Neon Nights Chapter 11

A heavy tongue smacked against his cheek, and he tried to brush it off, but it kept lapping at him like an animal in thedesert that hadn't seen water in days. Marc grabbed his pillow and buried his head under it until the dog finally relented, shifting his approach to get him to wake up by digging his paws into the blanket, kneading it like he wastrying to make a loaf of bread. Marc was groggy, running on little to no sleep, and his head felt like someone had squeezed a stress doll. His eyes were ready to bulge out of his head, but the claws digging into his legs could no longer be ignored.

Clark, by contrast, looked well-rested and ready to take on the world.

Marc patted the dog's head and planted a kiss on the top of it between his eyes.

"C'mon, buddy. Let's go get you outside."

Clark bounded out of bed, hit a rug on the hardwood floor, and skidded across the surface, somehow coming to a screeching halt before crashing into the wall.

Marc threw on a pair of shorts, trudged down the hallway, and hit start on the coffeemaker. When he took the leashoff the wall, the

dog exploded into a previously unexplored dimension of craziness, his tail whipping back and forth at such a ferocious velocity that he could have chopped down the leg of the kitchen table. Marc finally managed to corral him, and after an intense struggle, emerged victorious and opened the front door.

Marc pulled out his phone for the first time that morning and checked to see if Amanda Carr, the department'smedical examiner, had sent him anything yet.

There were two messages waiting.

3:33 a.m. Carly: Can't sleep. I thought of something about the RV and did some digging. Call me in the morning.

3:47 a.m. Amanda: What time are you in this morning? I need to go over some things with you. I am headed to bed now. See you around 9.

"Thanks for keeping things so cryptic, ladies."

After the walk, Marc put some food in the bowl, freshened up Clark's water, and threw a 7'3” single-fin surfboard in the back of his truck.

The air smelled sweet as the scent of honeysuckle blooms drifted in through the truck's window, and he saw a pair ofsquirrels defying gravity on the limbs of the oak tree at the end of the driveway. The ride to the beach was peaceful, asa morning dew coated the grass on the side of the road and a light fog hung over the two-lane highway. His mind was blank, and he noticed how good that felt. He was here right now. Present in the moment, and it felt sorely needed.

No past. No future.

He noticed how his breath felt. Clean, quiet.

Crossing over the 30 Bridge into town, he felt the joints click-clack under his tires, the staccato noise snapping him back to reality. He picked up the phone and hit Carly's name.

"What have you got for me?" he asked before she could say hello. "No ‘good morning’?" Carly asked.

"Nope, straight into it."

"I think every guy I've ever met has that mindset. No pleasantries. Let's just do it."

"Okay, well, I started my calls with you to see if you can just go ahead and end everything with the answers we're looking for."

"I can't end it, but I can get us off on the right foot." "I'll take that," he said.

"I couldn't sleep last night, so I started looking around social media for Jameson and Avery."

Marc rolled his eyes and flipped his turn signal at the light for Route 1, the six-lane corridor that ran north and south along the beach. Traffic was light at this time of the morning, with most of the town having gone to bed only a few hours earlier. Breakfast places were starting to pick up some steam, and the coffee places had lines down their drive-thru lanes. A few stragglers walked down the sidewalk,

still dressed in the clothes they went out in the night before, only now more disheveled and likely in need of a toothbrush.

Social media was the greatest gift to the police since handcuffs. Since people felt the need to share everything about themselves online, they often shared details about their crimes with their followers— and of course, the police as well.

"Turns out Avery and Jameson have known each other for a long time, with photos up from baseball games their freshman year in high school together."

"Interesting," Marc said, momentarily distracted by a handful of guys he knew walking down Bonefish Avenue withtheir surfboards in hand.

"There is also a third kid in almost every one of the photos named Ryan. It looks like that's their gang. They are part of the same fraternity now over at Woods College. According to their posts from last weekend, they were taking Avery's new toys down to the beach for the week. 'Let's roll bitches’ is the caption on the photo, and there is a video of them doing some sort of dance routine for the camera with their shirts off in front of the Airstream."

"Why does everyone want to dance in front of their cell phone?"

No sooner had he uttered the words than he looked to his right, and despite the early morning hour, a pair of college-aged guys filmed each other as they took turns doing backflips off a bench at the bus stop.

Carly ignored him.

"These posts are filled with comments, most of which I can't understand. We probably need a fourteen-year-old to helpus decode them."

As Marc ran up to the beach with the orange-and-black checkered board under his right arm, a stomach-high wave peeled across the outer sandbar, causing him to double his pace to the waterline. When his toes touched the wet sand at the ocean's edge, he knelt and rubbed a small nugget of wax over his board, then zipped the remaining piece up in his pocket.

He paddled hard towards the horizon, and for the next thirty minutes, wave after wave melted the stress and anxiety from his mind. Every turn, every fan of spray arcing high over the top of the wave helped him find a balance that had been sorely missing from his life the last few days.

After his last wave, he jogged back up to where the truck was parked and rinsed the sand off at the beachside showers.

And for the moment, the world was still.

Like all good things, he knew there was no way was that ever going to last.

No sooner had he pulled out of the parking lot than his phone lit up with Carly's name and number.

"Kerry's dead."

And just like that, his world was spun on its head again.

It never ceased to amaze him how life could turn on a dime. You're up, and then boom, you're on your ass.

Jack and Anna must be crushed. Logan will be crushed.

Blaire’s life will never be the same again.

A life was never just about the one living it because each person who loved them experienced it differently. Their collections of experiences, thoughts, feelings, and dreams were shared by the people that cared about them, the ones that were left behind.

Kerry had brought that light to a lot of people in East Bay, and now it was out. Marc stared at his phone and found it difficult to touch the key to call Jack Baker.

What felt like an eternity passed before he did so. Three rings.

"Hey, Marc."

"I'm so sorry, Jack …"

"Find out who gave her this pill, please. I have to know why they needed to ruin her life … to take her from us." Jackcould no longer hold back the tears.

"I will," Marc said just before the line clicked. And he knew just where to start.

Pulling up to the station, Marc saw a brand new, matte black AMG Mercedes Roadster parked in the Officer of the Month’s space with the license plate “I WIN” on the back of it.

A short, aggressive man confronted him as he walked through the sliding doors, his shoes clacking loudly against the floor. He had slick, jet-black hair, a Mediterranean complexion, and a flawlessly tailored black suit that Marc assumed was hand-stitched by some Italian craftsman from the yarn of a free-range, grain-fed sheep that was massaged by its own personal shepherd three times a day.

He looked like a mortician from the 50s. "You the arresting officer?"

"Arresting detective, yes. Let me guess. You must be Avery's dad."

Bradley Barrett Bass launched into his argument without acknowledging what Marc had just said.

"I posted bail for my son yesterday. Why the hell is he still in your custody? You've got thirty seconds to get in there and get him out, or I will have this department riding bicycles because you won't be able to afford cruisers."

Marc remained calm as Carly walked over to join the conversation with a grin on her face.

"Your son was observed selling a Schedule 1 narcotic to a group of kids at the Neon Jungle Festival, took off runningwhen we told him to stop, and we found his roommate in his trailer dead. Given your son's affinity for his product andthe dead body, we have more than

enough cause to hold him through the weekend as a potential suspect."

"You've got zero. He ran because he was scared of being chased, he didn't know those were drugs that Jameson asked him to hold for him, and the kid must have gotten killed while Avery was in custody. I've already spoken to the judge here, and he has agreed to release him to me as long as he doesn't leave town."

"Bullshit," Carly said, crossing her arms. "Call him yourself, princess."

Marc walked across the bullpen of desks and rapped on the chief's window, opening his arms wide. Rome was on the phone and held up his index finger. Marc paced outside the door for what felt like an eternity, and when Rome openedthe door, Marc jumped on him.

"The judge is allowing this kid to walk?"

"Yes, and don't get in my face over it. I've been fighting all morning to keep him here for the weekend until we can getmore answers. All we have at the moment is that he had drugs in his possession, and the judge feels that releasing him to his father's supervision is sufficient to keep him out of further trouble."

"What about the dead body in his trailer," Marc said, his voice rising to match his level of irritation.

"We don't have any evidence to hold him on that. I'm not happy about this either. There is nothing I would like to seemore than this little prick and his dad lose this battle, but it won't happen right now."

Marc stormed back to the father, who was pecking away at his phone, oblivious to the world around him.

"Your kid is a piece of shit, and he's got something to do with what's happening here. We are at the tip of the iceberg,and he's a big part of what's under the surface."

Bass looked at him with intense disinterest like Marc had told him his cab driver from thirty years ago in Vegas had died.

"Personally, I can't stand him either. I don't know how he became such a little prick."

"Can't figure that one out, huh?" Carly said. Bass ignored her.

"Love him or hate him, though, I won't let the only person sharing my last name be dragged through the mud by somesmall-town cops with nothing better to do than harass a wealthy boy and his family because of jealousy or greed."

Marc stared back at him; his teeth clenched so tight he could crack a crown.

The smaller man wasn't remotely intimidated and reached down to answer another message from his dinging device.

Bass finished texting before looking back up to meet Marc's eyes. "You lose. I win."

"So, that went well," Carly said.

Her comment helped to break the tension, and Marc managed to crack a smile.

"That guy is the worst. I've come across a lot of terrible people in this job, but he is the gold medal, world record-holding winner."

"So, our only real suspect is walking. What's the next step?" Carly asked.

Marc started down the hall to the holding cells and motioned for Carly to follow him.

Avery was out of the cell and standing next to his father, who was filling out the release paperwork. He shifted back a half step when he saw Marc and Carly approaching.

As they approached, Marc asked, "How long had you and Jameson been friends?"

"Don't answer anything, Avery. Stay away from my son."

"You know what bothers me the most here? You're not even remotely upset that your friend was murdered. It hasn't been a question or a concern. You haven't shed a tear or expressed an interest in his parents. You guys were in the same frat, have known each other for years, and not one beat missed. Why is that?"

Bass stroked the last signature and grabbed his son by the arm. "Let's go, Avery."

Marc didn't let up and followed them the entire way through the station.

"Between you slinging that poison and your friend getting killed in your trailer, you're on a roll this week. Just because your daddy is here to save you this time doesn't mean shit, because I'm going to find something that you can't get around so easily. Something that will require a group of twelve people to decide your fate."

Bass spun around; his face flushed with rage.

"Get near my client again, and I will own you and this town. I will make it my personal mission to destroy you, and spoiler alert, I always win."

For all of Bass's fire, Marc was now cool as ice. "Not this time, you won’t."