by R. J. Jagger
“I love the rain,” she said.
“Good to know,” Jonk said. “You’re Tristen, I assume.”
“I am. Let’s walk on the beach. Do you mind?”
No.
He didn’t.
THEY HEADED THAT WAY through an eerie blacker-than-black nightscape, concentrating on where they put their feet and not stopping until they got to the water’s edge. The waves were large, furious and deadly. The whitecaps were so pronounced that they were visible even through the storm.
“Poon’s glad to have you back on board,” Tristen said. “Your cut’s still 20 percent even though we’ll be working together, so don’t worry about being diluted.”
Good.
“Tell me about Nathan Rock.”
“Nathan Rock’s a lawyer,” she said. “He’s been doing legal work for Poon for over ten years. They’re friends. Poon told him about the Egyptian treasure he bought. Later it got stolen. After that, one of the coins came on the market here in San Francisco, which is where Rock lives. Naturally, Poon began to wonder whether Rock was behind the theft.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He wanted you to focus on things from the other end, namely the coin that came onto the market,” she said. “Then he’d feed you any information he got on Rock if something actually turned up.”
“Did something actually turn up?”
Suddenly lightning arced.
The world lit up.
Just a flash.
Here and gone.
Diluted by the rain.
But it was enough for Jonk to see that the woman was pulling a pistol out from under her shirt. There was murder on her face. She got it all the way out and began to raise it to his chest.
He swung a fist at her face.
80
Day 4—September 24
Thursday Night
ACROSS THE ALLEY from Song’s apartment was a wall of connected buildings between two and three stories high. One of them had an exterior fire escape. Thursday night after dark, Song climbed that fire escape to the roof with a pair of binoculars in hand and watched her apartment to see if someone actually showed up to kill her.
A heavy rain set in.
It got thicker, colder and heavier.
Then lightning came.
Lots of it.
She took shelter against an air conditioning unit, unable to see her apartment from that angle but getting up every three or four minutes to check. She left all the window coverings open and the lights out. If someone walked around in there with a flashlight, she’d see it.
So far everything was status quo.
If no one came, that meant that the threat was nothing more than a scare tactic initiated by Rekker which, in turn, meant he was dirty beyond the dirtiest dirt.
She had no idea what Nuwa and Shaden were up to at the moment, not having talked to either of them since the fatal meeting this morning. If she had to guess, though, Nuwa was screwing Rekker’s brains out in his bedroom right now while Shaden snooped around. Either that or Rekker was passed out with a bad case of the roofies while the two women worked their way into his private places.
They’d get results.
In the end, that’s what the world was all about.
Getting results.
The world wasn’t about playing by the rules.
She was a rule-player.
Other people were doers.
That was the difference.
THE WEATHER didn’t just beat down, it took over Song’s body to the point of demanding her full concentration. She couldn’t think, she could only feel the slamming of the water on her head and ears.
She needed to get up.
It was time to check on her apartment again.
Her body didn’t move, though.
It just stayed where it was.
Suddenly she had a weird thought, namely that she never left her window coverings open at night. What if the guy knew that? What if he figured out they were open right now so she could see inside? What if he was in the shadows somewhere, not watching her apartment but instead trying to find out where she was watching from. What if he was silently sneaking up the fire escape this very moment?
If that happened, she was trapped.
SHE GOT TO HER FEET but didn’t go to the alley edge to look at her apartment. Instead, she went to the other side of the roof to see if there was a way out.
There wasn’t.
It was a four-story drop to the street. The only possible escape would be to jump to the roof of the adjacent building which was at least fifteen feet lower.
Get out!
Get out!
Get out!
That’s what her brain screamed.
She turned.
Lightning flashed.
It lit up the black silhouette of a man standing on the roof by the fire escape.
Her heart pounded.
The man stepped towards her.
She dropped the binoculars and jumped over the roof’s edge.
81
Day 4—September 24
Thursday Night
AS A KID in San Francisco, before moving to Colorado, Teffinger peddled his bike over to the historic ships on the Hyde Street Dock whenever he could. The sea wood, the engineering and sheer size of the vessels were pure magic. What fascinated him the most, however, were the ghosts of the sailors. It took a certain amount of intestinal fortitude to get on something made of wood and take it over a stormy horizon into the unknown. The star of the dock was an 1886 three-mast trading vessel named Balclutha. A year ago a teenager was found dead on the dock. Teffinger drew the assignment and got to know the security people on the pier.
Now they gave after-hours access whenever he wanted.
Thursday night after dark the wind kicked up.
A storm was coming in.
Teffinger got a guard to let him and Chase inside.
Ten seconds later the rain started.
Armed with flashlights, he showed her the cargo hold, the crew’s quarters, the galley, the rudder mechanics and all the rest. They ended up in the captain’s cabin, which was fully restored to its original condition, including a bed.
“PRETTY IMPRESSIVE,” Chase said. “So how many women have you brought here, all told? Ten? Twenty? A hundred?”
Teffinger made an inquisitive face, adding it up.
“Including you or not including you?”
“Including me.”
“Including you,” he said. “So I’ll need to add one more … okay, hold on, math’s not my strong point.”
“Just give me a ballpark,” Chase said.
“I can give you an exact number, just give me a minute,” he said.
He counted the fingers on his left hand and then his right.
Then nodded his head with each additional count.
“Okay, I have it,” he said. “You don’t want names, right? Just the number?”
Right, just the number.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, but remember, you’re the one who asked the question.”
“Come on, quit stalling.”
“You’re not going to get mad at me, are you?”
“Probably not.”
“Probably?”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“Are you sure?”
She punched him on the arm. “No, I’m not sure. So tell me.”
“All right,” he said. “The total, including you, is . . . Wait a minute, it was right on the tip of my brain . . . Okay, it’s back, the total including you is one.”
Chase shined her flashlight in his face.
“Liar.”
“Is my nose growing?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not lying.”
“So you’re telling me the actual number is one?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“And you expect me to believe that?”
�
��I do.”
She sat down on the bed.
“So if we fool around right here on this bed, that will be the first time you’ve ever christened this ship.”
“Christened,” he said. “Good word.”
She pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor.
Her bra followed.
She stood up, put her arms around Teffinger’s neck and said, “You’re a scary guy.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You just scare me sometimes.”
82
Day 4—September 24
Thursday Night
THE GUN WENT OFF at the same time Jonk’s fist connected with the woman, not on her head though, more on her shoulder. It was a glancing blow, not hard on, but was enough to make her stumble back and trip to the ground. Jonk dived at her with one thought and one thought only, namely to get the gun away before she fired again. He got a hand on her arm but she continued twisting the weapon towards his face and pulled the trigger.
Orange flames shot out of the barrel.
The bullet flew so close to his head that he actually felt the vacuum.
His ears rang from the explosion.
He wrestled the gun away then flipped the woman onto her back and straddled her chest.
Die!
Die!
Die!
He raised the weapon to smash it down on her head, smash it down so hard and furious that her skull would shatter into a hundred pieces.
Then something snapped inside his head.
And, just like that, he lowered his hand.
She woman didn’t move.
Not a muscle.
She didn’t say a word.
She didn’t do anything to push him over the edge.
JONK STAYED WHERE HE WAS, letting the thunder inside his veins die down to the point where he could think. Suddenly a pain came from the left side of his body. He put his right hand under his shirt and found a blood-filled wound. The first shot must have hit him.
How bad?
How bad was it?
He stood up.
He was losing blood.
He needed to get out of there.
Now.
This second.
“If I ever see you again I’m going to kill you,” he said. “Do you understand?”
Silence.
The woman said nothing.
He shouted, “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He almost kicked her to make his point but didn’t.
Then he turned and staggered towards the parking lot as the wind whipped the storm into his face.
Five steps later he abruptly turned with the gun in hand to see if she was charging for another attack, maybe with a knife.
She wasn’t.
She was still on the ground.
Lucky for her.
The bitch.
HE GOT TO THE PARKING LOT but was so disoriented that he had no idea where the car was. He couldn’t see a thing. Everything was blacker than black and consumed with the storm.
He headed to the right.
Winter was parked somewhere on the edge of the lot.
If he followed the edge he’d eventually find her.
His blood ran slower.
His breathing got more normal.
His brain started to function again.
He now realized that the whole thing had been a setup from the first time Tristen called. Poon had already decided to kill Jonk. The problem was that he had no idea where Jonk was. So, what he needed to do was draw him out. That’s why Tristen pretended to be part of the other team investigating Rock and set up the meeting. Either that or she actually was part of that team and also didn’t mind killing someone for a little extra money. Either way, the whole thing was a setup from the start.
One thing was for sure.
Poon had fucked with the wrong man.
He’d learn that sooner or later.
For starters, Poon wouldn't see a drop of the treasure.
Not one solitary drop.
Jonk would find it and keep it all.
Then he’d send Poon an email letting him know, just to rub his face in it. Sure, Poon would hunt him to the ends of the earth.
Who cares?
Screw Poon and the horse he rode in on.
JONK THOUGHT HE HEARD something behind him that wasn’t the storm.
He turned.
83
Day 4—September 24
Thursday Night
WHEN SONG JUMPED over the edge, all she could do was stare in horror at the adjacent rooftop as she hurled towards it. Pain was coming and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Brace!
Brace!
Brace!
Then, Wham.
She hit before she was ready.
Her body contorted.
Pain exploded from somewhere in her legs.
Then her head slammed into something and everything went black.
84
Day 4—September 24
Thursday Night
CHASE WAS A TIDAL WAVE rolling through Teffinger’s veins. There in the captain’s cabin they made sweet, wild, uninhibited love as the rain beat down on the deck above their heads.
Exhausted.
That’s what he was when they were done.
Exhausted from letting her squeeze so much life into his body and brain and being. It was as if she had stuck a valve stem on his body and pumped him full of light.
They were dressed and just about to head topside when his phone rang.
He answered and the voice of Brandi Summers from the office came through. “Got some job security for you.”
“Now? It’s raining.”
She laughed.
“Yeah, the nerve of some people,” she said. “The victim’s a woman. She has lots of tats.”
“Tats?”
“Tattoos,” she said. “Get with it, will you.”
The word flashed him back to Monday night. As if he was still there, he saw the tattooed little beauty strung up in a standing spread-eagle position being choked to death.
By Chase.
“How’d she die?” he asked.
Brandi didn’t know.
“The word is that the rain washed her down onto Bayshore Boulevard, down near the San Bruno Mountain State Park.” Teffinger knew exactly where she was talking about. The road cut through a number of areas with steep, unimproved terrain. A gulley washer could bring a body down with no problem.
So, this was it.
This was the call he hoped to never get.
“I’m on my way,” he said.
CHASE STUDIED HIM with a serious face and said, “What’s wrong?”
“Body,” he said. “I have to go.”
“A murder?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Take me with you,” she said.
“Can’t,” he said. “It’s off limits.”
“No it’s not,” she said. “Not if I’m with you. I’ll stand wherever you say and do whatever you say. I won’t be a bother, I promise.”
“Why?”
“I want to see you in action.”
He exhaled.
“Trust me, it’s not that exciting.”
“Come on,” she said. “Be a sport.”
Teffinger chewed on the irony of bringing a killer to the crime scene of the victim. It couldn't be more wrong on every level. On the other hand, he’d be able to see the expression on her face. He’d be able to look into her soul.
He brushed the hair out of his face and said, “Sure, why not. Let’s go.”
“Really?”
Yeah.
Really.
THE BODY was all the way across town, which gave the rain plenty of chances to leak through Bertha’s top into Teffinger’s lap. Ordinarily, he’d be cussing and shifting.
Tonight he didn’t care.
He was too busy willi
ng the heavens to make the victim someone other than the woman from the dungeon.
The storm got even worse.
The wipers swished.
The city lights went by as washed-out blurs.
Then they were there.
He pulled up behind a black-and-white and killed the engine.
The sound of the rain intensified.
He turned to Chase.
This might be his last look at her not being a killer.
He kissed her on the lips and said, “Stay here for a moment,” then stepped out into the storm without an umbrella and headed for the body.
85
Day 4—September 24
Thursday Night
JONK KEPT HEARING noises behind him in the storm as he edged around the outskirts of the parking lot but every time he turned he saw only the same thick wall of blackness that surrounded him in every direction. Something wasn’t right though, he could feel it.
His side was on fire.
His blood was cold.
Movement became more difficult with each passing step. The gun got heavier and heavier in his hand. His index finger came out of the trigger and wrapped around the handle.
How much farther?
He shouted out, “Winter!”
He stopped and listened.
She didn’t answer.
He called again and listened harder.
He still heard nothing other than the raging of the storm.
Damn it.
He kept walking, taking the small, safe steps of a blind man. Every few steps he called Winter’s name but got no response.
The storm was too thick.
Then he saw something ahead, something blacker than the storm, something the size of a car.
“Winter!”
No answer.
He went that way, faster now, at half a trot. A noise came from somewhere out in the blackness, not from behind this time, from the side. He turned just in time to see the dark silhouette of a figure lunging at him through the air. Before he could react, the impact came.
He fell.
Hard.
The body that hit him was heavy and muscular.
A man.
Not Winter.
Not Tristen.
He swung at the face and connected, but with only a graze. Suddenly the figure was on top of him raising a knife into the air. He grabbed the man’s arm and held it at bay.
