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
“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
