shoulder.
“Ankle.”
The overwhelming stench of burning hair brought M to consciousness. The roaring in her ears and the light so bright that she wasn’t sure her eyes weren’t already open, roused her. It came back in a rush, the stakeout at the hotel, the fire, the tiny voice from the radio squawking that it was a trap. Then she was through the door and falling. The scream brought her fully awake. It was hers. Every cell in her body felt like it was on fire. She peeled off her blazing black cotton sweatshirt and franticly rolled over and over, until the flames around her hips and legs were extinguished. She lay on her back, trying to make sense of her surrounding.
When she looked up, there was no ceiling, only what was left of a superstructure holding up two boilers. Flaming debris fell seemingly from the sky setting one of the giant support beams aflame and dropping embers all around her. Where the hell was she? If the boilers were in the basement and she was looking up at them, she must be in a sub-basement. She had to get out before the boilers dropped.
Crouching into a duck walk, she moved around burning wood of every dimension, stumbling then catching herself, turning to avoid a flaming timber. A clear path seemed to open up and she headed across the center of the floor, when her ankles were hit with a cool breeze. Instinctively looking down, she saw that she was on a stone floor. She began swatting the air as flaming cinders bounced off her head and shoulders. She was about to scream when she spotted the wooden hatch in the middle of the floor. In a headlong dive, she slid across the stone to the wood patch. Jamming her fingers into a slot on one side, she pried to no avail, doubling her effort when she heard the metallic boom of one of the boilers moving.
Quickly, she stepped away and looked for something to pry with, but everything was on fire. It was when she looked back that she saw the other slot in the hatch. Standing up, she slid her hands on either side of the square and lifted it out revealing a gaping hole. No ladder.
When the stone floor shuddered, she knew the superstructure had given way. Again she looked around, this time for anything she could use to lower herself into the hole, but the only thing not burning was the floor she was standing on and that was quickly being covered with burning embers. From the corner of her eye, she saw a huge blazing timber fall. She lurched out of the way only to have it hit where she’d been standing and bounce into the hole. In that split second of raw light she saw several handholds carved into the rock. Without hesitation she slid over the edge into the blackness, feeling with her toes for what she hoped would be other handholds.
Ten feet below the lip of the hole, one leg began an involuntary shake, she’d heard rock climbers refer to it as sewing machine leg. She had to find a way to rest, and quick. She counted breaths to ward off panic then let the leg hang until the shaking stopped. This allowed her to descend a few steps at a time until she felt the other leg tensing up. Inspired by desperation, she began to scramble. She might fall, but she’d fall for certain if she didn’t reach the bottom before the other leg cramped.
Embers fell around her like rain and she could almost see the next handhold instead of feeling for it. A flaming two-by-eight dropped down the shaft, striking a stone and sailing just behind her head. She looked down expecting it to strike bottom and give her an idea of how far she had to go. The beam hit something just below her position then rattled around in the shaft until it sizzled out far below. Risking everything, hoping for a ledge, she turned and looked just below her feet on the opposite side of the shaft where the beam had struck leaving some burning embers.
Chapter Thirty-TWO
RAMOS SPUN LIKE A PINWHEEL with Buck at the center. The parking lot was packed with on-lookers, held back by the fire department.
“Christ, I don’t see M.”
He waved the fire chief over. “What the hell are you waiting for?” He pointed at where the window used to be at the end of the hall. “Get a ladder. I’ve got somebody trapped up there.”
The fire chief took a step back.
“Sorry, Ramos, no can do. Unnatural cause, that fire’s burning hotter than anything I’ve ever seen.”
Ramos waved him off and began scanning the crowd until he spotted Jake and Lemon helping with crowd control. Everyone had to shout over the roar of the fire. Buck was half urging, half pushing his boss toward an ambulance when two firemen grabbed Ramos from either side and carried him the rest of the way.
Buck ran over shouting until both officers turned around.
“Jake, have you seen M?”
His eyes were like saucers despite dilated pupils.
“Buck, I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jake said. “One minute the hotel was near dark, then it was like someone lit a giant flare and flames began to shot out the windows.”
Buck grabbed the officer by the shoulders shaking him.
“Jake, Jake have you seen M?”
Lemon stepped up breaking Buck’s grip, and just shook his head, asking, “Ramos?”
Buck pointed at the ambulance then took off at a run for the corner of the hotel. Driven back by the heat, he broke into the crowd, scanning faces. Moving from person to person, describing M until he saw Thomas Seller. When he was close enough to be heard, he called his name. Seller turned around like he was standing on a lazy susan. One look and Buck knew any conversation would be useless. The hotel manager was in a deep state of shock. He continued circling the hotel and moving through the crowds, even as the fire department broke down their equipment.
From the highest point on the north end of town, where Spyglass Hill intersects Bay View, the old AMC Gremlin idled. Peter Yamato sat on the hood, droop
ing shoulder, his hand throbbing across the top where he stitched the slice made from the glass. He burned with fever but inside rejoiced as he watched the Dungeness Hotel burn. Retribution was near. Had he destroyed the Malmstrom seed? Perhaps. Would he return and make sure, destroying all authority when he did? Yes. But first he had to return to his master and heal.
A shout echoed across the parking lot. “Back, everyone back, she’s falling in on herself!”
Except for the former occupants who were gathered at the sidewalk, people shuffled out of the way, not wanting to miss a minute of the show. Buck stared glassy eyed at what he saw as M’s funeral pyre, tears glistening on his cheek in the firelight.
“Buck?”
He whirled at a familiar voice to find Ramos leaning on a young fireman.
“She’s gone, Buck.”
Peter climbed in the Gremlin but didn’t put it in gear, instead turned off the ignition. He played through his mind the image of the officer sweeping the cave with his light, finding a box, nearly exposing him. Twice he thought he would have to eliminate the intruder, two times fate had intervened. Still, he’d been forced to wait until the last minute. He couldn’t have allowed himself to be trapped. He’d fought a rising tide, swimming with an injured shoulder. But driven by Giri and a sense of nearing Retribution he’d made it out of the cave, having to swim away from the bluff and the burning hotel, around the point, barely able to pull himself onto the deserted beach. He shivered at the memory. What was in the box, was it really a box or just a shape created by the light? He reached down, turned the key and brought the engine to life. He depressed the clutch and ground the gears into first; when he pressed the accelerator the car hesitated then lurched forward. He hoped it would make it to San Francisco.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE TWO MEN SLUMPED in the back of the cruiser sharing a common loss.
“You ready to go?” The officer driving them home said.
Neither spoke. Buck simply nodded. They rocked listlessly as the vehicle drove over the curb to avoid fire engines as it left the parking lot.
Buck felt a pressure on his wrist and looked over at Jake.
“What?”
Jake released his grip. “There’s something in the cave.”
Buck just shook his head. He didn’t want to think anymore. Every time he did the scenario ended the same way. M was dead.
They rode in silence the rest of the way to the tiny apartment complex where Jake lived. When he climbed out, he turned around and looked back in. Buck was still staring at the floor.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He didn’t hear a word Jake said.
The cruiser turned onto Clamshell and drove to the end of the block, stopping in front of Buck’s house. “You want me to go in with you?” the officer asked.
Buck looked out the window at his house. “No, I’ll be fine.”
The officer stepped around and opened the rear door. “I could put on a pot of coffee or something.”
Buck sat bolt upright and looked at him with blood shot eyes. “I said no.”
He slid out not looking back as he made his way up the walk. The cruiser waited until Buck slid the key into the lock and opened the door.
Everything had happened so fast. He walked down the hall to the bathroom peeling off his coat and shirt. The Greens’ murder, M hospitalized, Tessue’s decapitation and the message. He leaned over the sink and splashed water on his face as he thought of Amy. He removed his shoes and socks and let his trousers puddle around his ankles, stepped over to the shower letting the water run as hot as he could take, he let his mind go blank.
When the water turned cold it forced him out of the shower. He toweled off, still trying to make sense of it all. But it made no sense and M was dead and that made no sense. Exhausted, he climbed into bed, closed his eyes and ran the events of the past two days over and over until they turned into dreams; perverted dreams of Amy’s postmortem rape. Dreams of terror, of being surrounded by flames and jumping out a window to a thousand-foot drop. Heart pounding, he was falling spread eagle, face down, watching the gravel parking lot come at him faster and faster until all he could see was the white of the gravel and all he could hear was the pounding of his heart. And pounding, and pounding, and pounding until he opened his eyes and the dream vanished.
Wrapped in a sweat-drenched sheet, he thrashed to free himself then kicked the sheet to the floor, panting for the effort. But the pounding hadn’t stopped. He lurched to his feet, stepped into a pair of jeans he found crumpled at the foot of the bed, and ran his fingers through his hair as he headed for the door.
“Goddamn it Buck, get up!”
Jake was pulling a fist back to start pounding again when Buck yanked open the door. He leaned in toward Jake, a hand on each door jam.
“What the fuck do you want? It’s seven in the goddamn morning.”
Jake pushed past Buck who didn’t resist.
“It’s also low tide, now get dressed we’re going to the cave.”
While Buck shaved, nursing a cup of coffee, Jake explained the box, two wires and a possible shaft. He followed him into the kitchen and watched as he poured his third cup of coffee.
“You were in the cave at dusk with a simple flashlight,” Buck said, leaning against the counter to face Jake. “And you see a box and two tiny wires. C’mon, what are the chances of anything in that cave having anything to do with the murders?”
Jake sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee.
“I looked through archives this morning, got half the planning department up at six. Back in the ‘30s there was a house where the hotel is…was.”
Buck looked at his watch, as he sat across from Jake. “So what does that have to do with anything?”
Jake sipped from his mug.
“Japanese family lived there, operated a fishing fleet, five boats. When the war broke out, they were swept into one of those camps, family of four.” He pulled a little notebook from his breast pocket. “Yamato family. Wife Yukio was the bookkeeper for the business and accountant for the town, as it was back then. Husband Heiro owned five boats chiefly fishing, but also harvested Dungeness crab. Gave the town its name. Two children, eldest was Jimmy, no age given.” He looked up at Buck and flipped a page. “And nine-year-old Tyre. Jimmy died at the camp. When they returned at the end of the war, they’d lost everything. Husband Heiro, died shortly after returning. Wife sent Tyre east to live with friends, did domestic work until she was beaten to death by an ex-GI who lost a brother in the war.”
He shut the little notebook with a clap and returned it to his pocket. Buck drank his coffee without a word.
“Out of that sad little saga, who do you think might want retribution?” Jake said.
Buck set his coffee cup down. “Tyre Yamato. Where’s Ramos?”
“Surgery, they put his ankle back together this morning.”
Buck drained his coffee cup and put it in the sink. “You’ve been busy.”
Opening a drawer next to the refrigerator he rummaged around until he found a current tide table. Flipping through the pages, he then put it back. “C’mon, we’ve got about three hours before high tide begins.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
BUCK WAS ENTERING THE KITCHEN from the garage, a pair of waders in hand, when the phone rang. He put them down and snatched the phone up from its perch next to the refrigerator.
“Hello, yes, this is he.”
He walked back over to the kitchen table and sat down.
“No, there wasn’t any smoke. The walls just seemed to explode into flame.”
He thumped on the table with his fingers. Jake looked up from doodling on the legal pad. Buck pointed first at the pad then the pencil with a jackhammer like motion of his index finger. Jake slid the pad and pencil across the table, Buck swept them up, pinched the phone between his ear and shoulder and wrote in bold letters: FIRE MARSHALL. He held it up for Jake, who nodded.
“What? How many?”
Buck was looking over at Jake like he was trying to convey something surprising with facial expressions, but didn’t write anything down.
“Would be hard to obtain?”
He began to write on the pad but didn’t hold it up for Jake.
“Say again. No. I had no idea.”
He looked at Jake and shook his head. “No, the report will come from Ramos. Yes, thank you. Bye.”
Buck pressed the end button on the phone and walked it back to the cradle on the wall. “You won’t believe this.”
Jake didn’t wait for him to explain, instead stretched across the table and grabbed the legal pad. “Holy shit!”
Buck had taken one step toward the table when the phone rang again.
“What now?” He spun around and grabbed the phone. “Hello!”
He looked over at Jake with bug eyes and a down turned smile. “Sorry.”
He walked back over to the table and sat down with a slouch of resignation, tilting back in the chair as he listened, suddenly rocking forward eyes misting a bit.
“Thank you for saying so, I appreciate that.”
He rocked back again and gave his head a shake trying to refocus. “Actually no, I just got off the phone with the Fire Marshall, said he was going to call you.”
Jake was at the refrigerator, his usual pastime when visiting Buck, arm on the open door, head ducked down scanning the shelves. Buck raised his voice.
“Jake saw something in the cave yesterday and…no, sir, I’m not yelling at you, I’m trying to get Jake’s attention.”
Buck stood up when Jake looked over the fridge door and pointed at the chair.
In an exaggerated motion Jake shut the door and flashed his hands at Buck, front and back, fingers spread, then marched to the table and sat.
“We have to get to the cave before high tide, why don’t we stop by on the way.”
Jake held his hands up and mouthed w-h-a-t. Buck rolled his eyes.
“So they won’t cast you until tomorrow? Sure, we can stop on the way. See you in a bit, bye.”
Buck dashed to the wall, hung up the phone, and picked up the waders.
