I walked out of the SandDune into the cool evening air. Mission Boulevard was heavy with traffic, cars crawling at a snail’s pace, but no one seeming to mind. The late summer tourists walked slowly down the street, pointing and smiling at nothing in particular.
A Toyota Camry with a thumping bass coming from the interior broke out of the line of traffic and pulled to the curb in front of me.
I stepped back and reached around my waist, touching the butt of my gun for reassurance.
The passenger window dropped and the volume of the music went down with it. A kid, about eighteen, with skin the color of black licorice leaned out. He didn’t match the photo Rolovich had shown me.
“Yo,” he said, exposing a gold tooth in the middle of his mouth. “How we get to Garnet?”
I tried to glance around him, but couldn’t see the other face behind the wheel. “About two miles up to the north. Same direction you’re going.”
He leaned on the window, a thick chain around his neck jangling against the inside of the door. “This way? You sure, dude?”
“Yeah.”
His tongue snaked out the corner of his mouth and he nodded slowly. “Cool.” He lifted his chin as a way of saying thanks, then leaned back in the car. He turned to the driver, said something, and then turned back to me. “Good thing we found you standing out here. Makes things easy, know what I’m saying?” He winked and the window and the volume of the music both went up.
The wink didn’t fit as I watched the Camry pull away from the curb, back into the northbound traffic, my heart beating faster than I would’ve liked. I took a step forward, trying to get an eye on the receding license plate, when I saw the red Escalade coming on the southbound side of Mission.
The back window on the driver’s side slid down and two gun barrels poked their heads out like a pair of twin cobras.
The kid in the Camry had done his job and served me up on a platter.
I dropped to the sidewalk, my already aching body taking another jolt, and hit the concrete, the first wave of bullets whistling above my head. Tires squealed, people screamed, and glass shattered as the guns fired into the front window of the SandDune. I ignored the throbbing in my ribs and rolled to the curb, trying to avoid the falling glass and taking cover next to the parked cars on the street.
The gunshots stopped as quickly as they’d started. An engine roared and as I moved to my knees and drew my gun, the Escalade tore down the middle of Mission and jerked left onto Mission Bay at the roller coaster, disappearing around the corner.
It was quiet for a moment and then a cacophony of confusion and fearful voices filled the air.
I looked in through the entrance of the SandDune. People were starting to stand back up inside, eyes wide with terror and shock. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it didn’t look like anyone was hurt. Marsha was on the phone, probably calling the police.
I stood up awkwardly, my muscles screaming in pain and my gun hanging impotently in my right hand. I stepped back onto the sidewalk, pieces of the painted glass that had spelled out the bar’s name crunching beneath my shoes. Sirens wailed in the distance.
I took a deep breath.
I didn’t know where Linc Pluto was.
I didn’t know who shot Rachel outside her apartment.
I didn’t know why Lonnie and Mo had killed Peter Pluto.
And I didn’t know who had just tracked me down in my own neighborhood and tried to ventilate my body with bullets.
But as I stood there amid the gunsmoke, burnt rubber, and chaos, with my stomach in knots and my thoughts speeding through my brain on a conveyor belt, I did know one thing.
It was time to go on the offensive.
Twelve
I spent an hour answering questions for a group of SDPD officers as they tried to clean up the chaos on Mission. I said I didn’t know if the shots were aimed at me. That was the truth. I assumed they were meant for me, but I didn’t know that for certain and I didn’t plan on spending the whole night explaining myself.
Being shot at made me think about Rachel and I hadn’t been to the hospital yet to visit her. While I wasn’t enamored with visiting a hospital again so soon after being released, I wanted to get out of Mission Beach and I needed to talk to her.
I made the drive to Sharp, my muscles stiffening up and throbbing after another long drive, reminding me that I wasn’t recovered yet. I needed one more good night’s sleep, but I wasn’t sure if I’d get it.
I called the hospital on my way over, asked for Rachel’s room. She sounded tired when she answered, but told me she wouldn’t mind if I stopped by and gave me her room number.
A lady at the information desk in the lobby directed me to the fifth floor and I found Rachel in her room, propped up in her bed, watching TV.
She looked at me when I stuck my head in the doorway. “Hi.”
I held up a hand and waved. The color was gone from her face. Her red hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. She looked small and weak.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’m okay, I guess.”
I pointed at the chair next to the bed. “You mind?”
“No. Go ahead.” She watched me sit down. “What happened to you?”
“Got in a fight with the wrong guys,” I said, trying to find a comfortable position where my back didn’t feel like it was on fire.
“Have you found Linc?”
“No. Not yet.”
She turned back to the TV. It was tuned to one of those home decorating shows that I tried to never watch.
“So,” I said. “You’re going to be okay?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”
“Where did the bullet hit you?”
She winced when I said bullet. “Just below my collarbone, I guess. They said it went out my back.”
“That’s good.”
“Unfortunately, it hit my collarbone,” she said. “It’s fractured.”
That was going to make her uncomfortable for a while. “How long will you be here?”
“A couple more days,” she said. “They wanna make sure there’s no infection and that it starts to heal okay.”
“I’m sure it will.”
She glanced at me. “Yeah.”
We listened to the host of the show ramble on about colors.
“What happened at your apartment, Rachel?” I asked.
“I already told the police.”
“I know, and I’m sorry to bring it up again. But can you tell me, too?”
She sighed, kept her eyes on the show. “Someone knocked on the door. We thought maybe it was you again. I opened the door, but no one was there. I walked outside to see if anyone was around. I didn’t see anyone, so I guessed someone was just messing with us.” She went silent for a moment. “That’s when it happened.”
“Did you see the gun?”
She shook her head.
“Any cars you recognized?”
She shook her head again. “There were a bunch of cars on the street. I heard this big bang. Then I felt something hit me-hard. After that I don’t remember a whole lot other than being in pain.” She looked away-I could tell it wasn’t easy for her to talk about what had happened. She was still scared and still confused. And she had a right to be.
“I told you I got in a fight,” I said. “It was with some other guys looking for Linc-skinheads, Rachel. Do you know anything about them? Or have you seen them around the apartments?”
She wiped the tears off of her face and took a deep breath. “Skinheads? No. That doesn’t sound like Linc.” She sighed and turned back to the TV. “Does Linc have something to do with what happened to me?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” I started to feel guilty for coming. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue and I wasn’t helping. “Can I get you anything, Rachel?”
She sighed again and her eyes fluttered. “Um…some more water, maybe?” She turned to the side. “There’s a pitcher, but it’s empty.”
I grabbed the pitcher off the table and stood. “Be right back.”
I walked down to the nurses’ station and had them refill the pitcher with water and ice. When I walked back into the room, Rachel was asleep.