Page 72 of Nightshade

“Up at the Zane Grey for an eviction.”

The Zane Grey was a boutique hotel and one of the better places to stay on the island. Having once been the home of the famed Western writer and sport fisherman, it was a major draw to the island as well. Though Catalina served as the last resort for many facing financial troubles, the Zane Grey was anestablishment that attracted the more well-heeled visitors. Its proprietors rarely called the sub about problems with nonpaying guests.

“What’s the story?” Stilwell asked. “You want backup?”

“Affirmative,” Esquivel responded. “This guy is not going to go quietly, I don’t think.”

“On my way, then.”

“Roger that.”

Stilwell thought about grabbing his vest out of his locker but decided it might only serve to provoke a confrontation if the situation at the Zane Grey was simply a misunderstanding. He left it behind and headed for the door but stopped when he heard a shout come from the jail. Spivak was being held in a cell until his court appearance on Friday. Stilwell went back into the jail section and found Spivak standing with both hands gripping the bars.

“Hey, are you people going to feed me tonight or what?”

“You didn’t get food?”

“Been waiting all night, man.”

Esquivel had apparently forgotten his feeding duties. Stilwell checked his watch and saw that it was 8:20.

“Why don’t you sit down, Spivak,” he said. “I’ll go look for something.”

He walked quickly back through the bullpen to the kitchenette that was off the rear hallway. He started opening cabinets, looking for something he could give Spivak to tide him over until he or Esquivel could pick something up from one of the takeouts. He found two packs of Lance ToastChee crackers on a shelf markedDunne—Do Not Touch. He took them off the shelf and back to the jail. Spivak was still at the bars.

“I told you to sit down,” Stilwell said.

“I don’t have to sit down,” Spivak said. “I can do whatever I want in here. You call that shit in your hand dinner?”

“It’s a snack, Spivak. Somebody will bring you dinner in a bit. Go sit down and relax. It’s not even eight thirty and you’ll get a hot meal soon.”

Stilwell tossed the packages of crackers through the bars to the bunk he had seen Spivak using before. One package bounced off the bed and onto the floor.

“Now, see,” Spivak said. “That’s how they get crumbled.”

“Just stay calm,” Stilwell said. “Somebody will be back with dinner.”

“You know, it’s probably against the rules for you to leave me alone in this place. There could be a fire and nobody to get me out.”

“Or a flash flood or even a tsunami.”

“It’s not a joke.”

“Then you better start praying, Spivak. Because I’m leaving.”

“I could fucking hang myself in here and then your ass would be on the line, I bet.”

“Interesting idea. There would be a big investigation, I’m sure. But in the end it would come down to a guy who tried to kill a deputy with a wine bottle killing himself in a cell, and nobody will really give a shit. But I’m sure I’d get my wrists slapped, if that would make it worth it to you.”

Stilwell grabbed the keys to the John Deere as he left and locked the sub. Spivak happened to be correct. It was a violation of regulations to leave someone in custody unsupervised. If anything happened, Stilwell would get more than a slap on the wrist. The irony was that the PM watch was down to one deputy because Spivak had put the second deputy, Dunne, out of commission.

The Zane Grey was up on Chimes Tower Road and it offered its guests one of the best views of the harbor by day ornight. Stilwell saw Esquivel’s UTV parked near the entrance. He found the lobby empty and the front desk unstaffed, but he heard raised voices from the right wing of the hotel and headed that way.

He saw Esquivel and another man standing in the hallway in front of the open door to one of the rooms. He joined them.

“What’s happening, Eddie?” he asked.

“Sergeant, this is Fred Nettles, the night manager,” Esquivel said. “And this is Mr. Starkey, who says he won’t leave the room.”