Robert Ferrigno - The wake-up

The wind kicked up sand. Thorpe checked the area without making a big deal out of it.

Bishop stepped on an empty pack of Marlboros, crushed it flat. "Missy and Clark live in a fancy house in Newport with her brother, Cecil, who don't seem like much, from what I could see. Arturo and the new guy come and go as they please. I set up outside one of Clark's surf shops for a few days. Kept track of what went out the front door, what went out the back. That store isn't selling enough shirts and trunks even to pay for the air conditioning. I figured maybe he was dealing dope out of the stores, but I watched the clerks-they're not moving anything except their lips. I think Clark is using the stores to launder drug money."

"You take what you had to the locals?"

"Didn't have anything in the way of proof, and I'm not what any DA would consider a reliable source."

Thorpe shook his hand. "Thanks, Ray."

Bishop hung on. He had a good grip. "You're really going to try to stop them?"

"I made the mess; now I have to clean it up."

"Haven't you heard? Nobody picks up after themselves anymore." Bishop lowered his eyes. "When I first met Clark, he was a joke. Idiot lived eighty miles inland and all he talked about was big waves, surfing." He shook his head. "Now he lives in a mansion, and I clock in every fifteen minutes and shit in a Porta Potti. You tell me how that happened, Frank, because I'd really like to know."

Thorpe didn't answer.

"Yeah… well, you don't make promises, I like that." Bishop idly touched the pint bottle in his jacket. "I'd be willing to help you, though. Just as long as I keep out of sight."

"You've helped me plenty. It's on me now."

"Sure, I've been a big help." Bishop twisted the buttons on his uniform. "I got to make my rounds. Serve and protect."

"Oh, hello… Frank." Gina Meachum stood in her doorway, a hammer in her hand. A painting leaned against the sofa behind her. Her long dark hair was loosely bound with a strip of white lace, as though she had reached for whatever was handy to hold back her hair. She wore jeans and a cowboy shirt.

"I hate to interrupt," said Thorpe, "but-"

"Who is it?" Douglas Meachum called from inside the house.

"A friend," Gina answered, then waved Thorpe inside. "This isn't a very good time. I'm finishing up some loose ends." She pushed back her hair. "Have you found a house yet?"

"No… not yet." It was hard to lie to her. Even harder to tell her the truth. Did he start with the suggestion that they get out of town for a few weeks, or end with it? Should he smile when he assured them that he would take care of everything? Have no fear, Frank Thorpe is here. He followed her inside, watched as she hung the painting, trying to decide where to begin. The painting was a realistic bright oil of a play-ground scene, a little girl pushing a red toy truck through the sandbox while a boy watched her from halfway down a slide. You knew within moments they were going to be fighting over the truck.

Gina stepped back, set down the hammer on a chest. "What do you think?"

"I like it." Thorpe moved closer to her. "I need to talk to you and-"

"Who's your friend?" Meachum said from the hallway, wheeling a large suitcase into the living room. He was wearing the same peacock blue Emilio Zegna suit that he had sported at LAX.

"Frank is house shopping," said Gina. "We may be neighbors soon."

"We're a little busy right now, Frank," said Meachum, setting down the suitcases. He was handsome but stiff and angular, as though there was a clothes hanger across his shoulders. "We're leaving for Hawaii in the morning."

"Two weeks in Maui." Gina looked at Thorpe, made eye contact. "It's kind of a second honeymoon for us."

"No need to be melodramatic," said Meachum.

"Frank was at Missy's party," said Gina, still watching him. "He may be interested in some art for his new house."

Meachum smiled at Thorpe. "Is that correct?"

Thorpe had only two kinds of luck. Very, very bad or very, very good. "Yes… I was at the gallery a week or so ago, looking at some pieces. I talked to Nell-"

"You won't be talking to her anymore." Meachum grimaced. "That woman stabbed me in the back. Didn't even have the integrity to tell me what she had done. No gratitude in this world anymore." He took a deep breath, adjusted his necktie. "I'm sure you've read all about our difficulties in the paper. I can only hope that Betty B's column doesn't dissuade you from allowing me to fulfill your aesthetic needs. I can assure you that I maintain the highest standard-"

"The article said you gave Missy a full refund."

"Douglas has never been anything less than ethical with his clients," said Gina.

Meachum glanced at his wife. "Yes, I gave Missy a full and immediate refund."

"Then what's the problem?" asked Thorpe.

Meachum beamed. "Finally, someone who understands the business world. You're a breath of fresh air, Frank. Mistakes happen. What counts is how we deal with our mistakes."

"I think people have an almost infinite capacity for forgiveness, as long as the apology is sincere," said Gina. There was just the faintest edge to her voice.

"If Nell hadn't gone running to Betty B, no one would have had any complaints," said Meachum, avoiding her gaze.

"I thought you came out pretty well in the column," said Thorpe. "Missy was the one who got snakebit."

"Yes… well, I did my best. In my defense, I have to say that I attempted to convince Betty B that the story was of little interest to anyone, but she despises Missy-"

"Despised," said Gina, correcting him. She glanced at Thorpe. "The poor woman was killed by a hit-and-run driver a couple of nights ago. It was just so sad."

"Almost makes me believe in God," muttered Meachum. He looked at Thorpe, sniffed. "That was in poor taste. I apologize, but the column was very bad for business. I've been doing damage control for the last two days. It just seemed like a good idea to give things time to settle down."

"A very good idea," said Gina.

"Can we make an appointment to discuss some art when I get back, Frank?" said Meachum. "I'll be back in the gallery on the fifteenth."

"I'll see you then."

Meachum forced a handshake on him. He probably thought that sealed the deal. "Is that what you came here for? Forgive my manners- I didn't even ask."

Thorpe turned to Gina. "Have a good trip." He walked quickly toward the front door. "I hate this song," said Mellon.

"We're not here for a concert," said Pinto as Hellfire Sonata boomed out from the other side of the door, the lead guitar from Iron Church howling. He racked the pump Mosburg.

As if on cue, the door to the master bathroom slid open and Weezer stepped out in a reek of chemicals, a fat cracker wearing bib overalls and rubber gloves, swim goggles pushed back onto his forehead, a black war-surplus rubber respirator dangling around his neck. He jerked back when he saw them, then came at them. "What the fuck are you doing in my house?" he demanded, shouting to be heard over the music.

Mellon started laughing. "You look like a deep-sea diver."

"Hey, Captain Nemo, we came to pick up the load," said Pinto.

Weezer slid the door shut behind him. It was quieter now. "Do you morons know who I work for?"

"You're one of Clark's cookers." Pinto sniffed. "Smells like fresh crank, too."

Weezer didn't back down. "When Vlad and Arturo get done with you, there won't be hardly anything left." The respirator bounced under his chin as he spoke. "Two flushes and you'll be sent down the sewer with the rest of the turds."

Mellon cocked both barrels of his sawed-off gun.

"I had guns pulled on me before." Weezer spit on the floor, looked at Pinto. "You and your sidekick should take off now, while you still have a chance."