by Alex Gilly
Then she realized she hadn’t turned on the AC. The rattling wasn’t coming from the vents.
It was coming from under her seat.
Her throat went dry. Her heart banged to get out. Headlights from a vehicle heading the other way lit up the inside of her car.
Something smooth and strong and cold brushed against her leg.
She panic-slammed the brakes.
The RAV skidded, careened into the drainage ditch, and pitchpoled into the air. The last thing Mona felt before blacking out was a momentary lapse of gravity and then an earsplitting crash as the car landed on its roof.
TWENTY-SIX
AT 5:00 the next morning, Finn was piloting the Interceptor back into Long Beach after a long and uneventful patrol. When the boat reached a point about five miles from shore—the outer limit of the reach of the shore-based cell towers—he felt his phone, which he had zipped up in a waterproof pouch deep in a pocket of his utility overalls, vibrate. A moment later, it vibrated again.
And again.
He pulled out his phone. He saw he had seven missed calls from the same unknown number. A chill rippled through him. He slowed the boat down to quiet the outboards, then stepped away from the wheel.
“Take over,” he said to Chinchilla.
He called the number.
“Paradise General Hospital, good morning,” said a voice. It sounded faint. They were still far from shore, and the signal was weak.
Finn’s stomach felt hollow. “I’m looking for my wife, Mona Jimenez.”
“One moment, please.”
He was put on hold. He heard music.
“Mr. Finn?” said a voice. “I’m Dr. Aguirre. I have bad news, I’m afraid.” The doctor told Finn about Mona’s accident. “How soon can you get here?” he asked.
Finn hung up and turned to Chinchilla. “Mona was in a car crash. She’s in intensive care in Paradise.”
Finn’s legs felt weak. He propped himself against the control console. He saw Chinachilla pick up the mic and heard her request a chopper.
After she hung up, she said, “Strap in.” Then she pushed down on the throttles, and the Interceptor took off toward the sunrise.
At fifty knots, it took them a little over five minutes to cover the five miles. Chinchilla barely slowed when they passed the breakwater. She pulled up alongside the dock. Finn jumped ashore. He hustled to a waiting CBP vehicle. The vehicle switched its lights and siren on and rushed him to the helicopter pad. A CBP light helicopter was waiting for him, its blades already turning. Finn hauled himself up into the seat next to the waiting pilot; the pilot handed him a set of headphones, gave him a thumbs-up, then fired up the rotors; the chopper left the ground.
Finn watched the cranes lifting containers on and off the ships. The chopper passed over the giant round white tanks of the oil terminal. They flew over the waking city. He saw the streetlights go out. Through the headphones, he heard the pilot’s voice tell him it was seventy-five minutes’ flight time to Paradise. He nodded. Soon, the suburban sprawl gave way to mountains. Finn watched cars traveling along the road in a valley below. They left the mountains behind and flew over the Salton Sea. They flew over endless rectangles of emerald green—the crop fields of Imperial County. They crossed the main canal irrigating all those fields, and the green turned to brown. They passed over the interstate, then saw a cluster of lonely-looking, flat-roofed buildings surrounded by desert.
Paradise.
The pilot put the chopper down on a patch of sand next to the hospital. The rotors kicked up a sandstorm. Finn covered his mouth and nose and jumped to the ground. Staying in a crouch, he hurried to the hospital.
Dr. Aguirre met him at reception. “Follow me,” he said.
While they walked, the doctor talked. “She was choppered in last night at 8:30,” he said. “She’s fractured the femur in her right leg, where she got trapped under the dash. They had to cut her out. She’s broken four ribs. She’s got bruises all over her face from the airbag. She looks pretty beat up, but we scanned her and didn’t find any fractures in her skull, neck, or spine, so that’s a lucky break, if I can call it that. We’re keeping her in a brace just to be safe. She’s got a fair amount of internal hemorrhaging, but it could’ve been a lot worse. She was lucky that the highway patrol responded as quickly as they did. With accidents like this, every second counts.”
The doctor led Finn through a pair of swinging doors.
“Do you know what happened?” asked Finn.
“Just the basics. She was traveling west on the I-8. A truck coming the other way saw the car she was driving veer off the road, hit the embankment, and flip onto its roof. He radioed it in to the CHP from his truck. The first responders got to her within ten minutes. They made sure she was breathing, cut her out, and brought her in.”
“What made her veer off the road?” said Finn.
The doctor shook his head. “I don’t know. There was no other vehicle involved. We’re testing her blood alcohol.”
Finn shook his head. “It’s not that. She wasn’t a big drinker.”
“We still need to run the test,” said the doctor.
The doctor had given Finn the first of the two things he needed: information. Now he needed the second thing.
“I want to see her,” he said.
Dr. Aguirre pushed open a door. “This way,” he said.
* * *
When Finn saw that Mona was conscious, his adrenaline flow briefly ebbed, only to surge a moment later when he saw the bruises all down the left side of her face. Her head was in a brace, her left leg in a cast and hoist, and on the dark screen of the EKG monitor next to her bed, he saw three green lines peaking regularly. Next to that was a plastic bag hooked on the stand, clear liquid dripping from it through a tube leading into a cannula embedded in her arm.
“You’re here,” she said, her voice an opiated murmur. She tried to smile.
Finn sat down next to her, kissed her on the unbruised part of her forehead, and said softly, “I’m here.” He took hold of her right hand and didn’t let go.
Mona asked Finn to come closer. He leaned in.
Even inches from her lips, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.
Something about a snake.
He shushed her. “You don’t need to talk,” he said.
But she wanted to talk. She looked at him as insistently as her injuries and the morphine would allow.
“I heard it rattling, Nick. Under my seat. I felt it.”
He saw an expression pass over her face that even morphine couldn’t kill: terror.
Finn’s mind raced. “Maybe it came through a vent. Looking for heat,” he said.
“No. Somebody put it there,” she said. She glanced anxiously at the door before continuing. Finn leaned even closer. He could feel her breath on his ear when she whispered, “Soto.”
Finn’s stomach hollowed out. He remembered what Mona had told him about Soto, how he’d put a girl in a box filled with snakes. He thought about what Mona had told him about the dendrotoxin in Carmen’s body. Then another part of his brain—the reptile part, the part that controlled for aggression and territoriality—unleashed a fresh wave of adrenaline. He tightened his grip on Mona’s hand.
She continued, “I saw him, Nick. I went cold all over. Like being in a nightmare…”
The EKG machine beeped. Mona’s pulse was quickening, but her voice was becoming weaker, like she was about to pass out.
“Carmen said she saw him, too, in a dream, but I didn’t believe her. I should’ve believed her, Nick. I should’ve…”
He squeezed her hand. He said everything was going to be all right. He told her to rest.
“I should’ve believed her,” said Mona again. Maybe she was hearing what he was saying, maybe she wasn’t. Either way, her eyes were closing now, and the machine was beeping in an alarming way. Finn fetched the nurse, who adjusted the pump on the painkiller being drip-fed into Mona’s blood.
“Your wife n
eeds to rest,” she said.
Finn pulled a chair up next to Mona and watched her sleep.
While she slept, Finn sat. In his younger days, whenever he’d felt this level of anger, this level of fear, he would either sweat out the feelings through intense exercise, or he would drown them in alcohol and drugs.
Now that he was older and sober, he’d learned a third way: to sit with them.
He did this now. He didn’t try to do anything more than sit in the chair by his sleeping wife, counting his own breaths.
Eventually, his breathing slowed and his pulse settled. His vision softened and his eyelids started to droop. He felt himself on the verge of falling asleep.
Before letting himself succumb, he made a vow. He knew it was a profane vow, but he made it anyway.
He vowed he would find the man who had hurt Mona, and he would kill him.
TWENTY-SEVEN
MIDMORNING, two accident investigators from the California Highway Patrol showed up at Mona’s bedside. She was still asleep, so Finn shepherded the officers into the corridor. They said they had a few questions.
“Do you know if she takes any medication?” asked one.
“No,” said Finn.
“Is she a regular drinker?”
“Not to excess.”
“Has she been particularly fatigued?”
“Listen, she told me something,” said Finn.
Finn told the investigators about the snake.
“Under the seat, she said?” said one. He had his notebook flipped open.
“You hear about them getting under the hood sometimes,” said the other. “But inside the cabin?”
Finn told them about Soto. The whole story, from the beginning.
They looked at him dubiously.
“So what you’re saying is, you think this guy came up from Mexico to kill your wife by putting a rattlesnake under her seat in her car? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes,” said Finn. “Mona saw him next to her car, in the parking lot outside Paradise Karaoke.”
Again, the dubious look.
“There are easier ways of killing a person,” said the other officer.
“This guy, Soto, is a psychopath,” said Finn. “He doesn’t just want to hurt people. He wants to enjoy hurting them. He threw acid on a girl. He put another in a box with snakes. He’s a herper.”
“A what?”
“A herper. A snake collector. He did this.”
Finn caught the glance between the two investigators. He saw that they had already made up their minds about what had happened.
Fuck you guys, he thought.
“Well, the first responders who pulled her out didn’t say anything about any snakes,” said one of the officers. “But we’ll make a note of it. Are you sure she’s not on any medication?”
* * *
Over the following week, Finn and Mona quickly fell into a rhythm. Little rituals that brought them both great comfort. At Mona’s insistence, Finn took up residence in her room at the Eden Inn.
“I want you to shower and change your clothes. For my sake,” she said. Finn rented a car, brought a change of clothes, and slept in the room, but he was always at the hospital before Mona woke and always the last visitor to leave. He got to know all the night nurses. He brought her treats and magazines; her cell phone had been destroyed in the crash, so he went out and bought her a new one. He got in touch with the phone company to set it up. He coordinated with the insurance company about the car. He called her office. Joaquin said he would file a motion to delay the trial.
After a week, the CHP accident investigators completed their report. They brought Finn a copy. The investigators had written that it was a single-vehicle accident caused by driver error. They put it down to something called trucker syndrome. They noted Mona had been driving long distances over the past few months, back and forth between the coast and desert. People with trucker syndrome become complacent. They forget how fast they’re going. They imagine things. Finn saw that the investigators had not included in their report Mona’s assertion that there was a snake under her seat, causing her to panic. He threw the report in the trash.
He got into his rental and drove out to the spot on the interstate where Mona had flipped her RAV, pulled over to the shoulder, and got out. Near where he had parked, a large white polyester bag caught on a thorny bush fluttered in the breeze. The RAV was a good thirty feet from the road, lying upside down, tilted forward onto its hood, its back wheels high. It was so far from the road that the highway patrol did not deem it a hazard and hadn’t pressed Finn to organize removal.
Finn walked up to the wreck. Up close, the ground smelled of fuel. He stepped over a dark patch of sand where gas had spilled from the ruptured tank. He walked round the front, and the smell of gas gave way to a sweet scent—coolant spilled from the radiator. He kicked aside some wreckage and glass to clear a space, carefully got down on his hands and knees, and peered into the wrecked cabin through the driver’s side. Amid all the shards and broken bits lying on the ceiling of the car, he saw a tube of Mona’s lipstick. He reached for it now. Then he saw a high-heeled shoe, which he also recovered. He looked around until he located the other. It was poking out from under the driver’s seat above his head. Finn reached for it and pulled it out. A thought occurred to him. He reached under the driver’s seat and felt around.
His fingers touched something cold, smooth, scaly. He took hold of it, pulled it out, and stood.
He looked at the dead snake in his hand. It was maybe six feet long. It was surprisingly heavy, weighing about the same as a bowling ball. Its head was the size of a cat’s. He examined the gray-green diamonds down its back. He turned it over and looked at its white belly. He ran his fingers along the segments of its rattle. They were, he realized, hollow, like shells.
Finn walked back to his car. He untangled the abandoned bag from the bush and dropped the snake in it. He put the snake and Mona’s shoes on the passenger’s seat of his rental and her lipstick in the dash. He drove to the CHP office in Paradise. He asked the receptionist for the accident investigators. The two officers appeared.
He pulled the snake out of the bag and smacked it down on the counter.
“She didn’t imagine it,” he said.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE hospital released Mona on June 29, nine days after she had flipped her car. They gave her a pair of crutches and a script for OxyContin. Finn drove her home on the interstate. They passed the spot where she had flipped her car. The wreck was gone.
“The insurance company took care of it,” Finn explained.
“I’m glad I didn’t have to see it,” said Mona.
After a minute, Finn said, “What are you most looking forward to when you get home?”
“Washing my hair.”
Finn’s phone beeped. It was Wilkins, his contact at Fish and Wildlife, sending him a text: Have lead on mamba. When they stopped for gas, Finn texted Wilkins back, setting up a meeting.
Four hours later, they arrived home in Redondo. Mona got out of the rental car, hoisted herself up on her crutches, and filled her lungs with ocean air.
“Gosh, it’s good to smell the sea again,” she said.
Someone had left a bouquet on the front steps. While Mona leaned on her crutches, Finn opened the little envelope and pulled out the card.
“‘From all of us at Wolfeson, White, wishing you a speedy recovery,’” he read.
“Bless their hearts,” said Mona.
* * *
Wolfeson, White weren’t the only ones to send flowers. At ten the following morning, the doorbell rang. Finn opened it and saw Chinchilla, Gomez, and Klein. Klein was holding a huge, expensive-looking bouquet.
Finn waved them all in. Mona was sitting on the couch in the living room, her broken leg up on a cushion. Her face lit up at the sight of the visitors. Finn handed her the card. She read it out loud.
“‘To Mona Jimenez. Get well soon. From your friends at CBP Air
and Marine, Long Beach.’”
Mona smiled. “Thank you. First time I got flowers from the Customs and Border Protection.”
Finn took the bouquet to the kitchen, searched for a vase, found none, so he put the flowers in a jug, which he carried back into the living room and set on the sideboard.
Everybody was sitting around the coffee table. Finn asked if anyone wanted tea or coffee, but they all declined. There followed an awkward silence, then some equally awkward attempts at humor. The conversation veered to movies featuring snakes.
“My wife loves horror,” said Chinchilla. “She made me watch Anaconda. I get shivers just thinking about it.”
“The original?” said Gomez.
“There’s another?”
“You’re too young to have seen it, Mona, but in the first Indiana Jones movie, he gets thrown into a pit of snakes,” said Klein.
“Now I’ll never see it,” said Mona.
“No one’s mentioned the greatest snake film of all time,” said Gomez. “Snakes on a Plane.”
“Ella made me watch that one, too,” said Chinchilla, shaking her head.
“Did you know it’s based on a true story?” said Gomez.
“Stop it,” said Chinchilla.
While Chinchilla and Gomez argued, Klein turned to Finn and said he’d take him up on his offer of coffee after all. He followed Finn into the kitchen. Finn filled the filter machine with ground coffee and switched it on. The machine started hissing.
In a low voice, Klein said, “What happened?”
“She was on the highway. A snake came out from under her seat. She veered, hit the bank, and the car flipped.”
