Clarets of Fire

by Christine E. Blum

  “So, who’s out there that you’re watching? Maybe I know him?”

  Bardot stood, did a downward dog stretch, and ambled over to sit by Eddie. Moments later she was licking the salt off his arms.

  I can’t take her anywhere.

  “You might know him . . . them. We came by to surprise them. Do you know Brandon Dawson?” I decided to go for it.

  “That’s your friend? He’s the last person I’d expect that you nice ladies knew.”

  “What’s he done, the dirty rat?”

  I gave Marisol a look for that.

  “It’s more what he doesn’t do. He can’t surf worth sh . . . shells, he cuts us off, and he’s dangerous out there. I saw one guy wipe out because of Brandon. He caught the rocks and needed a couple of stitches. We told him not to come here anymore, especially when the conditions are so good. Luckily, I haven’t seen him in weeks, so maybe he got the message. Oh shells, what am I saying, he’s your friend.”

  Eddie looked at us with an apologetic shake of his head.

  “Don’t worry, he’s not a friend. In fact I’m the only one who’s ever talked to him,” I explained. “This is more about finding out what he’s up to when he comes to the beach.”

  “Is he running scams?” Marisol blurted out.

  “Not that I know of, but what kind of scams?”

  Marisol was about to respond when I butted in.

  “It’s not important. Eddie, do you happen, by any chance, to remember if you saw Brandon surfing here on Sunday, the twenty-third, last month?”

  “I remember the date because that was the start of a week of the best waves for the month. Five-, six-, and seven-footers. I don’t think that Brandon was here, so maybe he’s finally gotten the message.”

  “What about a fellow named Andrew?” Sally asked. “Tall, dark, curly long hair like Fabio?”

  “Nope, never seen a guy like that on the water. Where’s he from?”

  “He works at a winery up in Malibu.”

  “Malibu? Then if he were a real surfer he wouldn’t bother driving down here. Heck, he’d drop in the water at Surfrider for sure. Yeah, it’s between the Malibu Pier and Lagoon. It has a super long break, and the guys that ride there are serious surfers. It’s kind of a club that protects the waves.” Eddie crawled out from under the tower and went into a classic surfer stance on the sand, with both feet planted one in front of the other, knees pointing forward, and arms wide and loose.

  “It sounds like we’re headed to Malibu, ladies,” I announced. “Thanks, Eddie. You’ve been a great help and you’re a rock star out there.”

  “Vaya con dios! ” He grabbed his board and sprinted toward the water.

  * * *

  Bardot started whimpering and getting restless when she saw that we were driving on PCH. The smells of the Malibu Hills were beckoning her; she probably thought that we were meeting Jack and going on a wonderful adventure.

  We were, minus Jack.

  “This looks like a good place to pull over and park, Halsey.”

  I looked to where Sally was pointing. Now this is what beach movies are made of. The sun had come out, the water was as blue as Bradley Cooper’s eyes, and the endless summer boys were seamlessly riding the curls. We did a U-turn and I slipped into a spot along the beach line. Even before I’d cut the ignition, Marisol was out the door and hopping down the sandy incline toward the shore. This got Bardot practically apoplectic.

  I put on large sunglasses and a baseball cap in an effort to disguise my appearance, but of course the presence of Sally and Bardot were a sure giveaway.

  “Let’s just hang back here, Sally. With the sun up we should be able to find Andrew by his hair alone.”

  The waves were super big and powerful and ran quickly parallel to the shore until they died out just north of the Malibu pier. There were so many people out there I wondered how they seemed to manage just barely running over each other as they surfed. There was definitely a code of conduct for these guys, and I can imagine that the punishment was pretty harsh if it was broken. Almost everyone was wearing a black wetsuit, with or without sleeves.

  “How the heck are we to spot Andrew in this crowd. Sitting on their boards out there, they all look like bottles of root beer bobbing in a trough of ice water.”

  I was impressed . . . that was a new one for Sally.

  “From what I know of Andrew he doesn’t do things halfway. He has a healthy ego, and I doubt he’d put himself in this environment if he couldn’t be the star. Let’s watch for someone to take center stage, so to speak.”

  Just then Marisol appeared, plopped down next to me, and proceeded to suck on a Popsicle.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “I have friends.”

  “Here you have friends, Marisol? Really? You conned somebody for that ice, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Marisol said, and offered Bardot a lick. They kept alternating until the they hit the center stick. Both Marisol and Bardot now sported cherry red mouths.

  “There we go; that one’s a hot dog.” Sally raised her binoculars to get a better look.

  I looked out and spotted a guy standing on his board and riding the very top of a big wave. Or, could this be a woman? The body was slim, long hair blown back behind the ears by the wind. It was really hard to tell. Whoever this was, he or she was a surfing master.

  “That looks like Andrew to me,” Marisol said, and Bardot turned her attention to the water.

  “Me too,” said Sally. “He’s got those broad shoulders and sharp facial features.”

  I looked again and as the surfer got closer to the shore, it was hard to argue that this wasn’t a man. He effortlessly maneuvered up and down the barrel to get the longest ride of anyone else out there. He was showboating.

  Bardot emitted a growl.

  “Poor Bardie, she really wants to get close and feel the water. Please, Halsey?” Marisol gave me a wide grin and her gold-capped tooth caught the sun.

  “Okay, you can walk down with her.” I handed over the leash. “But don’t you unclip her under any circumstances.”

  Sally clapped her hands and I saw that the star surfer had hit the end of his ride and slowly sank into the water.

  “That’s definitely Andrew,” Sally said, focusing her binoculars.

  I tried to make a positive ID as I watched the surfer hop onto his board and start to paddle back out. “Are you sure, Sally?”

  All of a sudden, I saw a yellow dog splash through the surf, reach the guy, and grab a mouthful of the surfboard’s leash.

  “Never mind. That’s definitely Andrew, and Bardot is towing him to safety.”

  I saw Marisol at the water’s edge being careful not to get her garden clogs wet. Bardot’s leash hung across her neck.

  I pictured myself strangling her with it.

  When Bardot had pulled Andrew and the board fully onto the sand, she stood back and started to ten-sequence bark.

  “I guess we’re busted, so we’d better go and take our lumps.” Sally got up gracefully from the sand.

  “Not necessarily. Follow my lead, Sally.”

  “Always.”

  “Fancy meeting you here.” I waved to Andrew as we approached. “Bardot must really care about you, jumping in and pulling you to safety like that.”

  As I passed Marisol I yanked the leash from her shoulders, and a bit of the leather strap snapped at her neck.

  Oops. Way to go, Halsey, kick ’em while they’re down, she just came out of the hospital!

  She cringed a bit, but Bardot was safely tethered again.

  “One word from you and I’ll tie you to a board with this leash and set you adrift,” I whispered, pretending to give her a hug. “I mean it.”

  “Yeah, that was quite a shock. I’ve never seen a dog out here, not sure they’re allowed.”

  “Totally my fault. We’d just come from a training session with Jack up in the hills and I wanted to reward the girl with a refreshi
ng dip before we headed home. You remember my friend, Sally, don’t you, Andrew?”

  He nodded. Some of the guys in the water were calling his name and whistling.

  “Hi, Andrew. You really don’t know how much of a workout you get climbing around in the forest. I’ve already done fifteen thousand steps today.” I noticed that Sally wasn’t wearing her pedometer.

  “Well, we’ve got to get back. I’ve got a ton of work to do and Marisol has promised to wash my car.”

  She gave me a look and I raised my eyebrows at her.

  She backed down.

  “Good to see you, Andrew. You really are a surfing super star.” I grabbed Marisol’s arm and spun her around to face PCH. Bardot seemed happy to leave after having successfully completed her exercise.

  “Ta-ta, Andrew,” Sally said. “You’re the big kahuna. Cowabunga dude!”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “I can’t believe that I’m saying this, but I think that we need to meet with Augie.”

  “I can’t believe that you’re saying it either, Halsey.” Sally looked to me for a reason.

  We were headed home, with both Bardot and Marisol snoring in the back of my car.

  “Care to elaborate?” Sally persisted.

  “It’s time for information sharing. I feel that there are too many parties involved, all following different leads, and it’s time to rein them in.”

  “Give me an example.”

  “Okay, Sally, we know that Brandon can’t surf and has been lying about his prowess on the waves. Augie doesn’t know this yet, and he is investigating short cons involving auto repairs done at the beach with parts sold in Mar Vista. What can we glean from all of that and where should we go from here?”

  “Right.” Sally picked up the train of thought. “And Inspector Mason who is responsible for catching the arsonist must also deal with the stolen safe filled with opioids from the drugstore. The same safe that was found in the alley with a piece of dough-making equipment that had Rico’s prints all over it.”

  “And finally, we’ve got the drugs themselves, which could fetch a ton of money on the street. To my knowledge the only ones tracking that are the DEA and Jack’s friend, Mark. Finding out who is selling them could explain Rico’s sudden cash flow . . . reprieve or exonerate him completely.”

  “Right. So what would be a reason to bring cops, fire inspectors, and the DEA together in one room, I wonder?” I could see Sally raise her eyes skyward in concentration.

  “Donuts,” came a squawk from the backseat.

  “You just had a Popsicle. we’re not stopping again, Marisol.”

  “No, you dope. Donuts will bring them all together and I have just the place.”

  I was starting to be able to read Marisol’s insane mind. Scary.

  * * *

  Primo’s donuts, on Sawtelle Boulevard, is just ten minutes from my house and has been a cherished institution in Los Angeles since 1956. I freely admit that I have patronized this fine baking establishment on numerous occasions in the spirit of supporting local enterprise, of course.

  The story goes that Ralph Primo and his wife were driving along Sawtelle one afternoon when their three-year-old son saw a sign with a giant donut on a building and shouted, “Donuts, donuts!”

  Just like Marisol did yesterday.

  Ralph pulled over, went in to buy a tasty treat for his boy, and in the process inquired about part-time work. He was going to school at night and needed something to help make ends meet.

  When he returned to the car with a dozen glazed, he told his wife, Celia, that not only had he bought the donuts, he’d bought the shop as well. Sixty-two years later they are still going strong. They’d had their annual pre-Halloween costume party this past Saturday for the kids in the community but were still making these spooky-themed donuts fresh for another few weeks.

  Attribute it to my twisted wit, but I was dying to see Augie and Inspector Mason chomp down on spiderweb donuts and skeleton éclairs.

  As I was getting dressed, this was a “casual but I mean business jeans and dress boots” kind of day, I rehearsed in my mind how I wanted this meeting to go. First and foremost was to get everyone in the mood to share. Fried dough tends to do that to people. I was prepared to spring for two dozen if necessary.

  Jack was in charge of getting Mark to Primo’s, and since this had been Marisol’s idea, I had no choice but to have her tell Augie about the meeting. The duty of inviting Inspector Mason fell on me, and thankfully he accepted—probably for the lack of information I gave him. I asked Peggy to come along as she, by association, represented another branch of law enforcement. Plus when I asked her, she told me that her guys had turned up some interesting news about the guys that own Provident Commerce Group. She gave me a hint and asked me not to say anything until she had confirmation. I drove, and Marisol and Peggy played “rock, paper, scissors” for who got to ride shotgun.

  * * *

  Even before we got out of the car in the parking lot behind the shop, sweet, baked goodness wafted out through the air-conditioning vents. The aroma really did make everything rotten in the world disappear for a moment.

  The inside of the shop is pretty simple, about one third is used for the customers and the lion’s share in the back is for baking, which is done all day on the spot. Three-tiered glass cases display the huge selection of sweet treats, and a banner on the wall behind it shows off the many awards and accolades that Primo’s Donuts has received for over six decades. I’d called ahead and requested a dozen be ready on a tray for us.

  We gathered around one of the few tables in the shop and waited for our coffee orders (or tea in my case) before starting. Augie and Inspector Mason eyed each other, wondering what they were both doing at this meeting. I was treating them to the donuts, and I warned Marisol that if she ate more than two, I would be escorting her to the car.

  When we were all amply supplied with sugar and caffeine I began.

  “Thanks, everyone, for coming. I don’t know what procedural boundaries this breaks, but I am most certain that sharing information will help to solve this case in the long run.”

  I saw Inspector Mason take in some air, gearing up to let me know that I’m a civilian and I need to leave this up to the professionals.

  “Before you all tell me to mind my own business, I want to throw it out there that I have information concerning one of the suspects in the strip mall fire that I don’t believe any of you are in possession of. So let’s play a game of ‘quid pro quo,’ shall we?”

  “If you have anything that could help in the arrest of this arsonist, you are obligated by law to tell the authorities, Halsey.”

  Augie said this showboating for Mason and Mark, not sure which way they were going to lean.

  “I’m happy to share what the DEA has tracked down,” Mark said. “In fact yesterday we scored a positive ID on some Oxy that was sold in the Marina.”

  That got inspector Mason’s attention. “Mark, do you have any idea when the opioid sale was made?”

  “I’ll double-check, but I’m pretty sure that the deal and the bust all went down yesterday.” Mark pulled out his cell phone and sent a text.

  “Which means that it couldn’t have been Rico, Inspector, because you have him in jail,” Peggy surmised.

  Mason nodded. “Correct, but he could have had a courier make the sale.”

  “If I might ask, what exactly is it that you have that makes Rico such a certain suspect, Inspector?” I was using my most polite voice. “It appears that the evidence that’s been found is awfully circumstantial.”

  “This is where the ‘quid pro quo’ comes in,” Mason said, biting into a long donut iced to look like a tombstone.

  “Fine,” I said, watching Mason eat. I must have made him self-conscious because he put down his food. “You know the alibi that Brandon gave everybody about being out surfing that Sunday of the fire?”

  Heads nodded.

  “He may have been at the beach, but h
e probably wasn’t catching a wave. It seems that the dude can’t surf. He’s been fished out of the water and resuscitated by paramedics on at least three occasions that we know about, and when he does paddle out he is scourge of the regulars for causing wipeouts. On the day of the fire, I have a witness that surfs the same beach, and he said that Brandon had essentially been banned.”

  I gave them a smug look not because the info was so great, but because I was holding out with something even better.

  “Augie, if you’re not going to say anything, then you don’t get a donut,” Marisol said, trying to take the delicacy out of his hand.

  “We didn’t know per se that Brandon couldn’t surf, but we are accumulating evidence that points to he and Roberto running cons of a number of varieties at the beach,” Augie said, raising his donut-clad hand way above Marisol’s head.

  “Who the hell’s Pursay?” she snapped back at him.

  “Does the evidence that you have show that they were dealing in narcotics, Augie?”

  Augie shook his head. “No, it was petty stuff like helping people start their cars. Surveillance cameras from a bank showed them waiting behind an elderly man who was withdrawing money from the ATM. The gentleman then paid them for their “repair” services. From their faces it looked like they were just having fun, like this was a joyride or something.”

  “Damn kids thinking that they are entitled. Good thing they never tried anything on me,” Peggy spoke up. She’d been keeping to herself at one end of the table, nibbling on a muffin and working her iPad.

  “If Brandon and Roberto had no problems breaking the law, what’s to stop them from burning down the mall to collect the insurance money? You’re the only one that hasn’t contributed to this share session, Inspector Mason.” I turned to look at him, and the rest of the table did the same.

  “That’s a considerable leap from scamming a few bucks to arson, Halsey. Plus our evidence indicates that the person that started the strip mall fire knew what he or she was doing. A sophisticated delay incendiary device was used to allow lots of time for the person that placed it to get far away from the site. For this to happen according to plan, it had to be tested, adjusted, and practiced multiple times.”