“San Andrйs…”
Saint Andrew, my ass, Dave thinks.
Then he hears voices.
It's a night for weird voices. It could be the wind playing tricks, but these voices seem to be coming from below.
He walks around and opens the hatch.
Can't fucking believe what he sees:
Six, maybe seven young girls huddled together.
118
Dave gags.
Even standing on deck in the sea air, the bottom reeks of vomit, urine, and shit, and Dave has to fight not to gag. Dave the Love God is seriously shaken up, maybe for the first time in his entire life. “Stay there,” he yells, shoving his palms out to make his point. “Just stay there!”
He strides back to the wheelhouse. Esteban is picking himself up off the deck. Dave grabs him by the front of the shirt and shoves him against the wheel.
“What the fuck?” Dave yells.
Esteban just shakes his head.
“I didn't sign up for this!” Dave hollers. “Nobody told me about this!”
“I'm sorry!”
“Where's Juan Carlos?”
Esteban points to the water. “He fell over.”
Good, Dave thinks. Adi-fucking-os. He'd just as soon toss Esteban over the side, too, but he needs him to help get these kids off the sinking boat and into the Zodiac.
It isn't easy.
The girls are sick, dizzy, and scared to death, reluctant to leave what little safety they have on the boat for the pitching sea. It takes all of Dave's lifeguard demeanor to calm them down and get them into his boat. He gets in first and stretches up his arms while Esteban hands them down one by one. He settles them into the Zodiac, carefully arranging them to balance the weight.
The boat is going to be too heavy and sit too low in the water to be really safe, but there isn't really a choice. He either leaves them out here or he does his best to get them all in. He's not so worried about the open sea-the storm is calming down and he can negotiate the swells. The critical moment is going to be busting through the shore break, where the overloaded boat could easily flip or swamp. He doubts any of these kids are strong swimmers. If he doesn't bring the boat in upright, most of them will probably drown in the heavy white water that comes with the big swell.
Esteban hands the last girl down and then starts to climb in.
Dave stops him.
“You're not on the list, pacheco. ”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Turn the boat around and take it back to Mexico,” Dave says. “What do you usually do?”
“I can't go back,” Esteban says.
“Why not?”
Esteban hesitates, then says, “I killed Juan Carlos. He was going to leave them out here.”
“Get in.”
Dave works his way to the aft of the boat.
There's no place for him to sit down, so he stands.
119
Boone pulls into Teddy's driveway and gets out of the car.
The night air is wet, somewhere between mist and gentle rain. The light coming from Teddy's living room window looks soft and warm.
Boone can see them through the window. Teddy's at the bar, fixing a stiff and dirty martini. Tammy paces the room. He tries to give her the drink, but she won't take it, so Teddy sips it himself.
He looks startled when Boone rings the doorbell.
Looks to Tammy, who looks back at him and shrugs.
Boone waits as Teddy opens the door a crack, the chain link left on. Boone shoves the pistol through the crack and says, “Hi. Can I come in?”
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Yeah, he can.
A gun is its own invitation.
Teddy unhooks the chain lock and opens the door.
Boone goes in and kicks it shut behind him.
Teddy's house is as beautiful as he'd expected. Huge living room with a vaulted ceiling. Expensive custom paint with faux brush techniques. Expensive modern paintings and sculpture, a grand piano.
The center of the room is taken up with a floor-to-ceiling column that's a saltwater aquarium. A startlingly bright panoply of tropical fish circle serenely around the column. Tall green undersea plants stretch up toward the surface and wave like thin fingers in the mild, motor-driven current. At the back of the room, a slider gives a view of a huge spotlighted deck and, beyond that, the open ocean.
“Nice,” Boone says.
“Thanks.”
“Hi, Tammy.”
She glares at him. “What do you want?”
“Just the truth.”
“Trust me, you don't want it.”
“There's a little girl involved,” Boone says. “Now you're going to tell me the truth or, I swear, I'll splatter both of you all over this pretty room.”
Teddy walks back toward the bar. “Would you like a drink?” he asks. “You're going to need one.”
“Just the story, thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” Teddy says, “but I'm sitting down. It's been an exhausting couple of days, as you know.”
He sits down in the large leather easy chair and looks at the fish in his tank. “Tell him, Tammy. It's almost over now anyway.”
Tammy tells her story.
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Tammy grew up in El Cajon, out in East County.
The usual stereotypical stripper back story: Her dad wasn't around a lot; her mom made an unsteady living
