Stagger Bay

As Sam helped me hobble toward Natalie’s, that redheaded newscaster peered at me over Big Moe’s shoulder. I wasn’t going to be able to dodge that promised exclusive interview much longer.

Chapter 66

Natalie’s door was wide open, and she stood in it with the light from inside backlighting her like enclosure.

“You’re a mess,” she said, canting her head to the side with hooded eyes. “Listen, Markus – I know you like to take your time and all, but you have to get some kind of move on eventually. Randy and I are going clothes shopping tomorrow, and you might want to tag along. That raggedy outfit is tired – it’s time to shuck it off and put it away for good, time to move on to where you need to be.”

Elaine had arrived before us with Karl’s hard-bought box of evidence. Sam helped me totter to the porch, and then Elaine picked up the box, stepped over to me, and plopped it at my feet.

“Now it’s on you,” she said with a grimace.

“Thanks loads,” I said. “Really looking forward to it.”

She chuckled at my tone, knowing how neatly she’d trapped me: if I really didn’t want my potential daughter- in-law to go through with whatever scam she had cooking, I had to take responsibility for this package.

But if Elaine thought she’d pulled a fast one on me, she might not be so tickled when I made sure she never folded on the injunction preserving the Gardens. Whether she knew it or not she was gonna ram that one through till the Man puked, with me standing behind her, arms crossed and tapping my foot.

I was free now, freer than I’d ever been in my life. I felt bigger than I ever had before, like I could rip the sky open with my bare hands tonight. But I was also juggling a lot of options, a million things I could turn my back on or face all the way, a potentially overwhelming number of decisions to make:

If I stayed in Stagger Bay and opposed Tubbs. If I walked through Natalie’s door and saw where that led us.

‘If’ I called Agent Miller? Please. It had nothing to do with whether or not I could trust the law – when I got ahold of him I knew he’d be up within hours, with bells on.

If.

God’s will, Natalie said. I still had my doubts about me being the kind of tool the Big Man would use if he existed. But I looked up at the stars, feeling the need to hedge my bets here at the end.

“Thank you,” I said, to whoever might be listening: Karl, or God, or Mister Montaigne and his homies – or most likely nobody at all.

“You’re welcome,” Sam said with an airy wave.

He stared at something behind me and I turned to follow his gaze. About a block down I saw that foxy redheaded Oakland newscaster closing in with cameraman in tow. I couldn’t hide from her anymore; it was time to keep my promise to her.

Seeing that camera inspired me to fumble Alden Wong’s business card out my otherwise empty wallet – first things first.

‘The biggest soap box in the world,’ the little agent had said. It would mean living in the fishbowl a little while longer. But what was wrong with a payout if I didn’t have to whore myself too hard, and if nobody else got hurt? “I need the phone one more time,” I said. “I need to call a man about a little thing.”

“No,” Sam said with a grin as he recognized the card. “That’s my Dad,” he noted to all and sundry. “The fucking old sellout.”

Sam smirked at me, awaiting my obligatorily obnoxious reply. But I just looked at him, keeping my proud fondness for him hidden in my heart as was always best.

Even though my son was mocking up on me harshly as ever, he’d been willing to call me ‘Dad’ twice in one night. Maybe, if I had patience and played my cards right, with any luck he’d call me the ‘D’ word again sometime.

Sam was still the typical teenager he’d been before tonight: an insolent little spud to be sure. But at least I’d made sure my son wasn’t a killer. It meant much that I’d kept that from happening here: Sam was still clean.

I dialed Alden’s number. He picked up on the first ring.

And I guess if you watch much TV at all or listen to the radio, if you surf the Internet, read the papers, or thumb through the tabloid magazines stacked high at every grocery checkout in America, you KNOW what happened next.

About The Author

Pearce Hansen is an East Bay native who writes about what he knows: the streets of Oakland and her sister cities, the place he grew up. His work inspired by his experiences on those crazy blocks, Pearce has been writing 15 years and published over 80 times including four anthology inclusions; Stagger Bay is the second of his three novels to date. Pearce currently resides up on the Lost Coast behind the Redwood Curtain, empty nesting it with his wife and their spoiled fat Egyptian Mau cat.

Connect with Him Online

Twitter: http://twitter.com/@PearceHansen

Facebook: http://facebook.com/pearce.hansen

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