Kirk Russell - Night Game

“He kept it from everyone, that’s a choice he made, John.”

They had another beer together before he headed home.

The following Saturday he started laying out the new addition with Maria. They were down along the corner of the house when Kendall called. Marquez walked back up to the deck, scraping mud off his shoes and sitting down at the picnic table, listening as Kendall sketched more details of Stella Petroni’s murder, how he was going to make a case against Ungar after all. He believed he could prove Ungar had hired Nyland.

“Am I going to see you before Ungar’s trial?” Kendall asked.

“I’ll give you a call.”

“I still owe you a lunch.”

“I’m sure I’ll be back that way.”

Maria yelled up at him, and he told Kendall he’d call next time he was in town, though he knew he probably wouldn’t. He laid the phone on the redwood table, came down off the deck and around to where they’d built batter boards and strung line to lay out the new foundation.

“What do we do now?” she asked, and he looked at her young face and the warm enthusiastic light in her eyes.

“We tape out and mark the piers. The drill rig comes Monday.” She held an end of the tape on the mark he’d pointed to, and Marquez smiled back at her, pulled the tape, dropping a stake where the center of each pier would go, a total of six. As he pounded them in Maria sprinkled flour around the stakes. Someone had told him it was an easy way to keep track of the stakes after the drilling started and dirt got tossed around.

“Did you hear,” she asked, spilling flour on the hammer and his hand, “that same black bear was down near the Golden Gate Bridge again last night. Can you believe that a bear is almost to San Francisco? Wouldn’t it be funny if he walked across the bridge?”

“He probably won’t do that.”

“I really like it. I mean, as long as he doesn’t get into our house or something.”

Marquez pounded in another stake and glanced up at her, very happy that they were starting this build together.

“I mean it’s really cool,” she said. “I like to think of him walking around here. Do you know what I mean, Dad?”

He glanced over at her. “Yeah, I think I do.”