Who Needs Justice?

by Rex Bolt

  Christian pulled on the fins and cinched the goggles tight. He hated having to leave the gun, in the unlikely event some hapless beachcomber wandered by. The best he could think of was wedging it into his shoe and then piling everything else, including Damirko's clothes, on top.

  Seventy-five yards out he hit Damirko the first time. He approached him from underwater and grabbed his right ankle and pulled down. When he let go and came up Damirko was facing him, treading water, looking confused, then shocked, then terrified. Christian dove and grabbed an ankle with both hands and kicked hard downward, and he had Damirko underwater. Damirko thrashed furiously and Christian had to release him.

  Christian hadn't factored in the survival instinct, but he felt he had things under control if he didn't get grabbed or kicked in the head. There wasn't a huge rush. He'd read that cats look like they're playing with rats when they kill them step-by-step, but what they're really doing is being careful not to get injured.

  The fins made a difference, especially with the downward thrust underwater. He grabbed a Damirko foot and swam toward the bottom of the ocean with it and let go. Then he popped up and did it again. Then he did it again. The guy was coughing. Christian pulled him under again, came up for a breath, then boom, again.

  He gave the guy a little distance and waited. He knew there were various stages of drowning, and that a drowning person didn't often look like they were drowning. When they were scared of drowning they yelled out and waved, but when they were actually drowning, everything shut down except for the futile attempts at respiration.

  It was hard to tell if Damirko was drowning, but he wasn't going anywhere and he wasn't doing the best job treading water at the moment. Christian floated on his back and looked around. There were splinters of sunlight on the hills of the Marin Headlands but the sky looked ominous to the west, dark and swirly, the big surf apparently twenty-four hours away.

  When he looked back at Damirko he couldn't find him. He kept his eye on where he thought he was and waited five minutes. Then he swam to the spot and had to search a bit before he found the guy, hunched forward, floating just below the surface.

  He watched a little longer, trying to size up the relative positioning of Damirko to the shore. You'd think that with the tide peaking four hours ago Damirko would be going out, and it seemed he was. But did that mean high tide tomorrow morning would beach him right back at the cove, or what?

  Either way, it was time to get the fuck out of the ocean. He swam in, put his running gear back on, and filled the backpack with everything else, including Damirko's phone and his sweaty clothes and shoes, unfortunately. He was exhausted when he got back up to the parking lot but glad there were no cars at all, nor apparently any idiots milling around the beach in the rain.

  What he wanted to do was walk over to California Street and get on the bus and then go home and go to bed, but it seemed best to run back through the Presidio, the same way he came. They most likely wouldn't be zeroing in on a guy committing a homicide in the middle of a run, and the truth was if you were out there anyway, you might as well finish it off.

  34 - In The Wheelhouse

  Bethany reached for a low forehand in the back corner of the squash court and didn't get the ball back, but she was putting on a good show. The other woman had more skill and Bethany was forced to do most of the running, but she tried her hardest on every point, and by the third game she was sweating profusely. Her teammates were on adjacent courts and they were all wearing light blue T-shirts that had their individual names on them, and Bethany's front side was revealing itself impressively, both in mass and clarity, as she raced around the court and stretched into awkward positions to try to return shots.

  It was 8:30 Monday night, ten hours since Damirko.

  "You look like you're into this match," someone said.

  Christian looked up. A woman with a San Francisco Bay Club name tag was smiling at him.

  "It does get the hooks into you," he said. "Especially this angle through the glass back wall."

  "So I take it you don't play then, yourself," she said. "How come?" She was petite, early 30's, no mistaking her enthusiasm.

  "Why should I? I'm fine just watching my friend."

  "Which one?"

  "The one waiting for the serve."

  "Bethany. She's great. Not at squash so much, but a lot of fun to talk to when I'm working the front desk."

  "You working it right now?"

  "I'm on a break. Today's my long day—noon to close."

  Christian stood up. "I'm Chris, by the way . . . Would you want to, get a coffee or something, afterward?" Bethany was real red in the face now, and looked increasingly frustrated. She appeared to be losing most of the points.

  "Golly. Could we be a little more forward, how about?" Hard to read, but at least seeming amused.

  Christian said, "So what time?"

  "Well, we shut the doors at midnight, and I'm off at 12:30. It's up to you if you'd like to check back, but I'm thinking probably not. It's Kim though."

  Soon Bethany and her opponent were shaking hands and they opened the door and came out of the court. Bethany walked past Christian without saying a word and returned fifteen minutes later, showered and changed.

  "You're more of a battler than I realized," he said. "You have a temper."

  "I'm not a great sport," she said. "It's something I need to work on. But thank you so much for coming and watching my whole match."

  He said, "I'm a doe-doe bird sitting here, but I saw something you can do to improve."

  "No, Chris. With all due respect, I take lessons sometimes. I don't need you telling me how to play."

  Christian said, "What you do, you hit the ball higher up on the front wall. So it travels further back into the corners. That's what she was doing to you."

  "Dammit, Chris, I mean it. I'm not in the mood."

  "Your ball was landing short, where that line is across the floor? Right in her wheelhouse."

  "Will you shut up!"

  Bethany's teammates Phyllis and Jeff, from the dinner at her house, were nearby. Phyllis said, "Nice to see you again Chris. How do you like our little sport?"

  "I think it's terrific," he said. "Tennis's better half, for sure." Bethany had moved to another court to watch the end of Gloria's match.

  Jeff said, "B was upset about her result?"

  "That, and me trying to give her advice, that's what put her over the edge," Christian said.

  "Don't worry about it," Jeff said. "She's a terrible loser. Always takes her about an hour, and then she's back to normal the rest of the night."

  "Competition works in funny ways," Phyllis said. "You see a side of someone you never imagined."

  +++

  They went to the Big Horn on Sansome, Bethany's team plus him, which he figured was how it would work. Christian thought the place was only so-so, the menu a cross between New Jersey-diner and California-fusion, and pricey.

  He sipped his beer, glad to be in a social situation, but fighting hard not to replay Damirko in his head. The backpack was sitting in the trunk, too much to deal with after the morning but needing to be addressed, the guy libel to wash up somewhere at any time.

  The team was discussing the matches, and Bethany was coming around, laughing at certain things. Jeff and Gloria and Steve were doing most of the talking, with Phyllis and John chiming in.

  "I had my guy 9-6 in the fifth," Steve said. "Then I don't know what happened."

  "What happened was you hit the tin four times in the last five points," Jeff said. "If you'd just kept your poise there, we would have won the overall match."

  "Hold on Jeff," John said. "You lost three-zip to your guy. Let's not be too critical."

  "Okay, but I was playing number one," Jeff said. "I wouldn't have let that guy off the hook two points away, is all I'm saying."

  Gloria said, "Chris, we're sounding foolish here. How have you been?"

  "Fine, but the shop talk doesn't bother me a bit. Mak
es me wish I had something as exciting going on."

  "Well, you certainly look fit," Gloria said. "What do you do?"

  "Mostly just run, which is boring. When I lived back east I enjoyed playing tennis, until my partner got mad at me."

  "What happened?" Phyllis said.

  "Oh, I got in his business where I probably shouldn't have. He beat me five sets in a row one day and I thought he was making bad line calls on top of it. I said you were beating me straight up, why'd you need to make shaky calls?"

  Steve said, "So you got in his business by questioning his on-court character?"

  "No, I got in his business by offering my opinion of his personal life. He had a really nice, devoted girlfriend who would come to the courts sometimes. He was cheating on her with his ex-wife." Christian noticed Bethany and Jeff shifting around.

  "How did you know that?" Phyllis said.

  "He'd bring it up, brag about it. Though he put it on the ex-wife, that she couldn't get past him."

  "What a son of a bitch," Gloria said.

  "Yeah, that's a crock of horseshit," John said. "It's not like someone was putting a gun to his head, making him participate."

  Phyllis said, "So what did you tell him?"

  "That if he wasn't going to stop doing it, then stop talking about it. Evidently that hit a nerve, because the guy never spoke to me again."

  "Well good for you," Gloria said. "That is scum of the earth behavior. He should be shot, and the ex-wife too for that matter."

  "I agree," Phyllis said. "But just find another partner then."

  "Oh, I still play once in a while. But the other day I was watching some hackers, and it was embarrassing. I realized that's how I look too. On the other hand, you guys all look good out there."

  "That's very kind of you, "Gloria said. "But really?"

  "Absolutely. You're giving it your all, running around like chickens with your heads cut off. What can I say, you look like athletes."

  "Gosh, just hearing it put like that is amazing," Phyllis said.

  "Totally," Steve said. "That's over the top, Chris, but we'll take it."

  "We will," Bethany said, glaring at Christian.

  "So where do you like to run?" John said.

  "The Marina usually, down to Fort Point and back." Christian said. "The scenery helps."

  "And that's what you did today?" Gloria said.

  "Yeah . . . Although today I actually repeated it twice. I was looking for a little extra."

  "How far?" John said.

  "I'd say maybe eleven, twelve total. I'm feeling it now, that's for sure."

  Bethany said, "Jesus Christ, Chris. Do you really think you should be out there trying to run eleven miles?"

  Jeff said, "B, take it easy, what's the big deal?"

  "Exactly," Phyllis said. "Why not?"

  Bethany said, "It's just . . . I don't know, increasing your intensity like that, without building up to it . . . it seems unwise."

  "I'll keep it in mind next time," Christian said.

  +++

  They were at their cars, and Bethany had said goodnight to everyone, including Jeff. She said, "Chris, what got into you? You certainly know how to humiliate someone."

  "What do you mean? The only one who might have raised an eyebrow was Jeff. My educated guess is he's the only teammate you're schtupping."

  "My God, do you have to be so crude."

  "While we're on the subject, it work out any better with him?"

  "Jeff? . . . No."

  "So, one more time—it's not me, my prognosis, whatever else."

  "It isn't . . . In fact, since we're being so honest here, Jeff wants to go to Arizona and have a talk with Kyle."

  Christian was digesting this.

  Bethany said, "What?"

  "No, I was trying to visualize how that'd go. I wouldn't mind being on hand to find out."

  "Believe me, it couldn't go well. Jeff might get hurt, and I'd probably lose him as a friend."

  "Kyle a tough guy then?"

  "I already told you. Scary."

  "He have a new wife, kids, anything?"

  "A girlfriend, and I think she's expecting."

  "Kyle ever ask you for an official divorce?"

  "No. . . Can we please change the subject? You're welcome to come over, if you'd like."

  "Tell you the truth I'm pretty worn out. That eleven miles you scolded me for, it's starting to kick in."

  "All right, then."

  "I were you, I'd tell Jeff to sit tight. Little baby coming into the picture, Kyle could get his priorities straight. Wouldn't surprise me if you didn't hear much from him going forward."

  "Chris," Bethany said, "you have no idea what you're talking about."

  35 - Thinking Vesuvio’s

  Christian checked his watch and it was 12:10, and the Bay Club would be locked up, but he thought he may as well see what happens. Kim and another employee were straightening up the lobby, and Kim saw Christian and let him in.

  "What happened to Bethany?" she said.

  "We had a group meal, plenty of laughs. I'm on the outside looking in though."

  Kim worked it around. "So I assume you're full then."

  "Yeah, but I love to eat, I can always force it."

  Kim smiled. "In that case, I was thinking Vesuvio's. If that appeals to you."

  "On Columbus?"

  "Yes. They're open until two."

  "Nah, doesn't sound good. I'm gonna call it a night."

  "Oh. Okay."

  "Jeez, I'm kidding."

  +++

  Kim was eating like a horse, which motivated Christian, and he almost finished his veal scallopini.

  "Dang," he said, "small individual like you."

  Kim said, "I'm always famished when I get off work. It drives my family crazy, everyone's constantly on diets."

  "Can't beat a healthy metabolism."

  "I know, I've never had a weight problem. I feel guilty sometimes."

  "So what's your story?" Christian said.

  "Nothing dramatic, if that's where you're going. I grew up in the city, and except for college in Northridge, I've been here my whole life."

  "I grew up here too. My guess is, you take most of your restaurants in the city, it's not that common to find two native San Franciscans at the same table."

  "Tell me about it. I love working at the gym, but no one's from here. Where'd you go to school?"

  "Chestnut Street's the same way. It has its moments, but if you polled a hundred people maybe two would know the 49ers used to play at Kezar . . . Lowell."

  "So did I! What year?"

  "'92."

  "Get out of here, my sister was '92."

  "Oh no."

  "Did you know Leslie Stemphill?"

  "Jesus . . . That's your sister?"

  "Yes, what's wrong?"

  "What were you?"

  "I was class of 2001."

  "Wow . . . you had another sister, right? In between."

  "Margie. She was three years behind Les."

  "I remember her. That means you were like, eight years old then . . . Ah man . . . I actually remember you too. I'm not believing this."

  "My God, I remember you also! When you'd drop Leslie off, Margie and I were all over her, wanting to hear everything."

  "Well that puts a damper on things, to say the least," Christian said. "Serves me right for being truthful. What an idiot."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I was going to try to maneuver you back to my place. Except for a small detail emerges, that you're my high school girlfriend's little sister. Unreal."

  Kim grimaced, taking it in. She said, "I must say, that wasn't an answer I was expecting."

  Christian said, "That's my fault then. And I didn't mean I'm not enjoying your company. You're a good kid, that's obvious."

  "You say 'kid', but would it occur to you I worry about my biological clock ticking? . . . You mean that kind of kid?"

  "No, not that kind."

/>   No one spoke for a while.

  "You know what?" Kim said. "If we hadn't made this connection there'd be no way I'd go home with you tonight."

  "Oh."

  "Now I can. If you want me to."

  "You mean fire up the scrabble board? Since you don't have to worry about any moves being put on you?"

  "You're funny," she said.

  +++

  Christian made coffee and they sat on the couch and flipped around late-night TV. Carnal Knowledge was on, where Jack Nicholson and Art Garfunkel swap girlfriends, Ann Margret being one and the other a familiar actress Christian couldn't place, all of them so young.

  He muted the sound and said, "I ask a few questions but you do most of the talking, okay? And if I start falling asleep, elbow me."

  Kim tucked her feet under herself and got comfortable. "I'll ask the first one for you," she said,"What's Leslie doing?"

  "That was number two. The first one, are your parents still alive? I really liked them."

  "Mom passed away, but Dad's hanging in there. Leslie lives in Walnut Creek."

  "Yeah?"

  "She has two teenage sons. They've both been in a little trouble. Les has had a fair number of men in and out."

  "Who's the father?"

  "Two different guys. The first, you probably knew, Tim Boglou."

  "Holy Toledo, the basketball player? She ended up with that guy?"

  "Seems like everyone knew that. You must be out of the loop entirely."

  "I am until they ask for those alumni donations. When I give them something they don't acknowledge it, but they do solicit me earlier the next year."

  "Well you have your 25th reunion coming up. You should go, Leslie's been talking about it."

  "To be honest, on my list of things to do, that's off the bottom."

  "I could go with you, it would be so much fun." She moved next to him and without thinking too hard he put his arm around her.

  Christian said, "Your dad still in the same house?"

  "No, a retirement complex on Van Ness. They had something bad happen and sold the house in ‘04."

  "Something bad, what?"

  "Oh, I would always ask them not to, but they were driving up to visit Margie, she lived in Seattle at the time. My dad was stubborn, he insisted on driving straight through and sleeping at rest stops. They got robbed and beaten up pretty badly at one in the middle of the night, near Bend, Oregon."