The Wrong Side Of Paradise
By
Rustin Smith
Copyright 2012 Rustin Smith
Smashwords Edition
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Table of Contents
The night was clear, and the black starry sky hung over their heads like a painted ceiling. Macky, sitting by the companionway, seemed enthralled by the beauty of the early hour, which was enhanced by the twinkly visage of the city off their port beam. The Golden Gate Bridge loomed just ahead.
Ty, at the wheel, sat glumly and tried to gather his nerve. For what he was about to do, he would have much preferred thick fog and zero visibility. Not that anybody but Macky could see him - they were motoring alone on the dark bay - but he had a decent man’s sense of shame for what he was about to do and would have preferred an enveloping cloudiness to the sharp, clear night they faced. Somehow, in fog, the thing would be easier, and it was just his luck that it was as clear as cold glass out and they could see the black shadow of Mt. Tam rising over the bay like the face of God. Ty wasn’t religious, but he had no doubt that what he was about to do was wrong. He had no doubt of that at all.
Macky, thankfully, seemed oblivious. “It’s goddamned beautiful, isn’t it,” Macky said, glancing at Ty with a look that approached awe. Macky had an ugly face, a bulbous nose, and somehow his ugliness made Ty relax. No one is going to miss him, Ty thought cruelly, knowing instantly that the sentiment wasn’t true. Macky had a wife and a young daughter. He was going to be missed.
“I mean, this whole area is paradise,” Macky continued on, turning from Ty to glance at the long line of San Francisco which hung off their beam. “We’re living in paradise. There’s no other word for it. PA RA DISE!” Macky elongated his phrasing, emphasizing each syllable. “You ever think of it like that?”
In the context, Macky’s allusion annoyed Ty further. Like the clear night sky, it seemed to be just one more bad omen.
I don’t have to do this, Ty muttered to himself without conviction. If only he had called Burr.
Macky was staring at him, waiting for his response. Avoiding his look, Ty offered a shrug. “Here, grab the wheel. I’ve got to take a piss.”
“You’re in a sociable mood,” Macky said. “Are you gonna be this way all the way to Mexico?”
Macky gave a snort but slid over and took the wheel. “Just hold it straight,” Ty instructed, then stood up onto the aft lazarette so that Macky could sit down in his place. It’s going to be simple now, Ty mused, as Macky got settled in front of him. He won’t see it coming. Abruptly, Ty turned his back and unzipped his pants. He didn’t really have to pee, but it was either pee or get on with things. Macky’s jovial mood was getting to him; the man was being halfway decent. Ty leaned against the backstay for support and glanced out at their wake. It flashed silvery with phosphorescence, making him think of the times he and Burr and Rio had gone night fishing in the bay when they were boys. Burr, more than Ty or Rio, had been fascinated by the phosphorescence and had loved to trail his hand in the water as they motored along in the skiff Ty’s dad owned. They had been all of eleven then, and the world seemed an uncomplicated place. Now Rio was dead a year, and not in his worst nightmare had Ty imagined a moment like he now faced.
He should have called Burr. Burr was solid and cool. Burr would have found a way out for him. Burr would have known what to do. Ty understood that his weakness in not calling Burr was going to haunt him forever.
It occurred to him that he should just step over the stern railing, slip off the transom into the dark water and drift unseen to the shore. Macky wouldn’t even realize he was gone until it was too late to do anything about it. Once on shore, Ty could just disappear and no one would be certain what really happened. Had he drowned? He would be free.
He played with that notion for a moment and then dropped it. The idea was just so much fantasy. If he stepped off the boat he would disappear all right, but it would be to the bottom of the bay. He wouldn’t survive fifteen minutes in the cold water. Zipping himself back up, he turned. Macky was sitting with his back to him, concentrating on keeping the bow of the boat pointed toward the first tower of the bridge. Staring down at him, Ty noticed a bald spot on the crown of Macky’s head. Macky was much taller and bulkier than he was, and Ty had never before been in a physical position to see the top of his head. With a level of irony, it occurred to him that the discovery of the spot was a sign in his favor. The son-of-a-bitch had provided him with a target. Ty almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought.
There was a winch handle in a pocket in the well next to the wheel. Ty bent down to retrieve it as Macky turned and glanced at him.
“What are you up to?” Macky asked without alarm, watching him slip the handle from its pocket.
“Nothing,” Ty answered. “We don’t need this out yet so I’m going to put it down below.”
Macky nodded and returned to his steering. Ty straightened up and hefted the winch handle in the palm of his hand. It was heavy enough, certainly. Ty worried about hitting him too hard. He didn’t want blood to splatter everywhere.
He stepped forward, prepared suddenly to do the deed. Macky sat directly below him, staring ahead. Hesitating, Ty turned toward the city. The view caught him. Paradise, Macky had called it. Well, the Bay Area sure held its beauty, one couldn’t deny that. It might even be paradise. But if it was, he was living on the wrong side of it. That much seemed certain to him. Things had gotten fucked up.
With a cry of anguish, he swung down, hitting Macky solidly on his bald spot with the metal end of the winch handle. Macky didn’t even make a sound but slumped forward over the wheel, his weight holding the boat on course. Quickly, Ty stepped down and checked for a pulse. Macky was still breathing. “Okay,” Ty exclaimed with a sigh of relief. As he started to maneuver Macky out from behind the wheel, the man let out a groan. Panicking, Ty hurriedly pushed him down into the footwell of the cockpit. He found a rope and bound Macky’s hands. When he was through, he stood up and stared down at his handiwork. A wave of nausea struck and he grabbed the lifeline and leaned out over the boat’s beam. As he retched over the rail, Ty thought of his mother, gray-haired and decent, alone in her small house. He could hear her thin, gravelly voice, plaintive and confused, the way she always sounded when he did something screwy.
“What have you done, Ty, what have you done?”
He knew he could provide no reasonable answer.
It was seven o’clock in the morning when Burr’s home phone rang, rousing him from a deep sleep. Burr Rollins opened his eyes and stared vacantly at the outline of his bedroom, just visible in the rising light. Then the phone rang again, sounding absurdly loud in the small space, forcing him to respond.
With a groan, he leaned over and reached for the phone, but in the dim light his aim was clumsy, and he managed to send it skittering off the nightstand to the floor. With a low curse he reached down and retrieved it. Burr was not at all pleased to be awake. He had just gotten to bed an hour ago and his head felt heavy from lack of sleep. He had been up the whole night on a lousy surveillance, a dumb spousal watch which he had drawn quite unluckily at the last minute because Jason, the apprentice investigator, had come down with the flu. “Mariner, the poor kid’s throwing up every half hour,” Royce, his boss, had described it to him when Royce had called with the assignment. Burr’s code name at the agency was Mariner, a play on his home county of Marin. “I’ve got no one else to give it to. Everyone’s out ... Jocko, Cassie, Kendrick, Midori ... I’d go myself but the mark knows me.” Burr heard the desperate tone in his boss’s voice and took pity. He had just wrapped up an insurance fraud investigation, which had taken weeks of tedious leg work, and had scheduled a long weekend to unwind. But duty called and Burr acquiesced. Though Royce had recruited him for his spirit and independence, Burr knew how to play the good soldier.
“Yeah?”
“Burr? Is that you?”
Burr recognized the voice instantly. It came to him like a reminder of a debt, full of its own guilt.
“Mother Cohane?” he said, sitting up straight and alert. He was more than surprised to hear her light, quavering voice. Intuitively, he knew that something was wrong.
“What’s up? My goodness, it’s been a long time. Is everything all right?”
“Oh Burr, I’m so glad to get hold of you. I’m so worried. Last night, some men came to my house … rough men ... they wanted to know about Tyler.”
Burr blinked in confusion. Ty Cohane was Mother Cohane’s son, her only child, and Burr’s boyhood friend. Along with Rio Henderson, they had formed an inseparable trio dedicated to the pursuit of high times and youthful adventures. Though the bonds between them had weakened some as they grew into adults, Burr felt a good deal of affection for Ty. He was more than surprised to hear that Ty might be in trouble.
“Something’s happened to him. I’m so afraid …”
“Mother Cohane, back up a moment,” Burr said, still in a fog. “Some men came to your house last night asking about Ty? Rough men?”
“Yes. I’m so confused. They threatened me ...”
“Did they hurt you?” Burr’s voice rose in alarm.
“No, no, they just ... they told me to tell them where Ty is or else. They broke a vase. You remember that one Horace bought me for our anniversary? The one with the oriental design? They just smashed it to pieces.”
“Jesus.”
“Burr, I don’t know what to do. They frightened me.”
“Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll come right over.” Burr glanced at the clock on the nightstand and calculated his arrival time. Mother Cohane lived fifteen miles away in the flats of Corte Madera, a small landlocked town in Marin County just north of the more glamorous Marin locales of Sausalito, Tiburon and Mill Valley. Without traffic, it was an easy drive from Burr’s apartment in the city, ten minutes past the bridge, all on the freeway. He could be there in twenty minutes.
“Would you? I’m so sorry for calling this early, but I’m so worried. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll be right there, Mother Cohane. Don’t worry about me. Hang tight and I’ll be right over. I’m leaving now.”
It took him three minutes to pull on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and his worn brown leather coat and then he was out the door. Burr lived in the Fog District of San Francisco, a chunk of the city south of the Presidio but before Golden Gate Park and west of 19th Avenue, and on this morning, like most mornings, the area lived up to its nickname. A thick, gray-white mist hung in the air like a living specter. Burr hurried down the outside staircase of his apartment building to the back carport, zipping up his coat against the morning chill. From a pocket of the coat he took out a Giant’s baseball cap and pulled it on securely over his mop of sandy-brown hair. Burr was thirty years old, a man of medium height with a thin, rather delicate looking face, which seemed at odds with his taut sinewy body. A soccer player in college, he moved with an athletic grace. His most striking facial feature were his blue eyes, which glowed with a perpetual if illusive intensity. They hinted at profound mysteries, at some long-ago and private hurt. Burr was not a man of easy attachments.
Burr reached the carport and unlocked his red Miata convertible, taking a moment to lower the top. Accelerating out to the street, Burr made his way over to 19th Avenue. It was a Friday morning and traffic was dense. Burr eased forward with the traffic, changing lanes, accelerating when he could, trying to keep his patience with every delay. It was not easy for him. He regarded Mother Cohane as a member of his family. When he was fifteen, his real parents died in a car accident, and in the aftermath of that tragedy Burr went to live with the Cohanes in their modest three-bedroom house. Burr’s brother Michael, twelve years his senior and a deputy with the Marin County Sheriff’s Department, offered to let him move in with him, but Michael lived then in a cramped studio apartment in Novato, and beyond the fact that Michael didn’t really have room for him, Michael, for all his surface camaraderie, was a distant brother. Burr felt more comfortable with the Cohanes. Their son, Ty, was his good buddy, and Burr, at fifteen, was not yet ready to face the world without the structure of a family. The Cohanes gave him that structure, and Burr felt forever grateful. He knew that he had accumulated a debt which could never adequately be repaid.
Up on the approach to the bridge the fog suddenly lifted and the whole of the bay, the grand, rust-colored Golden Gate Bridge and the hills of Sausalito and Marin, were bathed in bright sunlight. It was as if he had risen from some deep subterranean hole into fresh air. The sudden vista presented a glorious sight, and in another mood he would have taken in the view with an appreciative awe. As it was, the bright morning light simply burned his eyes, and Burr fumbled in the glove compartment for his sunglasses. In his mind he kept hearing the fear in Mother Cohane’s voice. “They frightened me,” she had quavered. He could not conceive of anyone deliberately harming her.
He thought suddenly of Ty. What had Ty done to get someone looking for him? Ty was a boat bum, genial and harmless, a man of easy-going charm. He was not the sort to make enemies.
The last time he had seen Ty was two months ago in Sausalito. Burr had come over to the bay-side town for lunch with a friend and had spotted Ty standing on a boat in the marina next to the restaurant. While his date went inside to order, Burr wandered down to the marina. He hung back a moment on the main pier to eavesdrop as Ty explained to a heavy-set, middle-aged man with a bald spot on the top of his head the difference between a halyard and a sheet. “It’s simple,” Ty said, talking as one might to a child. “Halyards raise the sails and lower them, sheets pull them in and let them out.” Burr smiled at the hint of laughter in his friend’s phrasing. When he called down, Ty, startled, spun and stared up at him in visible shock. With a laugh Burr started down to the dock, but Ty hustled off the boat and intercepted him at the foot of the gangway. After a quick, almost surreptitious greeting, Ty took his elbow and led him back up the gangway to the main pier, his manner oddly chagrined. Burr, taken aback, but more amused by his friend’s edgy manner than anything else, teased him about it.
“You’re acting like you got some babe down there you don’t want me to meet.”
“I just feel like stretching my legs,” Ty said weakly.
“Who’s the mark? You giving sailing lessons now?”
“Nobody you want to know about,” Ty answered obliquely, avoiding Burr’s eyes.
Struck by Ty’s discomfort, Burr didn’t press. He had not seen Ty since Rio’s funeral the previous summer, and there seemed a sudden self-consciousness between them as though they each held secrets they didn’t want the other to know. They exchanged a few more words and then Burr’s date called out to him from the restaurant deck that their food had come. Burr said good-bye and left.
Thinking back on the conversation now, Burr became convinced of something he had at the time only vaguely felt. He had caught Ty at something. No other conclusion made sense.
There was one more element to their conversation that stuck in Burr’s mind. As he turned and started back to the restaurant Ty had suddenly called out to him.
“Hey, I ran into Claire the other day ...”
Claire Henderson was Rio’s younger sister, a woman Burr had always had something of an itch for. She had been very close to her brother, and Burr knew she was embittered by his death. He thought of her every now and then, and had it in his mind to call her soon to say hi. He worried about her.
“She’s dating the guy I’m crewing for,” Ty went on, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his face frozen in an uneasy smile.
“Really,” Burr replied, curious to hear that and curious as well about Ty’s manner. Something was out of place.
“How’s she doing?”
“All right. She said if I run into you to say hello.”
Burr nodded. “Well, when you see her again, tell her hello back.”
“I will.” Ty then hesitated. “That was fucked what happened to Rio ...”
“Yes, it certainly was.”
“It makes you wonder about justice,” Ty said. “I mean, where the hell is it? They murdered the dude, for chrissakes, and nobody cares. Makes you want to say fuck it, you know what I mean?”
“That’s certainly one response,” Burr answered cautiously. He studied his friend quizzically. Ty’s cynicism was new to him.
“Ah, screw it, man,” Ty concluded. “It’s too nice a day to get all heavy. I’ll tell Claire I ran into you. You know what I think, Burr? I think she has a thing for you. I think she always has. How come you two never got it on?”
Ty’s eyes were full of good-natured laughter suddenly, and Burr saw the old Ty emerge in his friend’s wide smile. Burr smiled back and shrugged.
“Timing,” he answered, half-facetiously. “Whenever she was not spoken for I was seeing somebody and vice versa. We never seemed to be both available at the same time.”
Ty gave a laugh and the two friends parted. Walking back to the restaurant, though, Burr felt only confusion. Ty’s manner had been odd. Even when he brought up Claire, Burr sensed that Ty was giving into an impulse he knew he should resist. Burr couldn’t shake a feeling that something was not right.
Over the bridge the traffic lessened and Burr shifted finally into high gear. He sped up the Sausalito ridge, through the Rainbow Tunnel, and followed the freeway down past Tam Valley and the exits for Mill Valley and Tiburon until he came to the Corte Madera turnoff. Mother Cohane’s house was in the tract behind the shopping center. Burr parked by the front curb and hurried to the front door. Mother Cohane was waiting for him in the living room, sitting in her favorite chair, a soft-cushioned rocker that her husband, Horace, had bought at a garage sale several months before he suffered a heart attack and died. In her mid-sixties, her face had become dappled with small discolorations which made her look much older than her years. Burr was saddened by her appearance. He had not seen her in close to a year and she seemed to have clearly aged. She had lost color and had put on weight. Her skin tone had become slack.
“Mother Cohane,” Burr murmured as he walked over and took her outstretched hand. He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Oh, Burr. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Burr knelt down next to her chair and stared up into her trembling eyes with a look of deep concern.
“I don’t have any idea,” Mother Cohane said. “These two men came to my house, it was about nine o’clock last night. When I opened the door they just pushed themselves in. One of them searched through the house looking for Ty, and when he didn’t find him the two of them started asking me where Ty was, where he was hiding. They were real demanding. They scared me. I said Ty was sailing a boat to Mexico. They got mad at that and said they knew he wasn’t. They told me to stop playing games with them. That’s when one of them picked up the vase and smashed it. He looked real hard at me then, Burr. He said if I didn’t tell them where Ty was I would get hurt. I thought they were going to kill me.”
“Jesus, Mother Cohane. Have you called the police?”
“No. I didn’t know what to do. I laid in bed all night unable to sleep, and finally decided to call you.”
Burr nodded and then quickly stood up. He walked out of the living room to the phone on the table by the kitchen, picked up the receiver and dialed information, asking for the number of the Corte Madera Police Department. Jotting it down, he called the police.
When he came back into the living room, Mother Cohane stared up at him with searching, fearful eyes. “The police are sending someone over as soon as they can,” he said, trying to sound soothing. “I don’t know what exactly they will be able to do, but it’s important to talk to them. They can ask around, find out if anyone else saw the two men, maybe get a description of their car. Did you see their car by any chance?”
“No. The bell rang, I opened the door and they just barged in, pushing me back. You can’t believe what I was thinking at that moment. I thought, my goodness, they’re going to rob me or rape me or kill me. It was so sudden and unreal.”
“Do you remember what they looked like?”
“One had long blond hair tied back in a ponytail. The other one had short dark hair. That’s about it. I think one of them had a tattoo on his arm.”
“How were they dressed?”
Mother Cohane gave a helpless shrug. “I can’t really recall. In jeans, I think. One wore cowboy boots and the other one wore tennis shoes. I think the one with the pony tail wore some kind of jacket.”
“Did either one call the other by name?”
“No, not that I can remember.”
“And they just wanted to know where Ty was? They were interested only in Ty?”
Mother Cohane nodded. Then she started to tremble. Burr stepped behind her and rubbed her shoulders.
“Oh, Burr, something’s happened to Ty, I know it. Something horrible has happened to my boy.”
“Now we don’t know what has happened to Ty, if anything,” Burr said softly. “He may be perfectly safe and sound.”
“I just can’t believe Ty would have anything to do with the likes of those two. Ty is such a sweet boy. All he ever wants to do is go sailing.”
Burr came back around in front of her chair so that he could look into her eyes. “You said Ty was supposed to be sailing a boat to Mexico?”
“Yes. That’s what he told me last weekend when I saw him last. He came over to say good-bye. Said he was going to be gone for a few weeks and wanted to know if he could leave his truck here. I said yes, of course. When he went away on a trip, he often left his truck here for safekeeping so that was not an unusual request. He had a thing about doing that. I don’t know why. His truck isn’t worth much.”
“Did he do that? Leave his truck? I didn’t see it parked out front.”
“I put it in the garage. He came by two days ago, Wednesday, sometime that afternoon. I was out, so he put the keys in the mailbox. I guess he left on his trip that night.”
“Who owns the boat he was sailing?”
“I don’t have a clue. You know me and Tyler. We talk but not in specifics. He tells me generally what’s going on in his life, and I don’t ask too many questions. He knows I wish he’d get a regular job.”
Burr stayed silent a moment, his thoughts drifting back to his last meeting with Ty. Ty had been standing on a boat, teaching someone how to sail. Burr wondered if there was any connection.
“I wonder how the two who roughed you up knew he wasn’t sailing to Mexico like Ty told you he was going to do?” Burr asked. “They said that right? They said they knew Ty had not gone to Mexico?”
“Yes. They got mad when I told them he had because they said they knew he hadn’t. That’s when they broke the vase.”
“What else did they say?”
“They just kept repeating: ‘Tell us where Ty is!’ ‘Where did he go to?!’ They kept at it until I couldn’t stand it anymore and broke down. It must have been obvious by then that I didn’t know anything. Mercifully, they left.”
Her voice broke and she started to tremble again. Burr knelt down and cupped her hands.
“You’ll be okay, Mother Cohane. I won’t let anyone harm you.”
“What does it all mean, Burr?”
“I don’t know. Like you, I don’t have a clue.”
“Will you look into it for me?”
He stared up into her scared, liquid eyes. Obligation, duty, welled up in him and he knew he could not refuse.
“Of course, Mother Cohane, of course.”
She nodded, reassured, and gently patted his arm. It was a gesture of an old woman and it saddened him.
The Corte Madera police soon arrived and an Officer Denny took down Mother Cohane’s statement. When he was through, Burr followed the officer back out to his squad car.
“I’m going to be looking into this,” Burr told him. “If you come up with anything, give me a call. I’d appreciate it.”
He handed the officer his business card and watched as the officer glanced at it. “Chances are, you’ll come up with more than me,” the officer replied, placing Burr’s card in the folds of his notebook. His broad face remained indifferent. “I can’t do much about her son. As far as I know, he hasn’t committed a crime in Corte Madera so I got no real reason to look for him. If he’s in trouble, he’s on his own as far as I’m concerned.”
The officer offered a faint smile and then got into his car. His words had sounded cold but Burr knew they were true. The police could not help Ty. They would be hard-pressed to protect Mother Cohane.
Back in the house, Burr found Mother Cohane in her kitchen, bent over the stove scrambling some eggs. She had set out a plate and some juice on the kitchen table. “Sit down, Burr,” she commanded. “You must be starving.”
Burr stifled a knowing smile. Mother Cohane was reasserting herself over her domain and he took that as a good sign. “I’m going out to the garage to check Ty’s truck,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Ty’s pickup was like Mother Cohane had described it, not worth a great deal. It was dented and discolored, the bed empty and missing its rear gate. Burr searched inside the cab and found nothing of use. He noted with mild interest that the car’s registration listed Mother Cohane’s address as Ty’s own. Ty was a professional nomad, and his mother’s home was his one tie to permanence.
Standing up outside of the cab, Burr ran his hand along the side-wall of the truck’s bed, giving into a sudden nostalgia. The truck was twelve years old, and it was as identified in Burr’s mind with Ty as was Ty’s sly, dopey smile or his high-pitched laugh. Ty had bought it fresh out of high school, using money he borrowed from his parents, and all that summer the three of them, Burr, Ty and Rio, had driven the hell out of it. They took it camping in the Sierras, they journeyed north one week to Canada, they each borrowed it in turn for dates. When it came time for Burr to leave for San Diego to begin basic training - he had enlisted in the Navy straight out of high school - Ty and Rio insisted he let them take him down in the truck. They left a week before Burr needed to arrive, and that journey, in which they slowly meandered south looking for girls and one last adventure together, became for Burr a bittersweet memory of innocence and youthful exuberance where the future seemed distant and of no concern. When they finally dropped him off at the naval base, he stood at the gate and watched them drive back down the road. The last thing he saw of his childhood was the departing rear of Ty’s pickup, one taillight broken, the back fender askew from some mishap. Burr had stood there and watched them until the truck disappeared from sight.
Their friendship was never really the same after he left for the Navy and Burr still felt a sadness about that, wondering if he had inadvertently broken some unseen but vital bond by setting off on his own. Though he understood that this was probably inevitable as they each found their own way forward, he still felt the loss. A realist, Burr was not beyond sentimentality.
Ty and Rio seemed outwardly unchanged, though, when he was given his discharge four years later. Both had an enormous capacity to avoid unpleasant truths, and it seemed to Burr that his old friends were doing everything they could to live up to that failing. Ty had become a boat bum, cadging crew assignments on weekend around-the-buoy races in the bay and working odd jobs at various marinas and chandleries. His greatest ambition seemed to be to get a ride on the latest fancy, go-faster yacht. When he was out sailing, he was happy.
Rio was something else again. Burr found Rio an enigma. Smart as a whip and athletic, he scored close to 800 on the math section of the SATs and was the star tennis player on the high school team, Rio had spent the four years Burr was in the Navy drifting through the local community college earning his AA degree in general studies. Unlike Ty, Rio gave at least a cursory nod to some greater ambition. He talked vaguely of moving up into the mountains or into the woods of Mendocino to commune with nature. Burr knew none of the talk was serious, and that Rio offered it more for its amusement value than for any other reason. Rio had a particular sense of humor. He seemed to admit that he was wasting his talents but made it into a joke, preferring his ironic detachment to any accomplishment he might achieve. “Life’s not to live but to laugh at,” he told Burr one long ago summer night as the three of them were hanging out consuming a twelve-pack of beer. Burr knew his friend had just summed up his guiding philosophy.
For his part Burr struggled to define himself. Though the Navy had taught him the wisdom of acting purposefully, Burr found it hard to choose a direction. Nothing readily pulled at him. His brother Michael wanted him to join the Sheriff’s Department, but Burr had had enough of saluting and obeying commanding superiors in the Navy. He enrolled in college and majored in criminal justice, and after graduating got a job as a paralegal with a downtown firm. That brought him in contact with Royce, whose agency occasionally did work for the firm. One day Royce invited him to lunch. “I’ve done some checking up on you,” his soon to be boss said, “and I like what I see. You’re thorough and hard-working, and you’re nobody’s fool. I really don’t see you playing second fiddle to a bunch of fat-cat lawyers. How would you like to come work for me as an investigator?” Burr was surprised but complimented by the offer. As Royce told him about the demands of the job Burr became excited by the possibilities. He would be independent, almost his own boss when it came to the needs of a case. It would be on him to solve or not solve a case. He would rise or fall based on his own efforts. When Royce finished, Burr didn’t have to agonize over his decision. He resigned from the law firm that afternoon and went to work for the man.
He loved the job from the first moment. He was as green as he had been joining the Navy, but what saved him was his understanding that he had at last found something at which he could excel. Burr was a natural investigator, curious, cool, skeptical. And he had an almost innate desire to learn the truth of something. Each case presented a challenge, almost a game of wits, and his mode was to attack it with a simple and single-minded desire. He wanted to figure out what happened, to know the truth. He didn’t concern himself with consequences.
As Burr stood now beside Ty’s battered truck, it occurred to him that he had been lucky in a way that Ty and Rio had never been. Ty certainly had moments of happiness when he was sailing, but Burr also sensed that his friend was beginning to understand that his life was not sustainable. As for Rio, he drifted into selling drugs, and in the last year of his life Burr never saw him without a drink in his hand. The last time Burr saw him before his death Rio came close to admitting his failure. “You know, Burr, if I had it to do over again I’d join the Navy, just like you did. Seaman Henderson, reporting for duty ...” He gave a jaunty salute. As always, Rio turned a serious sentiment into a joke. In his heart, Burr knew the joke was on Rio.
Over his breakfast Burr quizzed Mother Cohane about her son’s current life. “Tell me what you can,” he said. “Anything you think of might help.”
“All I really know about Ty is that he’s a boat bum,” she said with some exasperation. She sat down at the table across from Burr and sipped at a mug of coffee. “Sailing is the be-all and end-all of his existence.”
“Is he still living aboard that ketch in Sausalito?” Burr prodded gently. He knew Mother Cohane was not pleased with the way Ty was leading his life, and he didn’t want her to get distracted by that emotion.
“Yes, he’s still living there,” Mother Cohane said. “He’s supposed to be fixing it up in his spare time in exchange for free rent, but I don’t think he’s keeping up his end of the bargain. I went down to visit him a month ago and the boat looked to me to be barely afloat. I thought maybe I should wear one of those life-vests when Ty had me step on board. It’s berthed at a marina near the boatyard where he works.”
“He’s working at a boatyard?” Burr queried. “That’s news to me. What happened to the job selling marine supplies?”
“What happened to doing maintenance work for that yacht brokerage or working for that sail maker? What happened to all the odd jobs he’s had over the years, each one never lasting more than half a year. I think he’s afraid of stability. I don’t understand it. A person needs a steady job.”
“What yard is he working at?” Burr asked, steering the conversation back to the details of Ty’s life.
“Richardson’s Bay Boatworks. You go right past the marina where he lives until you can go no further. Off Gate Five.”
Mother Cohane stood up from the kitchen table to fetch Burr some more coffee. “I just wish he’d get a regular job,” she lamented. “A regular job with a regular income. I don’t understand how Ty’s lives like he does.”
“He views sailing as his job, Mother Cohane. Listen, two months ago I ran into him by the Spinnaker restaurant. He was teaching some man how to sail. He ever mention something like that?”
“No, not that I recall. As I said, we don’t talk about specifics much.”
“The man was a middle-aged guy, kind of heavy-set, with short dark hair. Does that description ring a bell?”
Mother Cohane shook her head. “As far as I can recall, Ty never mentioned teaching anyone how to sail.”
She came back over to the table with the coffee pot. Burr slid his mug over to her and she refilled it.
“Tell me about his friends,” Burr prompted, raising the coffee mug to his lips.
“There’s you and that’s about all I know,” she answered, sitting back down. “There used to be Rio, of course. He’s got lots of acquaintances but not many friends. At least he doesn’t mention them to me.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“If he does, he’s never mentioned her to me.” Mother Cohane gave a sigh. “With Ty, I learned long ago not to get too involved in whatever was happening in his life. He’d take off on some race and when he came back everything had changed ... where he worked, where he lived, who his friends were. I couldn’t keep up and after a while I stopped trying. The way he lived his life, he taught me not to pay attention.”
“Can you think of anybody he might contact or who might know of his whereabouts? Any name at all?”
Mother Cohane looked baffled. “I can’t think of a soul. Isn’t that horrible? I don’t know who my son’s friends are.”
They sat in silence and Burr finished his breakfast. He became aware that Mother Cohane, slumped down in her chair, was watching him eat.
“You eat the same way you did as a teenager,” she said to him, her eyes soft and nostalgic. “Full of concentration, like if you look away you’ll miss a bite.”
Burr offered a faint smile. As he ate he had been trying to figure out how he was going to clear things with Royce, his boss. Running after Ty was going to take some time. What Mother Cohane had taken for concentration had been distraction.
“I can get focused,” he mumbled, his mind still on what he was going to say to Royce .
“I wish Ty had some of that focus of yours,” Mother Cohane said with a forlorn look.
Burr stood up. “Well, you’ve given me enough to start. Is there someone you can stay with or someplace you’d like to go to?”
“I’ll be all right here, Burr,” she said. “They want Ty, not me. I’ll be okay.”
Burr led the way to the front door.
“If Ty’s in trouble, he’s gonna need help,” Mother Cohane said with some anguish. Burr stared down at her. She had choked up again and Burr saw tears welling up in her sad eyes.
“Find him for me,” Mother Cohane said. “I just know he’s gotten himself into some trouble and needs help. Please find him for me.”
“I will, Mother Cohane,” Burr answered, feeling less confident than his words implied. He half-suspected that Ty did not want to be found.
“Just don’t you worry too much,” he added.
“I knew I could count on you, Burr,” she said.
The boatyard where Ty worked was situated in the industrial flats of Sausalito, a section of the picturesque city that fronts a shallow, flat body of water called Richardson’s Bay, an adjunct to the bay proper. It is an area of warehouses, small shops and light industry, and is separate in both look and feel from the elegant Mediterranean-style main village a mile further down the road. The two parts of the town seem only remotely connected.
Burr curved off Bridgeway and turned onto a long gravel road that fronted a narrow canal. He passed the marina where Ty lived, and then came to the boatyard at the end of the road right before the canal emptied into the bay. He parked in front of the main building and walked around through the opened gate into the central yard. Sailboats and motor boats, some as fat as beached whales, sat idly on worn wooden cradles. Burr paused a moment to get his bearings. There were several workers down at the docks by the canal, positioning a sleek yacht onto a hoist. One of them, a portly man in faded, paint-smeared jeans, was barking orders. Burr crossed the yard and approached him.
“I’m looking for Ty Cohane,” Burr said. The man turned and eyed him with a harried glance. Burr fished out his business card and handed it to him.
“I just have a few questions ...”
“Jesus H. Christ. What did that little prick do, win the goddamned lottery? I’ve had more people coming by asking about Ty. I’m thinking of having my secretary type something up and post it on the gate. ‘To whomever it may concern. I haven’t seen the guy in three days. He quit. He’s on his way to Mexico. I don’t know when he’s coming back and I don’t give a shit …’”
There was a commotion down by the hoist and the man turned back and barked out an order. Burr watched as the workers lifted the boat high, swung it around and lowered it slowly onto a cradle.
“Did he leave you high and dry?” Burr asked with some sympathy, as the workers started to maneuver the cradle up into the yard proper.
“You could say that, yeah,” the man replied resentfully. “I got three boats coming in today and two more tomorrow. There’s a big race coming up this weekend and nobody wants to hear I’m shorthanded.”
He ran a hand over the top of his scalp and blew out a sigh. “Hey, I don’t mean to be cross with you. It’s just that I’m behind schedule and lately every stranger and his brother seems to be dropping by asking about Ty. The son-of-a-gun quit without adequate notice, so he’s not my favorite subject in the world at the moment.”
“When did he quit?”
“Wednesday. Wednesday morning. Didn’t even put in a day’s work. Just came in and asked for his final check.” The man paused and glanced down at Burr’s card. “R.J. Investigations, huh. You’re a private investigator? What the hell’s going on? Did Ty get himself in some trouble?”
“I’m representing his mother,” Burr answered. “Some thugs roughed her up last night wanting to know where Ty is. I’m just following up, finding out what people might know.”
The man gave a low whistle and then pocketed Burr’s card. “What I know is basically what I just told you. My name is Nixon, by the way, and if you haven’t guessed, I run this fucking place.”
“Nice to meet you,” Burr said offering his hand. “How do you know Ty’s on his way to Mexico?”
“Because that’s what he told me when he quit. He said he was sorry to jump ship without more notice but that he was taking some boat down to Mexico for this guy and they were gonna leave that evening. I was pretty pissed, I got to tell you. The arrangement I had with Ty, he was supposed to give me a couple of weeks notice if he was gonna split for any length of time. Do you know the guy?”
“We grew up together.”
“Really. Well, then you know that Ty’s always taking off to go sailing somewhere. That’s his style and I don’t object if he gives me enough notice. He’s a pretty decent rigger so I’m happy to have him around. But I’ve got a boatyard to run and I have to know who’s coming in, what I can handle on any given day. Ty broke our deal, so as far as I’m concerned, he’s cut his chances at this yard. If you find him, you can tell him that for me. Tell him not to come back around looking for work for I’m not inclined to take him on.”
“I’ll give him the message. What about this boat he’s taking to Mexico? Do you know anything about that? Like who he was going with, or who owns it?”
“Ty didn’t tell me who or where or anything about it, just that he was leaving that evening.”
Burr grew pensive. “He mentioned to me a few months ago he was crewing for somebody locally. Do you know who?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. Jonathan Rhys. He lives in Tiburon.”
“Jonathan Rhys,” Burr repeated distractedly. The name meant nothing to him, except that Ty had told him Rhys was Claire’s new friend.
“Mr. Rhys is a good customer,” the man added. “He owns a sexy go-faster racer named Aphrodite. Sails out of the San Francisco Yacht Club. Ty’s been crewing for him for I don’t know how long.”
Burr nodded. “Well, you’ve been very helpful,” he said.
“Well, it’s what I know.”
“These other people who came by asking about Ty,” Burr suddenly asked. “Who were they?”
“You know, I don’t think they told me. They said they were friends of Ty’s, looking for their buddy. Just like you.”
“Did one of them have long blond hair or a tattoo on his arm?”
“Nope. The fella I talked to had short hair. Hell, I thought he was a cop.”
Burr stared at the man. “A cop?”
“Yeah. You know, he looked and talked like a cop. I would have bet money he was a cop.”
“No kidding,” Burr muttered, intrigued.
“Yeah. I knew straight off he wasn’t Ty’s friend,” he said with a laugh.
Burr backtracked to the marina where Ty lived and parked in front of a white clapboard building at the far end of the parking lot. He was beginning to feel his lack of sleep. His mind, at first energized by Mother Cohane’s fear, felt dull as he realized just how tedious the effort might be to track Ty down. He dreamed of driving home and climbing back into bed.
Sighing, Burr stood up out of his car. One of his assets as an investigator was his doggedness, but there were times when Burr wished he had some of Ty’s ability to blow things off. But as Mother Cohane knew, he could get focused, and when he did, time and personal needs took a back seat.
The marina proper spread out from the building in a series of short tangential piers off the long arm of the main dock. It was a small marina, with space for only fifty boats, and as he glanced about Burr thought it a fitting home for his nomadic friend. The place had a look of impermanence to it.
He entered the building in front of him which housed a chandlery called Chasen’s Marine Supply. From an office behind the counter a teenaged girl appeared. She had long, straight brown hair, which fell below her shoulders, and dark watery eyes. Burr judged her to be nineteen.
“Do you work here?” he asked, approaching the counter.
“I help my Dad,” the girl replied, absently brushing a wayward strand of hair back behind an ear. “He owns the store.”
“I’m not sure if I need to talk to you or your Dad,” Burr said. “My name is Burr. Burr Rollins.” He handed her his card and watched her eyes widen with intrigue as she read it. “I have some questions about Ty Cohane.”
The girl glanced up, a wary suspicion flooding her look. “My Dad’s at the dentist. He should be back later this afternoon.”
“Do you know Ty?” Burr asked innocuously.
“Yeah, well, like he lives here. I mean, we aren’t best friends or anything like that, but I know him.”
“I know him too. I lived with his family when I was in high school.”
A flicker of recognition registered in her eyes. She glanced back down at his card, studying it as if to spur her memory.
“Burr Rollins,” she murmured, reading out loud his name. “Ty mentioned you. You’re the private investigator, right? I mean, obviously it says that on your card, but I remember Ty telling me about you.”
Burr nodded and leaned against the counter. “You got a brother who’s a sheriff’s deputy,” the girl went on.
“That’s right. What did Ty do, tell you my life history?”
He flashed a friendly smile which made the girl blush. “We hang with each other sometimes,” she said self-consciously. “I mean, we’re both around the marina a lot so sometimes we talk ...” Her look suddenly turned serious. “You’re the third person who has come by asking about Ty,” she said. “Is he in some trouble?”
“I don’t really know. I hope not. Listen, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Julie ...”
“Julie. I’m going to level with you. Ty’s disappeared. And last night, some men paid a visit to Ty’s mother and threatened her. They wanted her to tell them where Ty is. Of course she doesn’t know. She asked me to look into things. She’s scared. Scared for herself and scared for Ty ...”
Alarmed, Julie brought a hand up to her mouth. “Those two men who came by here asking about Ty … Could they be the ones who hurt her?”
“Did one of them have long blond hair or a tattoo on his arm?”
“No.”
“Did one of them look like a police officer?”
“You mean, was he wearing a uniform?”
“His demeanor. The way he looked and sounded.”
Julie thought a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know. They were just some men. The one who did the talking? He said they were Ty’s friends, but he seemed really pissed off at Ty. I’ve never seen either of them around here before.”
“I think Ty did something they didn’t like,” Burr said evenly. “Do you know where Ty is?”
“That’s what they wanted to know as well. I told them he’s sailing a boat to Mexico.”
“And they said he wasn’t, right?”
“Yeah. They wanted to know where he might be, who his friends were, did he have a girlfriend, stuff like that. They were really anxious to know about his life.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them I knew nothing. And that’s the truth. Ty and I talk, like I said, but we aren’t exactly confidants, you know. I mean, Ty likes to tell me stories of his travels, the sailboat races he’s been on. That kind of thing. Sometimes he asks about me, you know, do I have a boyfriend, what music do I listen to ... We’re friendly but I don’t know anything about his life except that he sails a lot and works over at the boatyard. I think it’s kind of weird he lives on a boat.”
“How do you know he went to Mexico?”
“Cause that’s what he told me. He said he was getting fifty thousand dollars to take this boat down to Baja.”
“Fifty thousand dollars?” Burr interjected, giving a low whistle.
“That’s what he told me. Is that a lot of money for delivering a boat?”
“I’d say so, yeah,” Burr said. The figure astonished him. Fifty grand was far too much money for that particular service.
“Did he tell you who he was doing this delivery for?” he asked. “Or who he was doing it with?”
“He just said he was doing it for some rich guy he crewed for ...”
“Jonathan Rhys?” Burr interjected. “Did he mention that name?”
“I don’t really remember. He could have, I guess, but I don’t recall him telling me a name. I’m sure he told me it was some rich guy he knew. I guess the man would have to be rich if he was paying Ty that kind of money.”
Burr nodded distractedly, retreating into his thoughts. Jonathan Rhys, Claire’s new friend. He was going to have to see the man.
“You think he took the money but then didn’t sail the boat?” Julie speculated with an incredulous air.
Burr arched an eyebrow. “That’s possible, though I don’t see it that way yet.” In truth, he could not imagine Ty running a scam on anyone. That required a certain nerve Ty didn’t have. Not on his own.
“It’s hard to believe Ty would cheat someone,” Julie said, echoing Burr’s thoughts. “He’s not that kind of person ...”
She was interrupted by the door to the store jangling and a customer walked in. He gave a wave to Julie and then headed toward the paint section at the back of the store. Julie mumbled hello to the man, calling him by his name, Mr. Johnson.
“Listen,” Burr said, bringing Julie’s attention back to him. “I’d like to take a look at Ty’s things. Do you have a key to his boat?”
Julie hesitated. “The other two wanted to do the same thing,” she said.
“Did you let them?”
“No. I told them I didn’t have a key.”
“Do you have a key?”
Julie fidgeted, her eyes darting away from Burr’s glance. “I’m not sure about this,” she confessed. “I can trust you, can’t I? I mean, you’re not one of them pretending to be you?”
“I am who I say I am,” he assured her. “You can trust me.”
She gave in. From the office she retrieved a white envelope with the key sealed inside. On the envelope was written the name of the boat’s owner, Mr. Hallick.
“It’s the wooden one with the two masts at the end of pier 5,” Julie said, giving him the envelope. “You can’t miss it. It’s the last one before you walk off the pier into the water.”
Burr thanked her and left.
Mr. Hallick’s boat was an old double-ended ketch, forty-five feet in length, made of heavy planking and stained brass fittings and had masts that looked as tall as telephone poles. The teak deck was faded and the caulking dry and cracked. The boat’s brightwork had been taken down to bare wood in spots but overall it was blistered and yellow with age. The hull, painted black, was dull and splotched with discolorations. A forest of algae grew off its bottom.
A barge with sails, Burr thought as he approached. Mother Cohane had been correct. If Ty was getting free rent in exchange for his labor he was obviously not living up to his end of the bargain. The boat needed a lot of work.
Clambering up on deck, Burr opened the companionway with the key and hopped down inside the cabin. For such a wide boat the cabin seemed surprisingly cramped. Like every other part of the boat it needed work. The floorboards were unpainted plywood; the bunks were covered with old grayish canvas. There was a small galley next to the companionway with a gaping hole where the ship’s stove should be. Resting on top of a board across the hole was a propane camping stove. In the shelves around the galley were boxes of junk - bolts, rags, old varnish cans as well as boxes and jars of food. It was an odd mix and one that defined the temporary nature of Ty’s existence. He had not bothered to put the galley in any order, as if he had only planned to stay on board for a long weekend.