Wicked Break Page 4

  “Huge,” I finally said.

  “What?”

  “He was huge.”

  “Who?”

  “Mo.”

  “Who’s Mo?”

  “The mountain that fell on me.”

  I told her about working for Peter Pluto, what I remembered about going to the house, about finding Lonnie and then Mo finding me.

  “Skinheads?” she asked after I told her about the tattoos.

  I tried to nod, but it came off more like a spasm. “Hard-core. Aryan Nations stuff.” I cleared my throat and tried to get my voice to sound normal. “I think they killed Pluto.”

  Liz stood and came over to the edge of the bed. “They found a body with yours. No ID.”

  The memory of crawling up next to him was still hazy, but I’d recognized him. “That was him.”

  She nodded. “I’ll get John the name and we’ll check on next of kin. You know if this Peter Pluto was into that racist crap?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Well, let me know if you hear anything,” she said, as she came over and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle me. “You’re gonna be okay.”

  I looked away from her and toward the window on the other side of the room. “Yep.”

  “None of it’s permanent. You’re gonna hurt like hell, but it’ll go away.”

  I nodded. I knew that. It was the mental part that I had questions about. I couldn’t help wondering if I could’ve done something to avoid it all. Not taken the case, not gone to the house, not gone in without a gun. But all of those were things I normally did. I didn’t want to change because of this, alter the way I thought and the way I acted. But through all the pain I could feel something shifting in me, a combination of fear and anger that was shifting even as I tried to stop it.

  “I called Carter a little bit ago. Didn’t know who else to call,” Liz said. “Got his voice mail, told him you were here.”

  “Thanks.”

  She stood up and I could feel her eyes on me. “I’m gonna go.”

  I turned to her. “Okay. Thanks. For coming.”

  “I’ll check on you in a couple of days.” She hesitated for a moment, then touched my hand quickly, covering it with hers. “There’s something else, though, Noah.”

  “What?”

  “You have your ID with you when you went in?”

  I thought about it. “Yeah. My wallet. In the pocket of my shorts.”

  Liz nodded. “I figured. But it wasn’t on you.” She paused. “They probably took it. Most likely for the money or credit cards.”

  I knew what she was getting at. “But they know where I live.”

  “If they wanted to know, yeah, they do now.”

  It didn’t surprise me, but hearing it out loud made my stomach jolt.

  “We found your rental, too,” she said. “Up in University City, a little beat up. I’m gonna talk to John and I’ll get your Jeep back to your place tomorrow.”

  A tiny, selfish voice popped into my head. The guy who was supposed to pay me and for that rental car was dead. A couple of days in the hospital were sure to jack up my insurance premium. Money was the last thing I wanted to think about, but the concern was there like a fly that wouldn’t die.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Liz said, giving my hand a quick squeeze, then heading for the door. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

  I didn’t know that I really was, but I watched her go without saying anything, as the fear and anger in my body and in my thoughts continued to work themselves together in a gathering fury that I wasn’t sure how to handle.

  Nine

  A nurse came in bright and early the next morning and woke me up to inform me that since there was nothing further they could do for me, I was on my way out. She assured me I’d be fine and said she’d be back shortly with some papers that needed my signature.

  Gee, thanks.

  The pain had kept me awake for parts of the night. My limbs were heavy and sore and my chest felt like a tractor had been parked on it. When I was finally able to get myself out of bed to use the bathroom, my back cracked and burned the more I tried to straighten it.

  The mirror in the bathroom told the same story. The circles around my eyes were a myriad of reds and purples. I had a huge split in my bottom lip and more bruises on each cheek.

  The nurse returned and I signed the discharge papers, refused the wheelchair trip out, and was pulling on my clothes from the closet when Carter walked into the room. He wore brown board shorts and a bright purple T-shirt. He looked out of breath.

  “Sorry,” he said, frowning. “I was in LA.”

  “It’s alright.”

  “I just checked my voice mail this morning,” he said. “I came as soon as I listened to Liz’s message.”

  “It’s alright.”

  “I’m really sorry, Noah.”

  It wasn’t like him to offer sincere, direct apologies. I knew my appearance probably rattled him.

  I pulled on my shorts and T-shirt, trying not to grimace. “Dude. It’s okay. I haven’t been much fun anyway.”

  “Still. Shoulda been here.”

  “Whatever.” I stepped into my sandals. “You can make it up to me by getting me out of here.”

  He nodded and opened the door.

  We walked silently out of the hospital and I was so glad to breathe fresh air that I didn’t make my usual remark about his god-awful-looking car. The topless Dodge Ram Charger, painted like a zebra, save for the skull on the hood, was a welcome sight.

  We made it to my place in fifteen minutes. My Jeep was out front like Liz had promised. Carter stood awkwardly next to the car, not sure how to help me. I waved him off and struggled out, figuring the movement would keep me from getting stiff.

  By the time I made it to my sofa, I was winded.

  Carter went to the fridge, opened two Coronas, and came around to the couch. He placed one on the table in front of me.

  “Thanks,” I said, reaching for it, deciding I’d substitute the alcohol for the pain pills I’d been prescribed.

  He nodded and took a long pull from his bottle. He set the bottle down and took a deep breath.

  “So,” he said. “Anybody we know?”

  I took a drink from the bottle, the beer tasting much better than the water and juice I’d been given in the hospital. I shook my head. “Don’t think so.”

  “But you’ll know them when you see them?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Good. You say when and we’ll put them down. I’ll call in a few favors.” He drank from the beer again. “You can be in on it or not. I don’t care. But these fuckers are going down.”

  I nodded and didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if I wanted in on it. I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to see their faces again. And that bothered me more than anything else.

  I changed the subject. “Why were you in LA?”

  He smiled and pointed the bottle in my direction. “Workin’ on a real job.”

  “No. Seriously.”

  “Workin’, dude.”

  “A real job?”

  He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Yeah, I guess. I’m gonna be on TV.”

  I leaned back in the sofa. “Excuse me?”

  He drained the beer and set the empty bottle on the table. “Acting.”

  “So, while I was in the hospital, hell froze over?”

  “Funny. I’m gonna be a reenactment actor.”

  “A what?”

  His eyebrows danced over his eyes, the excitement apparent. “Okay, you know like America’s Most Wanted and shows like that?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Well they do reenactments of the crimes they’re trying to solve. I’m gonna play the bad guy in a couple of reenactments. Wear a wife-beater tank top and everything.”

  I stared at him for a moment, then started laughing. “You’ve found your calling.”

  He nodded, proud. “It’s not for
sure yet, but who knows? This could lead to movie roles or some shit like that.”

  I held the beer up. “Who knows?”

  “So, anyway, I may be spending a little time up there in the next couple weeks.” He paused and looked at me. “But not until you’re alright.”

  “I’m alright now,” I said.

  “Sure,” he said, but I could tell he didn’t believe me.

  I shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me or seeing the embarrassment and fear I didn’t seem to be able to put to bed. And I didn’t want anyone but Mo and Lonnie on the receiving end of my anger.

  I pushed myself off the sofa and walked over to the corner of the room where my surfboards stood. I moved the six-foot Ron Jon off to the side and put my hands on the nine-foot Merrick that hadn’t seen the ocean in a while.

  “You thinking of hitting the water?” Carter asked.

  “Yeah. Probably won’t even ride. Just sit out there.”

  “Cool. I’ll go with you.”

  I turned around. “No. I’m gonna go out by myself.”

  Carter looked at me, a little unsure and skeptical. “You sure? You still look a little wobbly.”

  I nodded and pulled the board away from the wall. “Yeah. I just need some air, some space, you know? I’m just gonna get out there and watch.”

  “You want me to wait here? Make sure you can make it back okay?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Not what I meant, Noah.”

  “I know.”

  I’d taken a beating like this once before, courtesy of a drug lord I’d pissed off. The difference then, though, was that I knew it was coming. This one had blindsided me. I just wanted to get away from everyone who knew what had happened. I wanted to hide so I wouldn’t have to explain anything to anyone. The bruises would heal, the pain would go away, but I wasn’t sure how to fix the worry and rage that had taken up residence in my head.

  I opened the screen door to the patio and laid the board outside in the bright afternoon sunlight. I grabbed the long-sleeved red rash guard off the back of the lounge chair, pulled off my T-shirt, and struggled to get the guard on over my head. I knew that I looked awkward getting it on, my arms still a little uncoordinated, and that the bruises on my body gave the impression that someone had splashed me with purple paint, but Carter didn’t say anything.

  “I just wanna be alone for a while, okay?” I said finally.

  Carter stood up off the sofa. “Okay.”

  I shut the screen door. I picked up the board and stepped over the short wall to the boardwalk.

  “Noah.”

  I turned around. Carter was standing at the screen door.

  “It would’ve happened to whoever walked into that house,” he said. “Me, you, Mike Tyson. Wouldn’t have mattered. You weren’t expecting it. No one would’ve been ready for that.”

  I shifted the board under my arm. “I know.”

  He tilted his head slightly. “Do you? Really?”

  I turned and walked down the sand toward the shimmering water, unable to answer that question.

  Ten

  I sat out on my board, just beyond the break, for about an hour. I moved out to the side of the lineup, ignoring the looks I was getting from the others out on the water when they took in my appearance, just watching and resting. The water and air felt good on my body and it gave me a chance to clear my head. By the time I paddled in, I felt better.

  I spent the rest of the day napping and watching television. Every couple of hours, I’d walk outside and do some stretches on the patio, trying to make sure nothing stayed locked up. The stretching hurt, but I’d knew it would pay off in the next couple of days.

  After a night of sleep and a slow morning walk on the beach to loosen my muscles, I called Mike Berkley and arranged to meet him downtown after his workday ended. I figured I needed to do a little backtracking. Peter Pluto had said that Mike had given him my name, so he seemed a logical place to start.

  I ate lunch, paid a few bills, and took another brisk stroll on the sand before making the twenty-minute drive down I-5 to the west end of the downtown area to meet Mike. I parked at the corner of Ash and Columbia and took a quick glance at myself in the rearview mirror. The bruising on my face seemed to be less pronounced, but there was no denying that I looked like a raccoon. At least I was downtown, where sights like my face might blend in.

  Mike had suggested meeting at the Columbia Street Brewery and, as the name indicated, it was on Columbia Street. Situated between several of the newer skyscrapers to creep up the downtown San Diego landscape, it was an after-hours hot spot.

  The interior consisted of oak, brass, and glass. The giant mirrors on the walls made the interior look twice as large as it actually was. The restaurant area was pushed off to the left, tables nearly stacked on top of one another to accommodate the growing crowd. The bar ran lengthwise down the right side, bartenders in T-shirts and jeans scurrying back and forth behind it.

  I hesitated in the entryway, scanning the crowd. As my eyes panned across the room, I realized I wasn’t just looking for Mike. My brain was keeping an eye out for Lonnie and Mo, as well. It was silly to think they’d be at this kind of place, but the beating had put me on full alert.

  I found Mike at the far end of the bar. He was loosening the blue and red tie from the collar on his white oxford. He glanced at me, looked away for a second, then whipped back in my direction.

  His eyes widened as I approached.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” he asked.

  “Hazard of the job,” I said, extending my hand and avoiding an explanation.

  He shook it and nodded at the stool next to him. “Sit down before I have to pick you up.”

  “I’m okay.”

  He looked at me. His light brown hair was cut close to his head. His eye color matched the hair and his complexion was vibrant and tan, not something you usually see on an attorney who spends a lot of time in his office. He was a couple of years older than me and I hadn’t seen him in a few months, but every time I saw him, he seemed to get younger.

  “You seriously alright?” he asked.

  “Fine.”

  Mike stared at me for a second, then shrugged. He waved at the bartender, pointed at his beer and then the empty space in front of me.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” I said after the beer arrived.

  “Hey. Thanks for coming here,” he said. “I’m meeting a date here in a little bit.”

  “Don’t let me get in the way.”

  He grinned, exposing bright white teeth. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

  Mike lived a serious bachelor’s life and liked it that way. His good looks, charm, and wit made it easy for him.

  I took a drink from the beer and set the glass on the oak bar. “Guy came to see me. Said you sent him.”

  He finished pulling the tie from his shirt. He folded it up and shoved it in his pocket. “Pete?”

  “Pluto, yeah.”

  Mike raised eyebrows. “He actually came to see you, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  He took a drink from his beer. “I wasn’t sure if he was serious or not.” He shrugged. “Yeah, I gave him your name.”

  I looked toward the mass of working stiffs gathering after a day of depositions, day trading, and number crunching. “You know him well?”

  He shrugged. “Enough. I handled his mother’s estate when she died. Seems like a decent guy.”

  “You know the brother?”

  Mike smirked and rolled his eyes. “Linc? Sort of. He was kind of a little prick the two times he came to my office. I tried to chalk it up to the fact that he’d just lost a family member, but I got the feeling it was a regular thing with him.”

  As I watched the overpaid yuppies laugh and talk, I thought of Peter Pluto’s body in the canyon. Liz hadn’t released his name yet, so I didn’t feel ready to mention it to Mike.

  “What’s P
eter do for a living?” I asked.

  Mike thought about that for a second. “Was selling real estate when I first met him. Assume he’s doing it still.” He grabbed his glass off the bar. “What’s going on, Noah?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “Any idea where the kid would go?”

  “No clue,” he said. “Pete just said he couldn’t find his brother and he was worried. I gave him your name.” He paused, stared at me a little harder for a moment. “This have anything to do with the way you look?”

  I laughed. “You’re not fond of my new appearance?”

  “No. It looks like you really pissed off the wrong guy.”

  I nodded and looked back at the crowd. “Something like that.”

  “Hey, Noah, if this guy’s into something you don’t want any part of, don’t feel obligated because of me.”

  I looked back at him. “My curiosity’s been piqued.”

  Mike smiled and drained the rest of his beer. “Fair enough. Well, from what I know, Pete’s a good guy. But I really only know him from the estate and trust work I did for him. He was pretty straightforward and completely hassle-free.” He set the empty glass back down on the bar. “Like I said, Linc to me was a little bit of a punk. But most of my dealings were with Pete.”

  “Any way I could find out about that trust left to Linc?” I asked.

  He frowned. “Come on. You know that’s confidential.”

  I finished my beer and nodded. “Yeah, but look at my face.”

  His frown morphed into a reluctant smile. “I don’t think there’s much there, but I’ll see what I can get you.”

  “Peter said Linc had hooked up with the wrong crowd at some point. Any clue as to what he meant?”

  He thought about it, then nodded. “Yeah. Pete tell you anything about the father?”

  “He got pretty upset when I asked, so I didn’t push it.”

  Mike nodded, as if that sounded right. “Not surprised. He was into the white supremacy thing. And Linc got into it, too. I’d assume that would be the wrong crowd Pete was talking about.”

  I thought of Lonnie and Mo. “How involved was Linc?”

  “Not really sure,” Mike said. “Pete didn’t go into it much. I think he was embarrassed by it. I just knew he was worried about him.”