U Is For Undertow

When he reached the intersection of Capillo and Palisade, I thought he’d turn right, but he continued on past City College, neatly avoiding Seashore Park. He caught the southbound freeway and I tucked in behind him, easing off the gas to allow another car between us. By the time he reached the Old Coast Road off-ramp, there were two cars between us and I felt I was sufficiently protected to avoid notice. He made a sedate left-hand turn and came up on the far side of the underpass. He had to be heading for the bank. I couldn’t guess his purpose unless Walker emerged with suitcases in hand, in which case I’d assume both were preparing to flee. Corso pulled into the bank parking lot and I drove by, making a mental note of his license plate:

THRILLR

I made a quick turn onto Center Road, reversed in a motel parking lot, and cut back, passing the bank again just as Walker ducked into the car. Corso pulled out of the lot. I kept him in sight as he crossed the intersection and eased from Old Coast Road onto the freeway, driving north. I wondered what they were up to. Did Walker know Michael Sutton was dead? Was that the arrangement they’d made? Corso would strike while Walker established an ironclad alibi? What about the risk to Jon, whose car had been spotted at the scene? It seemed clear Walker wasn’t leaving town, at least in the next half-hour, so perhaps the purpose of the meeting was to bring Walker up to speed before Jon disappeared on his own.

It all seemed so pointless. If Henry was right about the burial of the marked bills, I didn’t see how either one of them could feel endangered. The only trump out against them was the shaky report of a six-year-old boy, who’d seen nothing incriminating. If word of my queries had leaked back to Walker, he might have wondered about my interest, but it hardly merited radical action. Shooting Michael Sutton was a miscalculation, overkill, as it were. Perhaps they didn’t realize Sutton had no credibility and was therefore harmless.

My current course was set and I was stuck with it. If I hadn’t decided to cruise by Corso’s house, I wouldn’t be tailing the two of them now, engaging in all this endless speculation about why they were together and where they intended to go. Guess I’d find out. Ahead of me, Jon took the off-ramp at Little Pony Road and turned left. At the top of the rise, he was caught by a red light. I was three cars behind. If he’d spotted me, he gave no indication. His driving was circumspect as he turned left through the intersection and drove toward the beach.

Were they looking for a private spot? That was the only thing I could figure, given their route. Why did they need privacy at all when they could have chatted by phone? Surely they didn’t imagine the lines were tapped. How paranoid would that be? I saw the Jaguar slow and turn left again into an unmarked side road I knew from times past. They were heading for Passion Peak, the pocket park that had been closed for two years, after a wildfire swept through it.

Here’s what occurred to me: What if Jon was doing a quick mop-up campaign, eliminating anyone who posed a threat to him? He was set for an imminent departure, destination unknown. Now that Sutton was out of the way, was Walker next?

I pulled over to the shoulder of the road and got out, leaving my car ru

Walker climbed the hill a few steps behind Jon. He’d wakened early, finding himself at peace for the first time in weeks. He felt good. He had energy and optimism. He’d suddenly turned a corner. He had no idea why or when the shift had occurred. When he’d opened his eyes that morning at the Pelican Motel, a sight that should have been depressing was actually all right. He’d have preferred to be home with his wife and kids, but for now, he could do this. It dawned on him that being clean and sober felt better than the best moment of being drunk. He didn’t want to live as he had, from happy hour to happy hour, drink to drink, from one hangover to the next. It was as if a heavy set of chains had fallen away. His demons had loosened their hold and he was light as air. The battle wasn’t over. Come 5:00, he’d probably still have the urge to drink. But he knew now all he had to do was what he’d been doing for the past ten days. Just not drink. Just not succumb. Just think of something else until the urge went away. Being clean and sober for ten days hadn’t killed him. The alcohol had been killing him. The absence of alcohol was to be celebrated-and not with a drink or a cigarette or a pill or anything else that might come between him and his own soul. If he could attribute the sense of well-being to anything, it was his decision to turn himself in. In his conversation with Jon, he’d implied that he was still on the fence, but it wasn’t true, He wondered if this was the euphoria experienced by someone bent on suicide. Turning himself in would be the end of life as he knew it, and that was okay with him. He’d brave it, all of it-the shame, the humiliation, the public castigation. That was the deal he’d made twenty-one years earlier. There was no escaping his fate, and he accepted that now. Drinking created the illusion he’d gotten away with something, but he couldn’t obliterate the burden in his soul. Owning up would do it, taking responsibility.

At the crest of the hill he paused to absorb the view. Southern California was at its best in April. Wildflowers had sprung up in the meadow and the long grass rustled in the wind. It was quiet up here, even against the faint noise of traffic that rose from the town below. Jon moved over to a table, where he stood, arms crossed, his hip resting against the edge. In early March, a storm had blown in with hard rain and high winds that had downed trees and torn off branches that now littered the area. Walker bent and picked up a stick. He flung it like a boomerang, though it whipped off without returning.

“I guess we better talk while we can,” Jon said.

Walker sat on a picnic bench, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together loosely. “I was thinking about it on the way over. This business with Sutton won’t work. I don’t want to be on the hook to him, you know? Waiting around for his next appearance. Fuck that. The whole point in coming clean is we don’t have to sweat this stuff. It’s over and done.”

“For you. We still have the problem of how I come out of it unscathed.”

“We already went through this-”

“I know we did. I was hoping you’d come up with a solution. So far, I haven’t heard one. Get me out of the line of fire. That’s all I ask.”

“I’m still racking my brain.” Walker looked at his watch. “What time did you tell him? Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

“I told him half an hour.”

“Well, where is the little shit? You called me at noon.”

“That was twenty-five minutes ago. You’re avoiding the subject.”

“Which is what, how you keep out of the line of fire?”

“Right. I’d like to hear your thoughts.”