21
His eyes opened, and Pike was as alert as if it were the middle of the afternoon, not two in the morning. Sleep would not come again after the dream, so he rose and pulled on briefs and shorts. He thought for a moment that he might read, but he usually exercised after the dreams. The exercise worked better for him.
He put on the blue Nike running shoes, then buckled on a small fanny pack, not bothering to turn on the lights. He was comfortable in the dark. Years ago, the Marine doctors told him that his excellent night vision was due to high levels of vitamin A and 'fast rhodopsin,' which meant that the pigment in his retinas which responded to dim light was very sensitive. Cat eyes, they called it.
He let himself out into the cool night air, and stretched to loosen his hamstrings. Even though he often ran forty miles a week, his muscles were loose from the years of yoga and martial arts, and responded well. He settled the fanny pack on his hips, then jogged out across the complex grounds, through the security door, and into the street. The fanny pack held his keys, and a small black .25 caliber Beretta. You never know.
Much of his running was done early like this, and he found peace in it. The city was quiet. When he chose, he could run on the crown of the street, or through parks or across a golf course. He enjoyed the natural feel of grass and earth, and knew these feelings were resonances from his youth.
He ran west on Washington Boulevard toward the ocean, taking it easy for the first quarter mile to let his body warm, then picked up his pace. The air was cool, and a ground fog
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hazed the streets. The fog caught the light and hid the stars, which he didn't like. He enjoyed reading the constellations, and finding his way by them. There was a time as a young Marine when his life depended on it, and he found comfort in the certainty of celestial mechanics. Two or three times every year, he and his friend Elvis Cole would backpack or hunt in remote terrain, and, during those times, they would test themselves and each other by navigating via the sun and moon and stars. More times, Pike would venture out alone to remote and alien locales. He had learned long ago that a compass and GPS could fail. You had to look to yourself. You could only depend upon yourself.
Images came. Flashing snapshot pictures of his childhood, of women he had known, men he had seen die, and men he had killed. Of his friend and partner Elvis Cole, of the people he employed in his various businesses. Sometimes he would ponder these images, but other times he would fold them smaller and smaller until they vanished.
He followed Washington Boulevard as it curved north through Venice, then left Main for Ocean Avenue, where he could hear the waves crashing on the beach below the bluff.
Pike increased his kick past the Santa Monica Pier, past the shopping carts and homeless encampments, extending his stride as he worked his way to a six-minute-mile pace. He sprinted past the Ivy-by-the-Shore and the hotels, feeling himself peak, holding that peak, then throttled back to an easy jog before walking to the rail at the edge of the bluff, where he stopped to look at the sea.
He watched ships, stars on a black horizon. A breeze caressed his back, inland air drawn to the warmth of the sea. Above him, dried palm fronds rustled. A lone car slid past, lost in the night.
Here on the bluff overlooking the water, there were green lawns and bike paths and towering palms. A bush to his right rustled, and he knew it was a girl before he saw her.
'Are you Matt?'
She was tentative, but not afraid. Early twenties or late teens, with short hair bleached white, and wide brown eyes
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that looked at him expectantly. A faded green backpack hung from her shoulder.
'You're Matt?'
'No.'
She seemed disappointed, but was completely relaxed, as if the reality that she should be frightened of a strange man in so deserted a place had never occurred to her. 'I guess you wouldn't be. I'm Trudy.'
'Joe.'
He turned back to the lights on the horizon.
'Pleased to meet you, Joe. I'm running away, too.'
He considered her briefly again, wondering why she had chosen those words, then returned to the ships.
Trudy leaned against the rail, trying to see over the edge of the bluff to Palisades Beach Road. She gave no indication of leaving. Pike thought that he might start running again.
She said, 'Are you real?'
'No.'
'No kidding, now. I want to know.'
He held out his hand.
Trudy touched him with a finger, then gripped his wrist, as if she didn't trust her first touch.
'Well, you might've been a vision or something. I have them, you know. Sometimes I imagine things.'
When Pike didn't respond, she said, 'I've changed my mind. I don't think you're running away. I think you're running toward.'
'Is that a vision? Or something you imagined?'
She stared up at him as if she had to consider which it might be, then shook her head. 'An observation.'
'Look.'
Three coyotes had appeared at the edge of the light, having worked their way up the bluff from the Palisades. Two of them sniffed at one of the garbage cans that dotted the park, the third trotted across Ocean Avenue and disappeared in an alley. They looked like thin gray dogs. Scavengers.
Trudy said, 'It's so amazing that wild things can live here in the city, isn't it?'
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'Wild things are everywhere.'
Trudy grinned at him again. 'Well. That's certainly deep.'
The two coyotes suddenly came alert, looking north toward the Palisades an instant before Pike heard the coyote pack's song. Their singing rode down on the breeze coming out of the hills, and Pike guessed their number at between eight and twelve. The two coyotes by the garbage cans looked at each other, then lifted their snouts to test the air.
The girl said, 'That's such a terrible sound.'
'It means they have food.'
She hitched her backpack. 'They eat people's pets. They'll bait a dog away from its home, then surround it and rip it to pieces.'
Pike knew that to be true, but still. 'They have to live.'
The singing grew to a higher pitch. The two coyotes by the garbage can stood frozen.
