A swishing sound, like faraway surf, but too regular.
And a quiet beep; can’t see anything.
Like standing on the shore at dusk, a curtain of fog over the water, dark waves shimmering.
In a hospital bed?
No white light, just dark, then fade to grey.
_______
Three tiny diamonds spaced apart, glittering against a charcoal curtain. Maybe they’re fishing boats, or ships at sea.
No moon, a matte marine layer eclipsed the diamonds in the sky.
Thousands of diamonds shimmered miles in the distance, the lights of the beach cities fading to a dark silhouette—the hills of Palos Verdes.
In her hand were three small diamonds surrounding a ruby. Reflected by headlights, they danced across the locket cover.
She looked up. Wonder if I’ll miss this?
More diamonds moved across the sky. Probably jets, pretty.
Mindy McKuen looked over at her husband, Steve. What’s it been, almost five years? Headlights reflected his handsome profile.
He’s so cute when he’s all serious.
She laughed. He glanced over. “Nice night, huh Min?”
The big van rolled down Pacific Coast Highway on a run to Santa Monica, traffic brisk but thin, a perfect night for moving nine hundred pounds of primo bud to the LA market.
She looked back. “I’m so glad we’re leaving this behind, honey.”
She ran her fingers over the necklace her mother gave her, gathering her strength. There was a lot of work ahead, weighing and repacking. Their favorite rock station was playing.
“…and can you believe it, folks? The weatherman is saying 80% chance of rain in LA. In the middle of summer. Miracles happen, I guess. The time is exactly ten thirty on August eighteenth, nineteen ninety-two.” Beep.
“Now here’s Def Leppard, with Pour Some Sugar on Me, you heard it first on 103.”
A mile before Sunset, Steve was doing fifty, staying with the speed limit. The air was warm and humid. Open windows scooped in a fresh salt breeze.
A glint took his eyes off the road. He glanced over again.
“That’s a pretty locket Min, is it an heirloom?”
“Yeah, it was my grandm— Look out, Steve!” She flung a hand.
He swerved the van left. Blam, whack! The passenger-side mirror clipped a guy on the head.
“Holy shit!” He checked his mirrors and saw a shape lying on the shoulder of the highway, cars streaming past, barely missing.
“What was that?” Mindy looked frightened.
Steve slowed down to find an empty spot on the shoulder. He wanted to go back and see if he could help the guy. Adrenaline shot through him. A half ton of high-grade weed in the van and he’d just hit a pedestrian.
“Hey! Where’s my necklace?” Mindy was frantically searching the floor and everywhere around the seat.
A hundred yards down the road, he saw a space and pulled in. He frowned and checked his mirrors again.
“Keep looking, I gotta go back and see if that guy’s OK.” He jumped out and came around to her window.
“Don’t take long,” she said.
“Don’t worry honey, be right back.”
He tried to stay low, out of oncoming headlights, and jogged past parked trucks and vans. Sounds of partying and sex mingled with the surf and highway noise.
When he got to where he thought the accident happened, he squinted. No one in the road. He poked his head between two cars for a better look. No one, and no shape on the shoulder. He looked back and saw light skid marks.
It was the right place. He rubbed his chin. The road was empty, weird.
He walked further up the highway and scanned the beach. Nothing. He retraced his steps. Near the site he got down on his hands and knees and looked under several vehicles. Nothing.
Voices from a van, he almost knocked. Bad idea, they’d see his face. He started back.
Sunset Boulevard was coming up. He could turn left there, head up the hill and wait awhile, then decide. A siren wailed in the distance.
“We have to get away from here,” he said when he reached the van. “It’s a hit and run, the cops might show up.”
Wild-eyed, she waved her hands. “Steve, I can’t find my necklace.”
“There was nobody on the road and I didn’t see it.”
“We have to stay and look, I need it.”
“Honey, we can’t stay. We gotta find a place to hide. The cops are almost for sure gonna be here. I just hit someone and we have,” he gestured at the nine hundred pounds of boxes, “we can’t stay.”
“But the locket, it’s got my grandmother’s name on it. Isn’t that a problem?”
“God, I hope not.” He started the engine. “But we gotta deal with this, right now. We gotta get out of sight and then get to the warehouse.”
He searched her eyes, his face stretched. “You see that, right honey?”
Shoulders tense, she stared at the dark beach. “Yeah Steve, you’re right.” She turned back. “Whatever we gotta do, OK.”
He pulled out and moved to the left lane. At the light he turned and gunned the big Dodge up Sunset.
Eyes down, quiet, Mindy turned the radio off. The rain started, the tires hissing on the damp road.
Can’t worry if she’s sulking, we gotta find a place. He had an idea and turned left to the Brentwood hills.
Somewhere up the canyon there’s gotta be an empty house for sale. Take down the sign, pull the van down the driveway and wait an hour. Let’s do it.
Soon they were parked next to a garage, engine ticking as it cooled. They talked it through. Mindy was still worried about the necklace, but she understood the jam they were in. She brushed her tawny, shoulder-length hair.
Raindrops pinged the top of the van. Steve slumped in his seat and thought back to when he was a kid, riding his Sting Ray bike, watching the gold and magenta sunsets over the Valley.
Six hours later at their warehouse she wiped the sweat from her brow, back aching. She straightened up and peered at the scale.
“That one’s almost perfect.”
“It’s the last one.”
“Thank God,” she said. “It’s almost daylight.”
Mindy lifted the triple-sealed pound of purple bud to a box, checked the label and taped it shut. She shook it to make sure it was solid, then looked up and smiled.
“We’re done, babe.” Steve put his arms around her. “From here on out it’s the new system.” He kissed her cheek. “Thanks for hangin’ in there.”
They broke their embrace and started to load the van.
_______
No witnesses to the hit and run, nobody called the police. Parked by a rundown motel on Pacific Coast Highway, Paul Christian levered back his seat and nursed a bottle of cheap wine.
A necklace was on the console. Might be pure silver. They’d been walking back to the car when it happened and he carried her across the road.
He winced. She stumbled into the van and the necklace flew out, or something. It was hard to piece together.
A locket was attached. He looked it over to see if he could tell anything about the van’s driver. All he could see was an old photo, and on the back, a fine inscription.
Too dark to read, wait ‘til morning. He glanced at the back seat.
Helen was unconscious, dying. She’d been drinking hard as usual. It helped take the pain away when they lay together.
He bowed his head and felt a tear drop. He knew what he had to do.
When traffic’s died off and the winos’re passed out, walk her over to the beach like I’m helping a drunk. There’s a place behind those rocks. No one will find her body ‘til daylight. Couple more hours, I’ll be long gone.
He tipped his head back and took a deep breath.
A grifter and a con, Paul Christian had done small time around the western states. Moving often, he liked to hang out at the beach at night, preying on the young ones. At thirty-eight, he was running out of good looks, but still looked decent in the dark, if the girl was half-drunk.
It’s a hell of a fine necklace. Sell it?
It was a hit and run—blackmail?
He took another slug from the bottle. Rain plinked on the windshield.