Wicked Break nb-2

  Wicked Break

  ( Noah Braddock - 2 )

  Jeff Shelby

  Jeff Shelby

  Wicked Break

  One

  The man on the shore was waiting for me.

  I’d been in the water for an hour, catching a nice southern break that was producing tight swells of about three to four feet just north of the jetty in Mission Beach. He’d been there for about half that time, watching from a distance, and when I dug the nose of my six-foot Ron Jon into the face of an anxiety-free wave and went ass-over-kettle into the water, the distraction of being watched ended my session.

  I trudged in, shaking the ocean out of my hair as I approached the shoreline. The beach was deserted on a cloudy Monday at mid-morning. When the man waved at me, I knew he wasn’t trying to get anyone’s attention but mine.

  “Are you Noah?” he asked. “Noah Braddock?”

  I ran a hand over my face, sliding away the excess water and not bothering to disguise a frown. I jammed the butt of the board into the sand and let it stand erect. “Yeah. Who are you?”

  “I’m Peter Pluto,” he said. “I need your help. I need you to find my brother.” He gestured behind him. “The guy at your place said you were out here. Your roommate, I assumed.”

  Carter was not my roommate, but inhabited my place nearly as much as I did.

  I studied Peter Pluto. He wore blue jeans and a brown sweat-shirt with old running shoes. His thinning dark hair was trimmed short and the lines in his face told me he hadn’t slept much recently.

  I bent down and undid the Velcro leash around my right ankle. “That right?”

  “You are an investigator, aren’t you?” he asked, squatting down a little, trying to get even with my face.

  I stood back up. “Yeah, I am. But I’m not doing a whole lot of work right now.”

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” Peter Pluto said. “Cash up front.”

  “It’s not about the money, Mr. Pluto,” I said. “I’m just not looking for work at the moment. Other things going on, you know?”

  “Peter. Call me Peter.” He blinked a couple of times and, for a moment, I thought he might cry. But he shifted his eyes and sighed. “I guess Mr. Berkley was wrong.”

  I looked at him, surprised. “You know Berk?”

  Pluto nodded. “Yeah. He handled my mother’s estate when she died. That’s how I got your name. Said you’d be able to help me.”

  Mike Berkley was an attorney who had thrown me some work when I first started out as an investigator. I was having a hard time paying the bills and he’d come through with some simple stuff that had kept me out of complete poverty. Berk had become a friend and I didn’t think he would’ve offered my name without reason.

  “Tell me about your brother,” I said, pulling my rash guard up over my head.

  Pluto looked at me cautiously for a moment, perhaps wondering if I was serious. He relaxed when he saw that I was.

  “His name is Linc and he’s nineteen,” Pluto said. “He’s been gone for at least a couple of days.”

  “Have you gone to the police?”

  He hesitated, something crossing in his eyes that I couldn’t read.

  “I don’t think the police will do anything,” he said. “He’s legal and he’s run away before.”

  “Run away?”

  Pluto nodded. “About four years ago. Before our mom passed away. She had cancer and it was tough on him.”

  “Where were you?”

  He shifted uncomfortably, kicking his right shoe into the sand. “Basically, I’d left him there. It was tough on me, too. I was going to school up at UCLA. I didn’t make it home very often, I guess.”

  I nodded. “So where is he living now?”

  “Up in the college area,” he said, referring to the neighborhoods around San Diego State. “When Mom died two years ago, he was emancipated and has lived on his own since.”

  “How come not with you? Or your father?”

  A small wave of anger spread across his face. “We didn’t really have a dad.”

  I knew the feeling. I didn’t push it.

  “As for why Linc didn’t live with me-well, he hates me.” Peter Pluto gave a half-smile, sadness and shame creeping into his eyes. “Blames me for not sticking around and for leaving him with her. When she died, I tried to get him to come live with me. But he wouldn’t do it. There was a small trust from our grandparents. He’s managed to make it last for a while. Won’t take my help.”

  “But now you want to help.”

  He nodded. “I check up on him once a week. Knock on his door, he tells me to fuck off, at least I know he’s alright. I went there Friday and no one answered. Tried Saturday and yesterday. Nothing.”

  “How do you know he didn’t just take off for a few days?” I asked. “A little vacation or something.”

  Pluto shook his head sternly. “That’s not him. He’s going to State, majoring in political science. Wants to be an attorney, I guess. Plus, it’s almost midterm time.”

  “Midterms usually…mean bigger parties at State,” I said, scoffing at the notion that anyone took exams seriously up on Montezuma Mesa.

  Pluto shook his head.

  “Maybe he just needed to blow off a little steam,” I said. “Get away for a day or two.”

  “He doesn’t do that kind of thing. He’s serious about school.”

  I thought Peter was kidding himself. San Diego State is the bastard child of San Diego universities. It lacks the private prestige and pricey tuition of USD and doesn’t come close to the scientific reputation of UCSD. The students who ended up there did so because they were denied admission to the other two schools or simply because they didn’t want their studies to get in the way of partying.

  As an undistinguished alum, I knew that from experience.

  “Your best bet is still to report it to the police,” I said. “Even if he’s run away before, you can file a missing persons report. I can give you the name of someone who will listen to you and take you seriously.”

  Whatever had crossed his eyes before when I’d mentioned the police was back.

  “I can’t go to the police,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  He took a deep breath and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I went into his apartment, okay? I talked the super into letting me in yesterday because I was worried.” He stopped, his face tightening. “And I found something.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “There were guns in his dresser,” Peter Pluto finally said. “A ton of them. I don’t know anything about guns, but there were some that looked like handguns and some that looked like things I’ve seen in movies. Automatics, maybe, like machine guns. I freaked out and left.”

  I flicked a bead of water off my arm. Peter wasn’t doing much to convince me to find his brother. “So he’s not totally serious about school, I guess.”

  He yanked his hands out of his pockets, his face coloring. “He must have gotten hooked up with a bad crowd. Look, he’s had a tough time with everything that’s happened.” The color receded from his face and a look of utter frustration and concern replaced it. “If he needs help, I want to help him. But I don’t want him to go to jail.” He stared at me with desperate eyes. “Mike said you could help. Can you?”

  I gazed at Peter Pluto for a moment. The last time I’d gotten involved in a family affair, I’d been shot at, Carter had nearly died, and I’d pushed a woman to her death. I didn’t want to wade into that kind of mess again.

  But I’d lied about not needing work. Truth was, I hadn’t seen any good money in a while. A new Jeep payment and a surf trip to Cabo had eaten quickly through my small savings account. I was going to need to do something soon.

/>   Maybe this wouldn’t be so personal, though. Do the work, find the kid, get paid. I didn’t know Peter or his brother. I figured my past would have a tough time getting in the middle of this one.

  And there was something about standing on a quiet beach under thick gray clouds with a man who clearly cared about his brother that made me vulnerable.

  “Give me the address,” I said to Peter Pluto.

  Two

  I asked Peter a few more questions about the guns he’d seen because I wanted a better idea of what I might be getting myself into. But he clearly knew nothing about guns and the tension on his face told me that finding them had really shocked the hell out of him. I knew I’d have to go look for myself. He gave me a wallet-sized photo of Linc and I told him I’d be in touch after I checked out the apartment.

  I went back to my place, dropping my board on the patio that faced the beach. Carter had apparently anticipated my irritation with him and vacated the premises. Not as dumb as he looked.

  I showered and changed into a pair of corduroy board shorts and a T-shirt. I grabbed an apple and a soda from the fridge and headed out to see where Linc Pluto lived.

  I pointed my Jeep east, going past the Bahia and the bay, getting onto Interstate 8 behind the old Sports Arena. The freeway cut through Mission Valley, bisecting the giant canyon that now housed a golf course, several shopping centers, and Qualcomm Stadium. Just before I hit La Mesa, I took the College Avenue exit and headed south.

  The area around San Diego State was trying to reinvent itself, just like other older parts of the city. The university wanted to sell itself as a destination school rather than a state school and they were hoping to create a college-town feel. Abandoned strip malls had been rebuilt with fast-food joints and cafes. But the new neon of the signs in the windows hadn’t deterred those who had been used to the old ways of the neighborhood. You were safe during the day, but you didn’t venture out at night unless you were with your frat pals.

  I hung a left on El Cajon Boulevard and found Linc’s address just past the old Campus Drive-in. His apartment was in an ugly L-shaped two-story building, with an old asphalt lot in front. The stucco exterior was painted drab brown and the doors were a shade darker. Could’ve been an old motel.

  I parked in the lot and found Linc’s door on the ground level. A small window sat just to the right of the door.

  I knocked, but got no answer.

  I tried the door, but it didn’t open.

  I looked in the window, but saw no one.

  Nowhere fast.

  I walked down to the next door. Bob Marley crooned softly behind it.

  I knocked.

  Footsteps came closer and the door swung open.

  A girl of about twenty or so stood in front of me. A tight olive tank top hugged the curves of her chest, cutoff cargo shorts exposed long tan legs. Her hair was a mess of dirty brown dreadlocks piled on top of her head. The thin silver hoops in her earlobes matched the ones in her eyebrow and bottom lip. She was attractive in an I’m-in-college-and-rebelling kind of way.

  Her emerald eyes flashed and she looked annoyed. “What?”

  “I’m looking for your neighbor.”

  “Did you try his place?”

  I smiled. “Yeah. He’s not there. Any idea where I could find him?”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Who are you?”

  “Noah Braddock. I’m an investigator. Who are you?”

  “Dana Madison.” She looked at me with new interest. “An investigator. No shit?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “And you’re looking for Linc?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, I don’t know where he is,” she said. “But Rachel might.”

  “Rachel?”

  “My roommate.” She looked me up and down with a confidence she couldn’t possibly have been old enough to possess. A slow smile emerged on her face and she stepped to the side. “Right this way, stud.”

  I felt dirty, but in a good way, and stepped past her into the apartment.

  Dana went and turned down the stereo in the corner. The interior was sparsely furnished and the white paint on the walls was cracking. The aroma of freshly smoked marijuana filled the room. A small television sat on a banged-up hutch. A worn wooden coffee table stood in the middle of the room just across from a tattered brown sofa. A Donald Duck bong grinned at me from the table-top.

  First Pluto, now Donald.

  Disney appeared to be overtaking my life.

  “You see where the spout is on him?” Dana said, coming over to the sofa and noticing I was looking at Donald.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Makes it look like you’re giving him a hummer when you spark up.”

  “Cool.”

  “I know,” she said, missing my sarcasm.

  “So. Rachel?”

  Dana nodded, still looking at me. “You have to be in such a hurry?”

  “Busy, busy.”

  A smile curled onto her lips. “I’d like to see you get busy.” She turned toward the hallway that extended off the room and yelled, “Rachel. Somebody here for you.”

  A scuffling sound came from down the hallway, followed by footsteps. Rachel emerged.

  If Dana was attractive, Rachel was a flat-out knockout. A fiery mane of red hair cascaded around her tan, oval face. She wore jean shorts frayed at the ends and a tight black top, exposing a drum-tight abdomen and a tiny diamond in her navel. Her arms and legs were as tan as her face, toned like her stomach. The only imperfection I could see was that her large brown eyes were ringed with bright red blood vessels.

  She looked at me, confused. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “This is Noah,” Dana said. “He’s a private investigator.”

  Rachel gave me a blank stare. “Oh.”

  “I’m looking for Linc,” I said. “Next door.”

  “Oh.”

  “You know him?”

  “Yeah, she does,” Dana said, then giggled.

  Rachel looked at her. “Yeah, I do.” Then she giggled.

  Stoners can be frustrating.

  I took a deep breath. “How do you know him?”

  Rachel folded her arms across her chest. “From school.”

  “And you guys are friends?”

  “Yeah, they are,” Dana said, and snickered again.

  “Shut up,” Rachel said to her, then burst into giggles again as well. She composed herself quickly. “We’re friends.”

  “Friends?”

  Rachel blinked several times. “He tutored me.”

  Dana laughed out loud and rolled onto her side on the sofa.

  “Tutored?” I asked.

  Rachel looked down at her feet. “Sorta.”

  I took another deep breath and tried to relax. “Look, Linc is missing. I’m trying to find him. He’s not in trouble. And I don’t care about the pot or anything else you two probably have stashed in here. Just be straight with me.”

  It was quiet for a moment while they tried to process what I’d said.

  “Just tell him,” Dana finally said.

  “Shut up,” Rachel said, looking at her.

  “He’s not from the school,” Dana said, frowning at her friend. Then she looked at me. “Right? You aren’t some kinda school cop?”

  “I’m not.”

  She looked back at Rachel. “See?”

  Rachel frowned at her friend, but didn’t say anything.

  Dana turned back to me. “Linc wrote papers for her.”

  “Dana! Shut up!” Rachel said, her cheeks flushing slightly.

  “And she fucked him in return,” Dana said, smiling.

  “You bitch,” Rachel said, shaking her head.

  College had apparently changed since I’d been enrolled.

  “It wasn’t just like that,” Rachel said to me.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m not looking for an explanation. I just want to find him.”

  Rachel’s cheeks continued to
flush. “I mean, I can’t write very good. He offered to help. And it just kinda…happened.”

  “Just once?”

  Dana laughed.

  “Well, no,” Rachel said. “A couple times. But not recently. The last time was like two months ago. I swear.”

  “Okay. When did you see him last?”

  She thought about it, lines forming above her perfect eyebrows. “Two days ago.”

  “Any idea where he might be?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No. Do you think he’s in trouble?”

  “No idea,” I said, wishing I hadn’t knocked on their door. I pulled a card from my pocket and held it out. “If you hear from him or think of anything, call me.”

  Dana lurched off the sofa. “Can I get one of those?”

  I reluctantly withdrew another one and handed it to her.

  She smiled at it, then winked at me. “Thanks, stud.”

  I left before my head exploded.

  Three

  I walked out to the parking lot to find a scowling, heavyset man next to my Jeep.

  He was looking into the driver’s-side window, a Louisville Slugger dangling from his right hand.

  “Need a ride?” I asked.

  He turned around. About five-eight with more than his share of weight around his gut and his neck, rings of sweat staining the armpits of his gray T-shirt. The brown hair on his head was almost gone. Sweat beaded down his wrinkled forehead into his small, dark eyes. A flat nose and a crooked mouth didn’t improve his appearance.

  “You a friend of that kid’s?” he said, raising the bat up and pointing in the direction of Linc’s apartment.

  “No.”

  “Then why were you at his door?”

  “Why do you care?”

  The small eyes narrowed. “You getting smart with me?”

  “I was smart before I got here.”

  He looked confused.

  “I’m not a friend of his,” I told him. “I’ve never met him. I’m looking for him.”

  The man relaxed and lowered the bat to his side. “You and me both.”

  “I’m Noah,” I said, offering my hand.