Hail Mary (14 page)

* * *

With Junior waiting in the van’s front seat, surrounded by treats and chew toys, I met Ryan Wiseman in a trendy bar in Costa Mesa. By trendy, I meant uncomfortable and not very cozy. From the metal counter down to the backless stools. I mean, give a brother something to lean on. After all, something has to keep the drunks upright. Anyway, the floor was wood, which was okay, but I wasn’t sure about the ladder that reached up to the more expensive drinks high above the bar. A ladder? If I want a drink, I want it now. I don’t want to wait for some goofball to climb up and down a ladder.

“
Great bar, huh?” said Ryan. Ryan was a little older than I had pictured. He was maybe thirty and sported a long, scraggly goatee that was all kinds of filthy. He wore stained cargo shorts and a stained tee shirt, and it looked like I was picking up the tab. Again.

“
Maybe the greatest ever,” I said.

“
No shit, huh?”

“
No shit.”

Ryan was drinking a dark beer that had about an inch of head still on it. The bartender came by and asked what I wanted and I said a stool with a back on it and he laughed. I didn’t laugh. Since the stool wasn’t going to happen, I ordered a Foster’s because I liked their commercials.

As I ordered, I noticed Ryan looking me over. He nodded, seemingly impressed. “Jesus, you’re huge.”

“
I am huge,” I said. “And don’t call me Jesus.”

He blinked hard, and his goatee quivered. Hell of a blink. Then he started nodding and his goatee flapped in nine different directions. “I get it. From
Airplane
. Man, I love that movie.”

My beer came and I took a healthy pull from it. This was beginning to feel like a bad date. A mandate. Time to get to business.

“
You called me about the flyer,” I said, and I was beginning to wonder if the guy was just here for the free beer.

Ryan nodded eagerly, yet his goatee somehow flapped sideways, which defied logic and gravity. I was certain he was on something. Or maybe his goatee was.

“
Yeah, man. A buddy of mine over at Pipeline had this flyer in his backpack. And I was like...whoa! I know this dude!”

“
How do you know him?”

“
He’s the candy man.”

“
Candy man?”

“
You know...jive sticks.”

“
Jive sticks?”

“
Puff the magic dragon, broheim. The wacky terbacky.”

“
Marijuana,” I said. “You’re saying Mitch was your supplier.”

Now Ryan began shaking his head. “He was more than a supplier, dude bro. He was a man with a vision.”

“
What kind of vision?”

“
The big picture, mister. He didn’t just sell the love weed...he sold dreams.”

“
Sure he did,” I said. “And what’s the big picture?”

“
Life, man. Living. Live and let live. His money didn’t just line his pockets.”

“
Where did it go?”

“
To the cause, boss. Mitch Golden was a good guy, with a big heart. He sold the jolly green to help the little guys.”

“
Little guys?”

“
The animals, man,” he said.

“
Of course,” I said. “How close were you to Mitch?”

“
We were close. We were dude-bros.”

“
Dude-bros. Got it. So why did you call me down here, Ryan?”

He blinked hard and his red eyes seemed a little redder. And wetter, too. “I’m pretty sure I know why he was killed.”

Stoner or not, Ryan seemed sincere. Either way, I wanted to hear his story. I waited. Ryan collected himself. He even stroked his goatee as if it were a pet squirrel. Maybe it was.

“
He stole from them, man.”

“
Stole from who?”

“
His hookups in L.A.”

“
How do you know this?”

“
Because we were dude-bros.”

“
And dude-bros tell each other everything?”

“
Most certainly,” he said. He wiped his eyes, and you couldn’t help but feel for the pathetic pothead. “The Interceptor needed massive repairs.”

“
The Interceptor?”

“
The rig, man. The boat Mitch used to stop the fucking finners. Like a fucking superhero. The Interceptor needed repairs and Mitch skimmed some of the money. He was going to pay them back...”

“
But he didn’t.”

“
He asked for more time.”

“
But they didn’t give it.”

He shook his head. “They wasted a good man. He was doing the right thing, you know. Helping the little guys.”

Ryan drank deeply from his beer, which, I was certain, would only add to his melancholy.

“
I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “Any idea who might have wasted him?”

“
The drug lords, man. The big guys.”

“
The big guys,” I said.

Ryan nodded and finished his beer, and sat back on his backless stool. After a short while, I left a $20 bill on the bar, well away from Ryan, clapped the stoner on the shoulder, and headed out to my own little guy.

Chapter Thirty-five

I was in Detective Hansen’s office in Huntington Beach.

He was leaning back with his feet crossed at one corner of his desk. His ankles were tan in a way that suggested artificial lighting. He wore thick-soled loafers that could have been hand-stitched. I doubted these were regulation shoes. Cops in Huntington Beach were rebels.

Hansen was nodding. “Makes sense. All signs were pointing to a drug hit on our end, too,” he said. A file, now a good deal thicker than the file I had seen earlier, was open on his lap. The pages were held in place by folded prongs. Hansen lifted one of the pages absently.

“
There were rumors of a drug hit at first,” he said. “But his girlfriend was adamant that it had been these shark hunters.”

“
She claimed Mitch was threatened by one of them.”

“
Right,” said Sanchez. “Except most of these illegal shark hunters, according to you and according to my pals at the DFG—”

“
Your dude-bros?”

“
My what?”

“
Never mind,” I said. “Go on.”

Hansen stared at me for three seconds, then shook his head. “Anyway, it appears most of these illegal shark hunters, or finners, are poor Mexicans simply venturing deeper into American waters.”

“
Hardly an organized group.”

He nodded. “Exactly. And from what I understand, Mitch and his boys used their boat to give these hunters hell, harassing them, cutting lines, and generally chasing them off.”

“
Admirable,” I said, “and certainly likely to warrant a threat from one or two of them.”

“
So one of the Mexican fishermen waves his fist angrily at Mitch and his boys, and his girlfriend thinks that’s motive.”

“
Something like that,” I said.

“
Except what’s more likely is that this was a drug hit, especially in light of your latest evidence.”

“
Ryan Wiseman,” I said. “The dude-bro.”

“
We’ve talked to him, too, now. His statement’s on record and it jives with everything else we’ve been hearing. Witness after witness claim that Mitch Golden was skimming money for The Cause.”

“
Like they say,” I said. “You can lose a shipment or even get caught by the police, but just don’t steal from them.”

“
Stealing is a death wish.”

We were both silent, both meditative. Two broheims contemplating life, drugs, and everything in-between. “So where does this leave us?” said Hansen.

“
We technically still have an unsolved murder,” I said.

“
Except we have a likely idea who did it.”

“
Drug hit.”

Hansen nodded. “To find out who ordered the hit would take massive man power. Would take more man power than we have available. And in the end...”

“
In the end,” I said, “he was just another drug dealer.”

“
A drug dealer and a thief, from all appearance.”

“
A thief who helped the little guys.”

Hansen uncrossed his golden ankles and sat forward in his slightly squeaky chair. “I’m closing this file.”

“
Figured you would,” I said.

“
I mean, officially it’s open. But unofficially, it’s dead in the water.”

“
Fitting choice of words.”

Hansen asked, “You still working for his girlfriend?”

“
I am.”

“
What will you do?”

“
I’ll talk with her,” I said.

Chapter Thirty-six

We were sitting on a bench at Mile Square Park in Fountain Valley.

Junior was on a leash and sniffing near the bench. Whenever a jogger came by, he huddled between my legs and sometimes lost control of his bladder. Heidi Mann was sitting next to me. She was wearing big sunglasses, unflattering shorts and a Dodger baseball cap. Although I couldn’t see her eyes, I knew she was following Junior’s every move. I had spent the past fifteen minutes catching her up to date. The story had naturally come around to Junior and his captivity.

Now we were sitting quietly, and Heidi had a renewed interest in Junior who was now sniffing the hell out of a big, lumpy bird crap.

“
How are his paws?” she finally asked.

“
Mostly healed. Same with his muzzle.”

“
How’s he eating?”

“
Normally enough. Big healthy craps, too, if that’s any indication.”

She smiled. Her first smile. “Good to know.”

“
He’s scared of strangers, especially men, and as you might have noticed, it took him a little while to warm up, even to you.”

“
Do you blame him?”

“
Not one bit.”

“
He might have issues for the rest of his life.”

“
I have no doubt,” I said.

“
But you won’t get rid of him?”

“
Never,” I said.

“
You are my hero.”

“
I’m definitely his hero. I’m also Cindy’s hero, too.”

“
Your girlfriend?”

“
Yes.”

“
You mention her a lot.”

“
I think about her a lot, too.”

She nodded and looked away. “I know the feeling.”

We were quiet. I watched Junior move on to another, slightly older bird crap, before jerking his head up and growling. I jerked my head up, too. About halfway through the park, or about a half a mile away, a man was jogging alone. Yeah, he was going to have issues.

“
Did you really name him after yourself?” she asked.

“
It’s a good name,” I said. “But he goes by Junior.”

“
I hate them,” she said.

I wasn’t sure which
them
she was referring to. The drug bosses who killed her boyfriend, or the shark hunters who were going to use Junior as bait? Either way, we were silent for another five minutes before she turned and faced me. She took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were red and raw.

“
I think we’re going to terminate your employment,” she said.

“
Figured you would.”

“
It was different when I thought the killers were...”

“
The shark hunters?” I offered.

“
It was easier to hate them.” She took in a lot of air, nearly broke down, but didn’t. Close call. “I knew Mitch was up to something, though.”

“
You didn’t know about the drugs?”

“
I knew something wasn’t right. Let me put it this way, I’m not surprised. Often he would come to our meetings talking about a big donation he had secured from a wealthy client. The money always went to the organization, so I didn’t worry about it too much. Now I know where the money was coming from.”