Page 5

N AVY

I ran my hands over my face and leaned back in my chair as I yawned loudly.

The program I’d written to help me scour the different social media sites and find Oceanside residents with knuckle tattoos had been successful.

So successful, in fact, that it had brought back thousands of results that I had to weed through to try and find the men responsible for what happened to my dad and Rafael.

I was completely out of my element here, but I knew a few men who would love to take this ball and run with it, especially when they found out that my father had been injured.

I glanced at the clock and realized I’d been up for well over twenty-four hours, and more than half of that time had been spent sitting in this chair after working to clean up the mess in the bar.

Dad was trying to look at the bright side of the situation and had decided to keep it closed for a few extra days to get some well-needed maintenance done as well as a couple of updates he’d been putting off.

I chuckled when I thought of the sign he’d posted on the front door explaining why Three Sheets wouldn’t be open for a few days, referencing “the little pussy assholes who trashed the place” who were welcome to come back anytime for a nice meal full of buckshot.

Yesterday, I wondered how the perps had made it out without any injuries only to find out that Dad and Rafael had been taken by surprise.

Neither of them was behind the bar near the shotgun when the men burst into the building.

Considering the laws in our state, getting their asses kicked was a lot easier to get over than going to prison for having a sawed-off shotgun behind the bar.

Over the years, just the presence of the weapon had deterred anything major, but I had a feeling that if Dad had pulled it out yesterday, I’d be busy burying bodies rather than cyberstalking men with tattooed hands.

Hell, I’d prefer to be working with a shovel than being cooped up inside while I search for a needle in a haystack.

I shot off a quick text to a couple of my club brothers, who I knew would love to sink their teeth into this mystery and wouldn’t be opposed to getting some blood on their hands when we did find the men, and then took a quick shower while I waited for them to respond.

Preacher, an old friend from my time living in Tenillo, was the first one to call. He was a bit gruff and to the point until he found out what had happened. Then he got angry, and I knew he was hooked.

“They were wearing bike helmets?” Preacher asked.

“Yeah. Full-face helmets with the face shields down and no stickers or identifiers as far as Dad and Rafael can remember.”

“And they all had tattoos on their fingers?”

“Letters and symbols, but Rafael said he was too busy dodging their fists to decipher what they were.”

“Hmm,” Preacher hummed. “And you ran a program to find the ones in your area?”

“I did, but it came back with more than I would have thought. I need to figure out how to narrow the search.”

“Shiny buckles,” Preacher said, thinking out loud.

“They all wore heavy boots. The tread on one of the tracks I found after the guy walked through some spilled grenadine looked about my size. I’d say a size thirteen or fourteen with a waffle sole.”

“They’re all wearing the same boots and helmets. Like a uniform,” Preacher said. It wasn’t a question. I could hear the video recordings I’d sent him from our security system, and I knew he was gathering details just like I had. He asked, “You don’t have any video of their getaway?”

“No. They split up and disappeared like ghosts. But get this shit! They reappeared twenty minutes later at a mom-and-pop convenience store up the block.”

“They were hitting businesses one after another down Oceanside Boulevard? Were they just trying to get caught?”

“You have to admit that it’s a solid plan. While the cops were busy figuring out what happened at the first location, they hit the next few and then on and on down the line. In total, they hit fifteen within an hour and a half.”

“In and out. Quick work. No qualms about violence. Seems well-planned.”

“But why go for the small businesses that don’t have a lot of cash on hand?”

“That’s the rub, isn’t it?” Preacher asked rhetorically. “I hate thieves.”

“Same.”

“Well, I think I just found my new pastime.”

“What’s that?”

“Figuring out who these fuckers are so you can go kill ‘em.”

“That sounds like a plan to me.”

“I’m gonna share this with Hammer.”

“I sent him a message, but I haven’t gotten a response yet.”

“What about Ajax?”

“Same thing.”

“Hmm. I’ll get on the phone with them, and we can split up some tasks to get to the bottom of this even quicker.”

“Much thanks, brother.”

“Anytime.”

“When are you going to bring Blue out so she can learn to surf?”

“When she gets over being terrified of water where she can’t see the bottom and you don’t live in California anymore.”

“Next summer?”

Preacher started chuckling and then hung up on me, which made me laugh.

The man was a loyal club brother who I’d met while I was living in Tenillo, and his wife was a pistol who took no shit from anyone, especially him.

They were a match made in heaven, and I aspired to have a relationship like theirs.

But that would require me to do something other than camp out in my office staring at a computer or stand behind the bar in a dimly lit dive where no one under the age of forty came for anything other than a greasy burger on their way to somewhere more fun.

I wasn’t going to do either of those things today, though. Right now, I needed sleep, and lots of it.

When I woke up, I had slept so hard that I felt hungover but much more like myself. I had a little more than an hour before sunset, and despite the fact that I could be doing more productive things, I couldn’t resist the call of the ocean and grabbed my board before I took off toward the beach.

It would be nice to set my troubles aside for a few hours and soak in some rays while I watched the magical end of the day.

◆◆◆

DALI

“Why is your owner not looking for you?” I asked the dog who had decided to nap on the end of the chaise where I’d been relaxing. “And where is your sister?”

In the last few days, I had settled in as Corrie’s houseguest. I had accomplished a lot even though I hadn’t left the property even once. The urge to go down to the beach was strong, but I had decided that I wasn’t going to go near it until I could go into the water.

I planned to do whatever it took to get my doctor to release me for swimming, but that appointment wasn’t until next week. I had a few more days to kill until I had to venture out into the world again. Until then, I was more than happy to live on the things I had delivered from the local market.

The evening after I found that grassy courtyard oasis, I explored further and found another one on the rooftop.

That one had a soaking pool, plenty of umbrellas for when I needed some shade, and a wine fridge that I took the liberty of stocking with my second delivery - this one from a nearby liquor store that had their inventory listed online and was happy to do my shopping for me.

As an unemployed homeless woman who was lonely, sad, and unable to exert herself for fear of her heart exploding, my to-do list really didn’t have anything on it other than to get lost in a book and drink several glasses of wine.

By the time the big, lazy dog had joined me on the rooftop, I was on my fourth glass, although it wasn’t actually a glass at all.

I had forgotten to bring a wine glass up and was too damn lazy to go down and get one, so I searched the outdoor kitchen and found the perfect cup that was unbreakable and had a lid.

I was considering using this kind of cup all the time, seeing as how I’d already dropped the damn thing twice!

Not that I was drunk or anything.

In trying to convince myself of that, I surmised that I had only had two regular-sized glasses of wine since I was using a small cup. That made me sound less like a drunk and more like a responsible adult . . . or at least someone sober enough to math.

“You don’t talk much, do you, buddy?” I asked as I ran my foot down the dog’s back.

He moaned, so I did it again. After a few minutes, I found that I was skilled at multitasking and could sip my wine with one hand, hold my e-reader with the other, and rub the dog at the same time.

“Look at me. I’ve got skills! They’re not marketable, and they're never going to make me a dime, but I have them, right?”

He lifted his head and stared at me for a few seconds as if to ask, “You realize that I can’t answer, right?”

“I know you can’t talk, and in my opinion, that makes you the perfect man.

You’ve got great hair, good manners, and you don’t talk my ear off or try to tell me what to do.

Better yet, you don’t bitch when I get a little sloshed all alone while I feel sorry for myself.

” I lifted my glass and said, “And I’m not really drinking alone if you’re here! ”

The dog’s head flopped back onto the lounger as he sighed.

“You’re being very judgmental right now, Schmoopie.

I’m not a fan. Zero stars. Would not recommend.

” My phone buzzed, and I almost knocked over the wine bottle trying to grab it.

I was still laughing to myself when I looked at it and announced, “Oh! Speaking of judgment, it’s my mom!

She’s gonna be unimpressed, worried, and irritated if she hears me slurring, so I’m gonna just pass on that for now. ”

I tried to get into my book again, but I was having problems making out the words. My e-reader was backlit by the setting sun and made it hard to focus. I’d probably have better luck once it went down.