Neon Nights Chapter 10

Flamingo Shores pre-dated its neighbor, the fairgrounds, by forty years. It was an institution in East Bay, founded by the late Peter Simmons, who had escaped the icy winters of Middle America like millions of others with the dream of sand and surf. He passed it down to his son John, who still ran it with his wife and daughters. The campground had itall for its guests: sites where you could dock your boat in front of your tent, RV hookups for any monster tour bus thatwanted to stay for a Sunday or the summer, and "glamping" cabins that helped ease people into the outdoors who had no business in the outdoors. It also had a path connecting the two properties and was a well-trafficked alley for golf carts, bicycles, skateboards with one, two, or four wheels, and any other kind of wheeled contraption an engineer could conjure up. If you were on foot, you took your life into your own hands as those with wheels treated the path like it was their birthright.

The campground had sold out months before the event, and every available piece of dirt that didn't have a tree or building on it had been converted to "primitive tent sites." Battalions of port-a-potties and portable shower stalls were lined up to deal with the influx of extra guests, though many would forgo the shower altogether.

With the marquee acts of the day about to perform on the main stage, the area was quiet compared to the chaos of theearlier check- ins, or what it would soon become when the show ended, when thousands of intoxicated teens and twenty-somethings overran it.

Marc pulled up to the gate and flashed his badge to a young man.

"Hi, can you tell me what site a kid named Avery Bass is staying at, please?"

"I haven't seen that name, sir, but I wasn't here earlier. Let me check real quick for you," the young man said.

He returned a moment later after attacking his keyboard like it had hurt his little sister.

"No one here by that name over the last few nights, sir."

Carly leaned across Marc and held out a picture of Avery she had brought from his wallet.

"Does he look familiar?" she asked.

The kid took an extra second longer than he should have to process Carly's looks before saying, "Let me go check for you, ma'am."

"He was checking you out," Marc said with a grin.

"Umm, a little young, and he called me ma'am, which I didn't enjoy as much as you liked the ‘sir’ line."

The kid came jogging back up, excited to be of assistance.

"My manager said there is a huge Airstream in the waterfront lot at J29. I showed the photo to the desk girls, and oneof them said that

the guy in that photo caused some problems last night and was rude to the staff this morning."

"Thanks for your help," Marc said, then shifted the truck into gear and rolled down a dirt road.

The entire place looked like something out of a fairy tale. Strung across trees were large bulbs with bright white lights that gave the woods a magical glow. Crickets and frogs called out above the bass, likely irritated to have competition for the soundtrack of the night.

"Damn, these kids have some money," Carly said with a whistle. "Drastic understatement."

They pulled up to J29 and found a bright silver Airstream that glistened even in the dark and was flanked by a hulking new black pickup to tow it, complete with tens of thousands of dollars in after- market add-ons. Ego-drivenpurchases, but as an avid outdoorsman, Marc couldn't help but feel more than a slight tinge of jealousy, especially since he was still towing an old Prowler camper with his "classic" Tacoma.

A wooden picnic table sat out front near the fire pit, where broken beer bottles lay strewn about. Empty red cups joined their fallen comrades on the ground, and half-full bottles of liquor stood guard on the edge of the table, ready to leap into action if called upon.

Marc knocked on the door.

"Police, we want to ask you some questions." Crickets.

Frogs.

Nothing from inside.

Carly circled the camper and tried to look inside, but all the blinds were closed. Marc tested the handle, and it opened without resistance. He drew his pistol from the holster and slowly opened the door.

"Police, anyone in here?!" he called out.

There was no answer, but that was because the trailer's only occupant, a college-aged kid, sat slumped over the pull-out kitchen table with a bullet hole in his head and a far-off gaze in his cold, dead eyes.

They stood outside the trailer and soaked in a moment of quiet before the evening hurtled in a very different direction.

Marc wandered off to the edge of the water, the high tide lapping the shoreline like a cat at its milk bowl. The moon sat low in a cloudless sky and shone off the water where small islands that had jutted above the surface only a fewhours ago now sat submerged by the rising tide. To the east, a steady pulse of deep beats floated to the campsite, and the sky had a light gray haze from a flurry of fireworks.

Four more weeks.

He could do anything for four weeks. Except maybe this.

After they secured the site and called in the cavalry, he left Carly to start the report and headed to the campground office, a log cabin with a green metal roof that looked more mountain than beach town.

Two life-sized plaster flamingos, “Fred and Wilma,” who were in need of a touch-up coat of pink paint, stood guardon opposite sides of the staircase leading to the office. Peter Simmons had bought them on the family’s winter vacation from a theme park in Florida that was going out of business, and they had stood watch since opening day at the campground.

The door chime rang when Marc opened the door, and from behind the desk, he was met with the smiling face of Sarah Simmons, the founder's granddaughter who worked the campground in the summer months and had just graduated from East Bay High.

"Hi, how can I help you?" she asked.

She was bubbly and exuded an air of positivity that made Marc stand up straighter and smile a little wider. Positive people, much like negative people, printed their vibes on those they met, whether the receiving party wanted it or not. Given how up and down the last twelve hours had been, Marc was thrilled for the pick-me-up.

"Hi Sarah, is your dad here?"

"He's not, but Katie's in the back. I'll go get her for you," she said with a smile.

"Thank you," Marc said.

The campground office also served as its general store, restaurant, and library. If you were in East Bay and needed aburger, there wasn't anywhere else you should be going. They were so good that locals made the long drive over to dive into a "Querqe," their take on a green chili cheeseburger from New Mexico with bacon, queso, a pile of sautéed green chilis and onions, and three thin slices of avocado to top it off.

Generally bustling with guests, it was quiet tonight as two stragglers from the show stood at the burger countercontemplating their order among a dozen different choices, and another pair sat glued to their phones while waiting for their food.

The smell of the burgers cooking was intoxicating, and Marc realized that he hadn't eaten in ages. As he zoned out, acutely aware of the most basic human need, he was startled back to reality by a silky- smooth voice behind him.

"Hey, hey, good looking."

Marc turned to find an enchanting woman wearing a gray t-shirt with a neon pink flamingo, who looked like the hotcounselor from an 80s summer camp movie. Her face was soft and sweet, and her cheeks sat just a little higher thaneveryone else's, creating a shimmer that brightened the world around it.

"Right back at you," he said as they hugged each other.

He still marveled at the fact that he got to hug Katie Simmons, who was the senior year homecoming queen at theirhigh school when he was a freshman. She was the gold standard in girls for every teenage boy in East Bay then, andtime had yet to sink its teeth into her.

Perhaps more importantly, she was one of the sweetest people Marc had ever met. They had become friends when Marc and Paul had gotten out of the Coast Guard, and Paul met Katie one night at the marina soon after. The two spent the summer together, and Marc would tag along with whoever he was dating, everyone doing their best to avoidany level of seriousness in their lives. But her and Paul's relationship went sideways when Paul met Jamie at the end of the summer, and the world wouldn't turn for anyone else.

"Want anything to drink ... or a burger?" she asked him.

"I would love a burger, but I can't right now. I'm stopping in on business and, more to the point, probably about to ruin your night," he said, a strained smile working its way across his face.

"Um, okay," she said, laughing, but then cut it short. "Now I think you're serious, so please tell me before I start killing off family members in my mind."

Marc waved his hands at her.

"No, no, sorry, your family is fine, but you have a problem in J29. The occupant in the Airstream is dead."

"You're kidding," she said. "I wish I was."

Marc could hear the sizzle as a fresh batch of diced onions hit the hot black surface. The cook squeezed out an aggressive stream of black liquid over the onions and shook a stainless-steel shaker over them, a multicolored blend of spices falling onto the caramelizing white vegetable below.

His stomach growled, and he realized he should have taken her up on the burger.

Katie looked at the counter, took a deep breath, and exhaled. "What do you need from me and my staff?"

"We will want to look at the security footage you have, guest registrations since they got here, talk to the neighboring campers, and a hundred more things I haven't thought of yet."

"Sarah and I will get to work right now."

"You're the best, thank you. I'm sorry, but this will be a serious disruption tonight for your guests while we do our thing. I take that back. It's going to be a serious disruption through the weekend."

Katie nodded.

"It is what it is. Don't be a stranger. My dad asked about you the other day to see if you wanted to get some fishing in."

Marc looked behind her at the wall of photos and spotted one of his dad and Katie's dad John Simmons on the bow of aboat holding up a large mahi-mahi, their smiles as big as the catch itself.

"Tell him I'm in, and I will have a lot more free time soon to do so." "Why's that?"

"I put in my notice at the department." A look of shock came across her face. “Ready for a change is all," he replied.

Her eyes lightened ever so slightly.

"Well, good, I'm tired of always having to say be careful to you. You've always had a nasty habit of running to introduce yourself to trouble."

Marc laughed and hugged her.

"Thanks, and you have my word that I won't run toward it for this last little bit. It will just be a walk or a jog."

What few campers weren't at the festival were lined up at the front of their sites to watch the free drama unfold at J29 as a caravan of emergency vehicles pulled down the dirt road, red and blue lights bouncing off the trees.

Marc saw Chief Rome's cruiser bringing up the rear, and a very tired- looking man got out of the car.

"Quite a day today," Rome said to him. “Mild way to put it," Marc said.

"What can you tell me about the kid that was killed?" the Chief asked.

"Jameson Yates White," Carly said, walking up with her notepad in hand.

The chief rubbed his temples and grimaced like he had eaten a spoiled piece of fruit.

"The senator's son?" Rome asked.

Marc nodded at him.

"It would appear so, yes."

"So, we have to tell a senator that his son is dead and one of the potential masterminds of a drug distributionoperation,” Rome said.

"You going to handle that one, or do I win the prize?” Marc asked.