The Lost Coast Read Free Page A

But come on, can you help me out? I’m not a cop. Where do I go?”
    The kid was quiet for a moment, then he said, “What’s your name?”
    “Dave. And you?”
    “I’m Seth.”
    “Well, Seth?”
    “I guess… I guess I know a few guys on campus.”
    “Far from here?”
    The kid shook his head. “Maybe a mile.”
    Larison felt a little warmth spread out in his gut. “If I pick something up, will you share it with me?”
    The kid looked at Larison, something suddenly eager in his eyes. He said, “Sure. Okay.”
    No doubt, this was shaping up to be a very fine evening. There were risks, yeah, but sometimes the reward was worth it.
    Larison finished his beer in a swallow. “Do we walk?”
    “We could. But I’m parked out back. I know, lazy.”
    Larison imagined parking on some quiet street under the shadow of the redwoods, the vehicle’s interior illuminated only by the glow of a shared joint, the feeling close, comfortable. Most of all, private. People lost their inhibitions in the dark, when they knew they were in a place where no one else could see them, when they couldn’t see themselves. The kid would get high, he’d feel relaxed… he’d let himself do what he’d secretly always wanted to. Larison felt his heartbeat kick up a notch. He said, “Sure, let’s take your car.”
    They walked out, past the pool players, the bouncer, the hobos shifting around outside. They made a right, then another at the corner, moving along the sidewalk, not talking. Larison felt nervousness coming off the kid in waves and it excited him. He wondered if it was possible it was the kid’s first time. Christ, what a thought.
    The sidewalk was dark, parked cars to their left, the solid façade of the building to their right. A short funnel of sorts, the kind of terrain Larison always instinctively avoided because it was too easy for the opposition to close off both ends and squeeze, as well as being popular with ordinary muggers, too. But no one knew he was here, and he pitied the random mugger who might try to rob him.
    They came to an alley and made a right. Now they were behind the bar; further down, at the other end of the alley, was the back of the hotel. A few lights along the building façade to their right provided a feeble, yellowish glow, casting shadows under the Dumpsters and garbage cans lined up beneath. To their left was a single-story, freestanding shack, apparently a small office of some kind.
    Halfway down the alley, a guy in a hoodie and lumberjack boots was leaning against the building, a cigarette burning in his hand. Larison logged him reflexively, noting long, greasy hair and a bad case of acne. A cook or bartender, ducking out back from one of the bars for a tobacco break? Maybe, but he wasn’t near a door. And he was watching them, not with idle curiosity or bored disinterest, but with a kind of focus Larison didn’t like at all. The hobos he’d seen out front had felt like regulars. They wouldn’t try to rob someone so close to where the cops would roust them for questioning. A drifter, like himself? Maybe. But he looked more like a student. Which would have downgraded him on Larison’s threat assessment scale, but there was that focused way he was watching them.
    They made a left past the shack, stepping off the paved alley and onto bare gravel. Larison didn’t like that their footfalls were now causing audible crunching while the guy against the wall would be able to approach quietly from behind. He glanced back and sure enough, the guy had come off the wall and was moving in their direction. He was holding something long in one hand—a lead pipe, Larison thought. Which meant he didn’t have a gun. Ordinarily, this could have been fun, in a
retard-brings-a-pipe-to-a-gunfight
kind of way, but tonight it was a problem. The bouncer had seen his face, twice. He’d actually talked to the bartender. And of course there was Seth. Whatever happened, he couldn’t just shoot someone. He couldn’t