had taken rose up and came out of me in a harsh lurch. Freezing water rushed up to my shoes. We were on the edges of America. The bitter water spread, chilled my entire body. I gave that bile to the Pacific. Cold sweat came out of every pore. Another ocean wave came in, hit me, and I went down to my knees. Another wave rushed up my back, and splashed up on my face.
I crawled away from the water, then got back to my feet.
The night air covered me, felt like a strong breeze was coming in from the Himalayas.
She was out there. Lisa had a Glock and she was out there.
Anxiety never ceased.
I limped toward the car. Expected to hear the engine roar to life, and watch the car pull away.
It didn’t.
Lisa’s purse was in the sand, resting on the other side of the lion.
I kept limping, kept looking, kept listening, kept waiting.
Her Glock was there too.
Wanted to pick it up, tried to bend, but it hurt too much.
I kept limping.
Down the way, I saw a white flag flying in the sand.
I kept limping that way.
Followed small footsteps that had left their impression in the sand.
The space between the footsteps became less and less.
Less and less.
Inside some of those last impressions was blood.
That white flag was Lisa’s beautiful dress. She had run, looked like she was headed away, trying to outrun her own pain, looked like she didn’t know where she was going. Just running. A hole was in her abdomen. Death had caught her before she could get away.
31
Those prongs had fishhooked me and broken my skin, had stolen traces of my DNA.
My DNA could be drying up in the back of that Deuce.
My DNA and prints were already in the criminal justice system. Couldn’t leave any traces of me behind. Wanted to call for help. Hand went down to my side. No cellular. I looked out and saw darkness. The exit was up an asphalt driveway. The main road was at least a hundred yards away. Wouldn‘t’ve been able to walk far, not up that incline in my condition. That hill would become a mountain. A hundred yards would be like a marathon. There was only one way for me to get out of there. I hobbled back, took the keys to the Deuce off the lion’s body. I took the stun gun. The scarf they had tied me with. Got in the car, kicked up some sand.
I slowed when I passed by Lisa. Slowed down and stared.
White dress dancing in the wind.
I sat there, heart aching as much as the rest of me, wishing a lot of things. None of those wishes would come true. Father Time marched in one direction. I had to do the same.
I gave it some gas. Motor stuttered a bit before it roared. Something shifted in the backseat. I looked back. A can of gas and a roll of duct tap. My heartbeat tripled again. The backseat was damaged. Had a hole in the right side, a hollow tunnel. That was why I could hear them talking.
I put the Deuce in gear and rattled out to the streets, drove slow, looking for landmarks and street signs, saw that I was down at Dockweiler State Beach, right off Imperial Highway. The black beach was what we called it. Headlights went by. Nobody slowed down or stopped.
Imperial Highway took me up by LAX and put me on the 105. The 105 to the 110, the 110 to the 10, the 10 to La Brea, La Brea to Edgewood to Highland to the gritty streets in Hollywood. Didn’t know if I was doing the right thing, but I drove that Deuce back into the mouth of Hollywood, my mind spinning. Had taken as much freeway as I could, didn’t want to take a chance on the streets. Didn’t know if the hoopty I was in was hot. Didn’t know if the registration was current. Didn’t want to chance the police stopping behind me at a light, running the tags. Didn’t want to stop at a pay phone and ask anybody to come get me. Johnny Law could pull up then. I ignored the pain the best I could and drove. I was a driver. I knew the city. Knew that bitch like she was my own woman. Loved Los Angeles enough to die for her. Hated her enough to kill her. It was a long and painful drive. Surreal. Like I was on