They found Seriana Cotton playing the slots in the Talking Stick Casino. She was scraped and bleeding but claimed she didn't have a clue what had happened out on the tenth fairway.
Mesa made no statement and hired Gerry Spence as his defense attorney, dispelling the myth that cowboys and Indians can't get along.
Everybody lawyered up and within hours it became obvious to me that Rick O'Shea wasn't going to be talking.
I had multiple kidnapping charges against Eugene Mesa, but with good lawyering, that might only be worth ten or fifteen years. Not nearly enough. Even worse, I still didn't have a murder case on Eugene Mesa for ordering Pop's death.
Diamond Peterson was among the missing. I had a very bad feeling about that. I didn't think we'd ever see her alive again.
Alexa and I got stuck in Tucson dealing with tribal law, the Arizona courts, state-to-state extradition papers, and a mile of related red tape. We didn't get back to Los Angeles until a few days later.
We arrived home the same day our two-week vacation to Hawaii was scheduled to end. We went out into the backyard, sat on our worn metal chairs, and sipped rum and Cokes with a dash of pineapple juice. It was the closest we had in our bar to the ingredients for a Mai Tai.
"Aloha," Alexa said as we clinked our glasses.
We talked about Hawaii, about Walter Dix, and about how disappointed I was that O'Shea hadn't flipped. It had been a long, painful journey, and in the end, despite everything, I still felt that I had failed Walt.
"Seriana reports for deployment back to Iraq tomorrow night," I told Alexa. "At least she got to see how it ended."
Alexa said, "Without her, we wouldn't have made it."
There was certainly no lack of truth in that statement. The pallbearers had been an unlikely team, but except for Diamond, in the end they had all earned my friendship and respect.
"Vicki's picking up Walt's ashes from the crematorium tonight," I said. "We're all going to say good-bye in the morning."
"Can I come?"
"Got a surfboard?"
She smiled. "No, but somebody has to make sandwiches and kiss your bruises."
"Then you're invited."
An hour later, I got a call from Kurt Westfall. He sounded angry.
"Still no sign of Straw," I told him.
"Fuck Straw. You hear about this shit from Gerry Spence's office?"
"No, what?"
"The Tohono O'odham Indian Reservation is claiming jurisdiction on Mesa's four kidnapping cases."
"So we try him there. What's the problem? He's not gonna beat it. You got five witnesses, two of whom are L. A. cops."
"Indian law ain't exactly like American law, Scully. They got all these tribal loopholes from some treaty that was signed in the eighteen hundreds. Add to that the fact that the Indian prosecutor went to law school on a Eugene Mesa tribal scholarship and Mesa is gonna pretty much skate on this whole thing. They're charging him with four counts of false imprisonment. A fucking misdemeanor."
"Come on," I said. I couldn't believe this was happening.
Westfall kept rolling out the bad news. "They're claiming no guns were used in the abduction and the statement you and your wife made confirms that fact, so it's not a kidnapping."
"False imprisonment? Isn't that like when a store security cop holds some guy for stealing clothes he didn't steal? We were tied up, dragged out of our room, transported. . . . They threatened to kill us!"
"The transportation clause isn't valid on the reservation either, and they say nobody threatened your life."
I was holding the phone, feeling a deep sense of frustration.
Westfall heaved a deep sigh. "The Indian prosecutor has already accepted the false-imprisonment charges. It's a misdemeanor, so the fine will be around ten grand. If I'm ever arrested for killing my wife, hire Gerry Spence to represent me," he groaned.
After I hung up, I went to our bedroom and sat down heavily on the bed. I told Alexa what had just happened, and she came over to sit beside me. She took me into her arms and held me close. But there was very little she could do to comfort me.
An hour later, I was in bed, but couldn't sleep. I was looking at the ceiling, thinking about Eugene C. Mesa and how much alike we were. Neither of us knew who our parents were. I'd found out that Mesa wasn't his real name either. He'd picked it because he needed an identity and was a Mesa Indian.
A nurse at the hospital where I was left as an infant had picked my name for me. She chose it because she was a Dodger fan and loved Vin Scully.
Mesa and I had walked the same hallways at Huntington House as nine-year-olds. We'd both kneeled in the sand with Pop waiting for the sun to rise so we could "go catch some, bruddah."
Half my life, like E. C. Mesa, I'd also been feeding the wrong wolf, and that wolf had almost beaten me. But then Alexa and Chooch had entered my life and everything changed.
As I lay there, I remembered that I'd seen Walt at our wedding and spoken to him briefly that day. Something quick and meaningless. "How you doing, man? I'm stoked you came." I'd not bothered to thank him for keeping me alive so I could make it from Huntington House to my wedding dav.
Walt had never known Alexa. Not really. But he could see how-she had made the difference for me and it made him happy.
He had been there for me when it counted, but I had failed to repay the favor. I had left all of this unfinished.
I looked at the ceiling and waited for him to whisper down that it was okay. That I had at least made the effort. That I had done my best. He didn't speak. He didn't relieve my burden, but I could feel him up there.
Watching.
Waiting.
PART 2
Tomorrow
Chapter 62
It was two hours before dawn. I was out behind the house at 4:00 A. M., wiping down my old short board. I'd painted Walt S crest logo on the nose twenty years earlier when I'd first bought it.
The board was yellow and red, but over the years had become badly scratched. One of the three fins had a small piece missing.
I didn't have any surf wax, but I was sure one of the group would bring some this morning. My broken arm was fortified by ibuprofen but ached slightly as I loaded the bat tail into the back of the MDX and then stuck my head inside the house.
"Come on, Alexa. We gotta go."
She hurried out carrying a cooler and put it in the back of the SUV. We pulled out and headed toward Seal Beach.
I had envisioned this day very differently. I'd never considered that we would fail. Alexa sat quietly beside me. She knew I was churning inside.
We pulled into the lot at 9th Street, a block down from the Seal Beach pier. I parked beside Vicki s blue Toyota Camry. Sabass yellow pickup with the flame job was already there, and Seriana s green van was two spaces away.
We got out and unloaded the car. I handed Alexa the cooler, then pulled my board out of the back. We walked through the predawn mist to the sand about forty yards away.
I could see the three of them gathered in the dark, kneeling in the sand, each holding a surfboard, waiting for the sun to appear.
Next to Sabas was a decorative urn that held Walt's ashes. Someone had brought flowers. Rose petals in four glassine bags.
Hang Six sat in a portable cage in the sand at Vicki's side.
"Hey hapa haole, guy. Whatta matta you?" the parrot screeched loudly at me as I kneeled beside them.
"Where'd you find him?" I asked.
"Animal control. I'm taking him home with me," Vicki said.
I set down mv board with the others. Alexa set down the cooler and joined us.
"How come you're late?" Sabas said. He seemed disappointed with me or even angry.
"I'm not late. You guys are just early," I replied.
Sunrise was still a half an hour away, and while we waited, I told them what had happened to the kidnapping charges against E. C. Mesa. No one knew what to say.
"The sets are stacking up," Vicki finally observed. She was looking at
her surf watch, timing the sound of the breakers. "Ten and a half seconds."
"You feel him here?" Seriana asked a minute later. She was wearing a black wet suit with her hair slicked back. She sat with her muscular legs gathered underneath her. "I'd kind of like to feel he was here watching us when we give his ashes to the sea."
"I don't feel him at all," Vicki said sadly.
"Me neither," I said.
Sabas just grunted, but said nothing.
This whole thing felt so unfinished, but there was nothing we could do about it. This was just the way it had turned out.
Walt's murder was still an open L. A. case, but without O'Shea or somebody else turning state's evidence, Pop's work papers probably weren't going to be enough. They were just circumstantial evidence. I knew the DA didn't have enough to file.
None of us wanted to spread Walt's ashes in defeat, but that's what we were about to do. It was over.
Then I looked up and saw two figures walking toward us, coming out of a predawn mist. As they got closer, I could see both were carrying surfboards, both wore the newer-style Kull wet suits. As they approached, moving deliberately, I realized that it was Diamond and Jack.
I'd thought Diamond was gone forever, either murdered by coyote gunmen on that reservation or in the wind as a fugitive from justice. But here she was, walking up Seal Beach with Jack.
They finally got to where we were and knelt silently in the sand beside us. "Sorry we're late," Jack said.
"Hi," Diamond whispered, not engaging our eyes but looking into the sand instead.
"Surf's up," Hang Six screeched. Diamond and Jack looked over at the bird and both smiled.
"This surf's a little weak, buddy," Jack told the parrot.
We were all now looking out at the small three-foot steeps. "Like Pop said, we don't make 'em. We just take em," Jack observed.
Diamond was fighting back tears. Then she raised her head and looked directly at all of us. "I came here to tell you guys something," she said.
Nobody spoke.
"I know what I did. I'll never be able to forgive myself for it. Because of me, Pop's dead and we didn't get those guys for killing him." She stopped and wiped a tear away. "I'm the only one now who can change that. I was there. I was an accomplice. I know Mesa ordered it and helped them cover it up. I can testify against O'Shea, Mesa, and the others."
Evervone knelt quietly, trying to think of what to tell her. Nobody could come up with anything, so nobody spoke.
Diamond cleared her throat and continued. "Jack and I made a pact. We're gonna both turn ourselves in. We're doing it in Walt's memory because that's what he would have wanted. We're gonna do the right thing for him and ourselves. We've decided to take whatever comes."
After a minute, Sabas said, "If you want, I'll take your cases at no charge." Then he turned to Diamond. "I think if you agree to testify, I can plead you down to a lesser charge. Shane and Alexa can testify to what Jack did on that reservation and that should mitigate those two bank stickups. Nobody is gonna work harder for you than we will."
"We'd like that," Jack said, answering for both of them. "But we're not looking for deals, we're just looking to get straight with ourselves."
"I never thought we'd see you guys again," Seriana said, giving us her rare but beautiful smile.
"Yeah, surprised the shit outta me too." Jack grinned.
As we knelt on the beach, we slowly began to realize that we had won. This was victory. It was a victory with consequences, but it was a victory nonetheless.
The sun began to peek over the horizon. Tomorrow had finally come.
"Let's go rhino chasing, bruddahs," Sabas said, echoing Pop's standard predawn challenge.
We gathered up the bags of flowers and the urn with Walt's ashes and trotted toward the meager three-foot surf while Alexa and Hang Six watched from the shore.
In the water, everyone laid flat and began to paddle out. Vicki had the urn balanced on the nose of her board, and the rest of us carried the flowers. I hadn't been out in years, and the board felt unstable beneath me.
When we were beyond the surf line we sat up, warming ourselves in the early morning sun. Then we got ready to spread Walt's ashes.
"I guess now is just as good a time as any," I said.
Vicki handed the urn to Diamond, who held it for a moment, whispering something to Walt inside. Then she passed it to Seriana, who did the same. Each of the pallbearers in turn cradled Walt's ashes for a minute to say a silent good-bye. When the urn was finally in my hands all I could think of to tell him was "I'm sorry I never thanked you."
We poured the ashes into the sea and scattered the flowers around them.
The waves lifted us slowly up and down as the rhythm of the tide began to spread the last remains of the only man who had been there for us as children when nobody else had cared.
I sat on my board, feeling for the first time like I had actually paid my debt. We all had. I wondered if I was mellow enough for a fish to come up and nibble my toes. None did.
"Son of a bitch, look at this," Sabas said.
We all glanced back over our shoulders and saw a beautiful five-foot wave coming toward us. It was formed in a perfect crescent shape. A rhino. The kind of wave Pop always waited for. The swell was moving toward us, a rolling green gift from the center of the sea.
We proned out on our boards and started paddling hard. My broken, aching arm was completely forgotten as I hurried to catch the swell. The wave passed under us and lifted us high above the beach. Then we all stood to shoot the curl.
It was a perfect party wave, and all six of us were on it.
Halfway down the face, I felt Walt drop into the pocket beside me. I couldn't see him, but I knew he was over there, crouched down low, shuffling up on the nose Quasimodo style, riding that big, heavy cigar box.
We all stayed like that, shoulder to shoulder, shooting out of the green room and into the chop. All six of Pops pallbearers escorting him back into shore.
Table of Contents
PART 1
PART 2
the Pallbearers (2010) Page 24
