Victor Methos - Arsonist

Coochie’s stunk of beer and old vomit. It was a surfer bar that had been converted to a cop bar after several officers made a habit of going there after their shifts. Eventually the owner accepted the new branding and offered the officers a discounted rate on beer.

Stanton, Gunn, and several uniforms sat in the corner booth, drinking and telling war stories. Stanton sipped a Diet Coke and listened. The drunker they got, the more outlandish the stories and the more heroic their behavior. One officer was telling the story of how two drug dealers, lesbians, had offered him a threesome to let them go. He said he didn’t take them up on it and the men started laughing and shoving him and he appeared to blush and didn’t say anything further about it.

“What about you, Jon?” one of the uniforms said. “You ever take some cream or a bit of pussy?”

“This guy?” Gunn laughed. “This guy feels bad ‘cause he lied to a queer murderer.”

“Oh shit,” one of the uniforms said, “you goin’ queer on us Johnny boy?”

“Goin’?” Gunn said. “Nah, I’m just playin’. He’s going skydivin’ with me tomorrow and that takes balls.” Gunn shot the remnants of a glass of whiskey. “You know what? Fuck that, let’s go now.”

“What?” Stanton said.

“Let’s go now. I ain’t kiddin’.”

“In the dark?”

“Hell yes in the dark.”

“I don’t think we can do that.”

“I’m an instructor; we can do whatever we want.”

“I’ll pass, Stephen.”

“I’ll tell you what. You come skydivin’ with me tonight, right now, and I’ll tell you why your little girlfriend won’t help us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I did some checking up. I’ll tell you why she won’t help us.”

“Why?”

“Nope. You gotta go night-divin’ with me. Right now.”

The men started tapping their fists against the table chanting, “Go, go, go, go, go.”

“Do you really know?” Stanton said. “’Cause if you don’t, and I do this, I’m going to shoot you in the knees.”

“Hand to heaven. I know exactly why she won’t help us.”

“Stephen, that’s an important case. An entire family was killed. If you know something-”

“I seen kids spattered in the gutters and old men beaten to death by eight-year-olds. You ain’t tuggin’ on any heartstrings, my man. You want the info, you gotta come with me.”

“You’ll tell me eventually.”

“Nope. I’ll get super drunk and probably forget what it was. I swear to you, I won’t tell you.”

Stanton finished his Diet Coke. “All right, let’s go.”

The other officers cheered as they climbed out of the booth and headed out to their cars. The airfield was a good twenty miles away and Gunn called ahead as Stanton drove them there. The pilot was called in as a special favor in exchange for a case of Jack Daniels-which Gunn got at a fifty percent discount through a source he never talked about-and the plane was fueled and ready to go.

The airfield was in the Otay Mesa community right near the US/Mexico border. They drove through the local neighborhoods and several crowds of young men were gathered in the streets, smoking weed and drinking. The officers honked their horns and yelled out the windows at them. A few were in cruisers and many of the men ran inside their homes as soon as they saw them, thinking a raid was about to occur.

The plane was already on the strip and the pilot was sitting outside smoking. He threw his cigarette down and boarded when he saw them drive up.

“I really don’t want to do this,” Stanton said.

“You got one life, Johnny Baby, you gotta enjoy it, man.” Gunn slapped his chest. “You’re gonna have a blast. Or you’re gonna die. Either way it’ll be a story to tell. Come on.”

They hopped out to the shouts of the other officers who were sitting on the hoods of their cars and cheering them on. Gunn went aboard the plane and got out two packs.

“It’s gonna be cold as hell and you’re gonna freeze your nuts off. Them Mormon underwear you got on, are they warm?”

“Not really.”

“Well, you may wanna put on a dive suit. We got one on the plane.”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“You ever dive before?”

“You’re drunker than I thought. I told you I’ve never been.”

“Calm down now, booze affects the memory. So ‘cause you never been, you’re gonna hang on to me. Easy-peasy. You spread eagle, don’t arch, don’t get your knees too far down, don’t have your legs too far apart, don’t have your arms too far out front. You seen the position on TV right?”

“I think so.”

“Well, we got some time on the plane. Come on, we can practice.”

They boarded and the plane roared to life. It jerked forward and began its run down the strip, gaining speed and then slowing as it made a turn. Then, with open pavement before it, it began gaining speed to the point that Stanton had to hang on to something. It jerked a couple of times and lifted into the air. The wheels groaned as they were folded underneath and they began to soar, higher and higher.

They went over proper positioning, to prevent too much air pressure, the emergency chute location, and checking the harness. Then Gunn clipped Stanton’s harness to his own and they were literally joined at the hip. Gunn shouted that he would have ahold of him as they exited the plane and would correct his posture on the way down. When they hit the right altitude, he would initiate the chute so he didn’t have to worry about that either.

The door opened and Stanton got a look at the drop zone underneath him. It was the airfield, lit up with some floodlights. But it was still dark enough that he couldn’t judge the proper distance for the fall. The air was screaming so loud it drowned out Gunn’s last minute instructions, but the adrenaline was flowing so powerfully it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The only thing Stanton could hear was the wind and the pounding of his heart.

“Tell me why,” Stanton shouted.

“No way, after the jump. If both of us live.” Gunn looked to the pilot who gave him a thumbs up. “You ready?”

Stanton nodded.

They stepped to the edge of the door, the night sky before them like some vast painting, the moon lighting up the water of the Pacific, and they jumped.

The power of the wind against his goggles and the icy feeling on his exposed skin woke Stanton up like he hadn’t been awakened before. He was acutely aware of his surroundings. It didn’t feel like motion; it felt like he was floating, but the cold air making him shiver told him he was falling. Gunn kept pulling up his arms or pushing down his knees or fixing the arch in his back. But Stanton couldn’t take his eyes off the Pacific. It appeared like the vastness of space; black and unknown. He glanced up at the moon and felt like he hadn’t seen it before.

The one problem that nagged at him was that he couldn’t tell how far away the ground truly was. It was exhilarating and terrifying at once. But he kept himself calm though his heart pounded in his ears like a drum.

When they were at a certain altitude that Stanton couldn’t guess, Gunn pulled his cord and both of them shot up when their chutes opened. It was a sudden, jerking motion and it rattled him before the smooth decent began. Stanton could now see his surroundings in a way he couldn’t during the free-fall. It was a 360º view of the city of San Diego and the Pacific Ocean, with glimpses into Mexico. San Diego was bright and vibrant while the Mexican side had few lights but more open fields and groves of trees that appeared black as tar in the night. But it was the ocean that drew him and that was where he kept his eyes. It shimmered and moved; it appeared alive.