The ocean air hit me hard and I took a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs.
Carter straddled one of the patio chairs, his arms crossed over the back of it. “Why’d you lie to Matellion when he asked if you knew who killed Malia?”
I wondered if he’d picked up on that. Should’ve known.
“Didn’t see the point of sending him after them,” I said.
“Why’d you just lie to me?”
I laughed, but didn’t say anything.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m happy. Means we get to go get them ourselves.”
“Figured if we go get them there’s a better chance they actually end up in jail,” I said.
“If a little worse for the wear.”
“You better believe it.”
“When do we go find them, then?” he asked.
“Tomorrow, I think.” I paused, watching the lines form in the water. “Look, I’m not sure what’s gonna happen when we find them. But it’s probably gonna get ugly. You cool with that?”
“Cool with that? Are you serious?”
“Just putting it out there.”
“Dude, I am down with whatever happens. As far as I’m concerned, with what they did to you, if we’re the last ones to ever see them,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “good for the rest of the world.”
I couldn’t have agreed more.
Forty-five
Carter and Dana left to go do their exciting things and I tried not to think about it.
I changed into a pair of board shorts and grabbed my board and trudged down to the sand in the hazy, early evening sunshine.
The tension and soreness that had riddled my body for most of the day emptied itself out into the ocean. The waves weren’t great-three-footers that were a little mushy-but they were enough to give me what I needed. Lots of little maneuvers that took concentration and forced me to think only about what I was doing in the water. The water was never deceiving. What you see is what you get and I would always appreciate that.
An hour and a half later, I was showered and sitting in front of a sandwich and a Red Trolley when I dialed Wellton’s number.
“How’s Pluto holding up?” I asked after we exchanged greetings.
“He’s fine,” Wellton said. “Pissed, but he’s fine. You make any progress?”
“Come on,” I said. “I just left you a couple of hours ago.”
“I’m not kidding, Braddock. Unless you want me to charge him-and I’m still not promising I won’t-I can’t hold him for more than two days.”
“I’ll give you a call when I know something,” I said.
“I’ll hold my breath.”
“Don’t do that. Guy your size can’t have that big of a lung capacity.”
“No, but my dick’s bigger than anything you’ve ever seen.”
“Let’s compare next time,” I said, trying not to laugh. “Hey. Is Liz around?”
“She speaking to you?”
“Sort of.”
“Probably like that for most people.” I could almost hear him smiling. “Hang on.”
I’d thought about Liz a lot while I was on the water. It was time for me to do something more than think about her.
“Noah?” she said, her voice filling the line.
“Yeah, it’s me. Catching you at a bad time?”
“No. It’s fine. What’s going on? John said he’s got the Pluto kid here.”
“Yeah, he does, and he’s helping me out by keeping him,” I said. “I’ll owe him. But he can fill you in on that.”
She paused. “Okay.”
“You wanna get out of town this weekend?” I said before I chickened out. “With me? I was thinking of heading up to Santa Barbara. Maybe I could give you those surfing lessons.”
My words sounded rushed, awkward, and lame to me as I played them back in my head waiting for her response.
“For how long?” she said finally.
“I was thinking Friday until Monday, but we can go whenever. We could leave Saturday morning or come back Sunday night. If you want to go.”
“No, Friday to Monday is good,” she said. “Yeah. I’ll go.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a quick agreement. “You sure?”
“Don’t make me rethink it, Noah,” she said. “You asked and I said yes.”
“Right,” I said. “I’ll pick you up around eight, then, on Friday morning. We’ll stop and get breakfast somewhere.”
“That sounds nice.”
All of it did sound nice. I was glad I’d screwed up the courage to ask her.
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
“I’ll be ready,” she said, and hung up.
It was Monday. Friday seemed a long way off. I needed to get through the rest of the week first.
And then, maybe, I’d finally be ready for Liz.
Forty-six
The next afternoon the traffic was light moving out of Mission Beach and back over toward USD. I needed to talk with Professor Famazio again before I made my next move, and I didn’t want to do it over the phone. I’d called his office several times in the morning but kept getting his voice mail. I got tired of the phone calls and walked into his office as he was packing up his briefcase.
“Mr. Braddock,” he said. “You’re still alive.”
“Dumb luck.”
“The dumb part I believe.”
“Do you have a minute?” I asked. “Was hoping you could help me with something.”
He looked at his watch. “I’ve got about ten minutes before our department meeting.” He gestured at the chair across the desk. “Sit.”
I slid into the chair. “I’ll be quick. You mentioned before that you had a database of information. Names, addresses, records. I was wondering if you might be able to check for a name and address in it.”
He was leafing through a stack of papers on the desk. “I suppose. Can I ask why?”
“Part of the investigation,” I said. “I got a name and I’m trying to track him down.”
He looked at me. “Tell me first about the campground. Did you go?”
I told him what had happened. He had, after all, tipped me to the location and what was going on.
“You knew the girl?” he asked.
“Very briefly. I met her while looking for the kid.”
He shook his head. “Animals.”
“Yeah. Everything you’ve told me has been dead-on.”
“One of the few things I’d rather not be right about.” He swiveled in the chair toward a laptop on a small desk to his left. “You have a name?”
“Lonnie.”
“Last name?”
“Don’t know.”
He tapped the keys. “Any distinct body art?”
“Swastika above his eyebrow. His partner had WHITE IS RIGHT tattooed on his forehead.”
Famazio chuckled softly. “Superb.”
“His name was Mo. No last name on him, either.”
He tapped the keys a few more times, staring intently at the screen. He leaned back in the chair. “Lonnie Kerrigan. Several assault convictions. Twenty-six years old with a swastika on his head. Sound like him?”
My heart pounded a little faster. “Yeah.”
“It’s a Santee address.” He scribbled it on a piece of paper. “Other guy’s name was Mo?”
“Yes.”
Famazio looked back at the screen. “He’s also in here. Last name Barnes. Done jail time, too. Same address.”
“Not surprised. They seem tight.”
He slid the paper across the desk to me. “Should I even bother warning you about these two? What I’ve got on them indicates that they are two particularly hateful individuals.”
“I’m aware of what they are,” I said, my voice carrying more edge than I had intended.
Famazio stared at me for a moment. “Yes, I guess you are. No warning, then.”
I stood. “Thank you for your help. Again.”
His eyes were probing me, searching. Finally, he got up from behind his desk.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “And I hope it goes well for you.”
“It?” I asked, shoving the piece of paper in my pocket.
“Whatever you are planning for these folks,” Professor Gerald Famazio said. “I hope it goes well for you.”
Forty-seven
I was driving back to Mission Beach, trying to ignore the weight of the slip of paper in my pocket, when my cell phone rang.