when we docked. As we prepared to disembark, I noticed the license plates on a car ahead. The “mushroom cloud” on the plates of the men who attacked me was the state tree of South Carolina. I told McGinnes.
“What difference does it make now?” he said. “You didn’t get the number, so you still don’t know dick.”
As we drove off the ferry onto Cedar Island, I saw that the vegetation was more tropical. But the palmettos diminished, then disappeared as Route 12 became 70. We went through the lovely seaside town of Beaufort, then passed the more conventional Morehead City and turned off on 24 south. At two o’clock we entered Camp Lejeune, where McGinnes saluted the MP at the gate and told childhood stories all the way through the grounds and beyond. Then we were on 17 south along the coast, passing billboards advertising surf shops and hamburger stands.
At nearly four in the afternoon we reached Wilmington, a large city in the midst of revitalization, which was still filled with examples of old Southern architecture. McGinnes informed me in the same breath that Wilmington was once the premier city of the state, and that it was the birthplace of Sonny Jurgenson.
Wrightsville Beach was just across the bridge over Bank’s Channel. Driving onto its main strip, I saw the large hotels and general congestion of concrete that I associated with the Delmarva Peninsula and the Jersey Shore. We checked into a clean and expensive motel near the fishing pier.
McGinnes was sleeping when I came out of the shower. I dressed quietly, slipped out the door, and walked up to the pier. At its entrance was a snackbar that overlooked the beach. I sat on a red stool and ordered a tuna sandwich with fries and a coke.
The teenage girl behind the counter had black hair and thick eyebrows and wore a Byzantine cross. I asked if she was Greek and she said yes. Her parents owned the concession stand and the adjoining restaurant. I asked her if she knew a place called the Wall.
“It’s a surf-rat place,” she said. “In the summer they rage, but now in the off-season only the hardcores hang out there. If you’re not a local and you’re not in that crowd, it’s not too cool.” She told me where to find it, up near the Strand. I thanked her and left eight on four.
Traffic was light. I found the Wall on the soundside corner of the intersection the girl had mentioned.
The place appeared to be a converted service station. It stood alone on a shell and gravel lot. I was the only one parked in the lot. I sat in my car for half an hour and listened to top forty radio and beach commercials. Then a modified, black VW with two shortboards racked on the top pulled in. The doors opened and two guys got out.
They walked across the lot. The taller one of the two was in oversized baggy shorts and a tie-dyed T-shirt and wore a red duckbilled cap, out of which came white blond hair. He was tall and in swimmer’s shape. The smaller one was dressed similarly but had a weak frame and the overly cocky strut of the insecure.
I got out of my car quickly and ran to the door of the bar, just as the tall one was turning the key. I startled him as he turned and for a moment he looked vulnerable, but only for a moment. He had thin eyes and a cruel, thin mouth.
“Hey,” I said, “how’s it going?” He didn’t answer but gave me the once-over. “Is Charlie Fiora around?”
“That’s me,” he said in a monotone. “What do you want?”
“I’m a friend of Kim Lazarus,” I said. His eyes flashed for a second, an emotion that he quickly shut down. “I heard she was in town. Heard you might know where she’s staying.”
“You heard wrong, ace. I don’t know any Kim Hazardous,” he said, and his little friend giggled. “Now I gotta get my place opened up. So later.”
The two of them walked in and shut the door behind them. I heard the lock turn. I stood staring at the door and the painted cinderblocks around it. Then I turned and walked back to my car. I sat there for a while. Nothing happened and I did nothing to make it happen. Finally I turned the ignition key and drove back to the motel.
MCGINNES WAS CLEANED UP and waiting when I returned to