Neon Nights Chapter 30

For so many years, summer weekends had meant beers with his buddies, burgers and dogs, and bonfires on the beach.

Now, the image of two kids dead by a single hand gripped his mind in a chokehold and threatened him with a lifetime of pain for his failure to stop it.

"Shit," Carly said, putting a hand on his back.

Marc knelt on the ground, speechless, and produced only a fraction of a sound in response.

He leaned over Avery to check for a pulse. Nothing.

Then he took one look at Ryan, walked back into the sea foam green bathroom, and threw up.

"Hey, you don't have a cigarette on you by any chance?" Marc asked the owner of the motel, a paunchy man with thinning black hair everywhere but his mustache, which was bushy enough to squirrel

away meals for a week. The man smiled and handed him a pack out of his shirt pocket.

"Need a light too, Detective?" "Please and thank you."

The man pulled a Zippo out of his pocket, struck the metallic wheel down hard, and hovered the flame over the tip of Marc's cigarette.

"Thanks," Marc said as he walked around the back of the motel, pulling a drag deep into his lungs. He coughed hard and appreciated the not-so-subtle reminder of why he had quit this habit so many years ago.

The motel's jolly green theme extended to the pool area, where a set of forest-green patio furniture sat by the pool, a look that seemed to bring 1975 into the modern world. Marc walked out to the table and took a seat, trying to balance the wobbly chair on the uneven stone.

He heard her footsteps before she opened her mouth, and he preempted the attack before seeing her face.

"Yes, I got a cigarette. No, I don't feel bad about it. Yes, I will be right back up."

She pulled up a chair next to him and propped her feet on the table. "Am I that predictable?"

She motioned for him to share the smoke. He cut his eyes over to her.

"Really?" Marc asked.

"Yes. I'm a grown woman, and I need that smell gone ASAP."

Marc handed her the cigarette and watched her lips wrap around the filter and casually pull from the filter like she had smoked all her life.

"You been smoking in your spare time? That looked too easy." She handed it back to him with a smile.

"There's plenty you don't know about me, Detective."

He opted not to fall down the rabbit hole of flirtatious comments he could have inserted in the moment and got back to the job at hand.

"One to go, huh?" he said.

"It would appear that way, yep."

"Did you see that coming upstairs?" he asked her. "No. I didn't see it at all."

They sat without a word while they finished the cigarette, staring out at an empty pool that was surprisingly clean, given the care exercised on the rest of the property.

He stood up and pushed his chair back from the table. "Let's finish this without any more death, please." Carly nodded her head emphatically.

When they returned to their vehicles, they found JT staring up at the ceiling of his car.

"You okay, JT?" Marc asked.

JT looked straight ahead and didn't respond.

Marc patted him on the shoulder. "It's tough when something like this happens. You need to make sure you go see Dr. Silva and talk to her. No one cares about that cowboy bullshit anymore."

"Thanks, Detective."

Marc looked up at a menagerie of purple, orange, and red brush strokes as the sun descended over the horizon.

He longed for his backyard, his dog, and his fire pit.

One domino to go, and I might be able to enjoy the next sunset.

Life was so fragile. Every moment contained the chance for it all to change, for better or for worse like everyone had taken wedding vows with the Universe around them and the chaos it existed in.

He could see the bottle under the sink too.

He could feel the weight in his hand, hear the liquid swirling inside the glass.

Maybe that could help make the images go away. Maybe they could just be friends this time.

It wasn't anyone's business how he coped with the shit he saw. Maybe this time, it just wanted to help him, not own him.

He rubbed his fingers hard into his palms, and he felt a bead of sweat at his temple. He saw himself nine months earlier, staring at the bottle of pills in his hand. He could still hear them rattling against the inside of the bottle.

Then he thought about how far he had come.

The meetings.

The soul searching. The tears.

He could feel it all on the tip of his tongue.

He knew which one felt better, even if it hurt worse sometimes.

The fall had been rapid and spectacular, and he never wanted to repeat the process.

He knew it would be no different this time, except it might be a faster and bumpier trip to hell.

He wasn't about to try to convince himself otherwise.

There would be no more safety net hiding under the cabinet. He would live out on the edge with all its pleasure and pain.

He would feel all of it, and there would be no excuse for not meeting it head-on.

When he walked into the house tonight, the bottle would be on a one-way trip down the drain.

Marc checked his watch; 9:02.

The festival's final night would be in full force now.

He took the lead out of the parking lot with Carly and JT right behind him, and they gunned their way down Route 13 toward the fairgrounds.

When they pulled in under the arches, the sky above exploded with fireworks and strobe lights, flashes of color streaking across an onyx sky. There was only one person at the gate, and he looked so high that Marc wasn't sure you could count him as a complete person. When the three of them presented their badges, though, the man stood a little straighter and did his best to direct them to where Alec would be on the wing of the main stage.

"JT, head to the Russ Bus and let him know what's going on. We need to find Alec now, and I need all of his guys to drop what they are doing and start looking."

JT nodded and bolted off faster than Marc had moved in ten years. He and Carly made their way to the backstage entrance and were greeted by two guys whose day job likely involved some form of wrestling—gator, rhino, or human.

"Passes," said the one on the right-hand side with a bright purple mohawk and matching goatee down the center of his head. The man stood close to seven feet tall, and if he didn't weigh 400 pounds, he was pushing 399.

"No passes … badges, though," Carly said as she pointed to her hip.

"We have been told not to allow anyone through without a pass. Anyone."

"Where is Alec?" Marc asked.

"Mr. Davidson has left for the night." Carly looked incredulous.

"Really? On the last night, he would leave in the middle of the final acts?"

The man flashed a sarcastic grin. "Don't shoot the messenger."

He and his partner shared a chuckle and didn't acknowledge Marc or Carly again as four scantily clad girls ran up and hugged the men. They turned on one of the most manipulative showcases of flattery Carly or Marc had ever seen, and the two men were reduced to pre- pubescent boys in front of their eyes.

Carly looked at Marc with a wide grin. "Men can't help themselves, can they?” He shook his head.

“Women have ALL the power. ALL of it. We are nothing more than a means to an end for you. If a pretty girl talks to us, we are screwed. Our dignity, our money, our identity, all gone."

"Think he really went to the hotel?" she asked. "Hell no."

They made their way back out into the melee of bodies, and Marc reached out and grabbed Carly's shoulder before she got too far ahead.

"I think we split up here," he shouted over the music. "One of us needs to take the offices, and the other needs to take the performer's

trailers. Whoever gets to him first calls the other for backup, and then we move in. I wouldn't be surprised if he's already bolted."

"Okay, I'll hit the offices to start. You do the trailers. Meet back at the food court in fifteen."

Marc gave her a thumbs-up, and they set off in opposite directions.

Two people sharing a zebra costume covered in strings of fluorescent lights pranced by, and a woman who wore only a palm frond over her crotch and two leaves over her nipples walked past and waved.

I'm actually going to miss this thing a little when it's over.

A sea of traffic headed toward him down the vendor alley walkway, and he realized he was the only one headed in the opposite direction. He stopped at one of the booths to allow the mass to go past him rather than fight his way through them.

The ten-by-ten booth he stopped in front of featured three nylon flaps of "spirit animals" with the balloon's skin glowing in neon paint. A short Asian man with bright blue hair, parachute pants, and no shirt greeted Marc warmly.

He motioned to the balloons with his best game show wave.

"Only a few hours left to get your spirit animals. You'd be crazy not to buy these balloons. I immediately sense you are a tiger, sir: mighty, strong, and brave."

"Very kind, but I'm right in the middle of something. Though I gotta be honest, my niece would love it. She's more of a polar bear, though, and I'll need a panda too. How much?"

"For you, I would craft a deal. Eighty dollars for both."

"Eight dollars or eighty? These are balloons, right?"

"My friend, these are made of a space-age polymer that will keep them looking beautiful to remember this magical time for years to come."

"I'll give you ten dollars apiece," Marc said, waving a twenty-dollar bill in the man’s direction.

The mystical accent dropped off and was replaced by a Middle- American drawl.

"Deal."

Perception is hardly ever reality.

"I have something to do. I'll pick them up on my way out."

As Marc left the booth, he heard the Far Eastern accent return as a new customer entered the space.

"You have made a wise choice, sir. I will have your animals ready and waiting when you require them!"

The crowd had thinned some, and Marc finished the short walk back to the performer's trailers. A small group milled about in front of the gates hoping to scam their way into the area but seemed to be having no success. He looked around but didn't see Alec anywhere. He walked up to the gate where two other guys who matched the build of the VIP area guardians stood.

Marc walked up to the larger of the two, who wore his hair in a long brown mullet and had an oddly clean-shaven face. He wore a ripped Slayer t-shirt with no sleeves, his left arm covered in tattoos from his wrist to his shoulder blade.

"I need to see Alec. It's an emergency."

The man looked him over and said nothing.

"Sorry, I'll try again. My name is Detective McKinley of the East Bay Police Department, and I need to get back there to find Alec immediately. It's an emergency."

"Boss left, and no one is allowed back here without a pass." "Left to go where? I have tried his cell phone ten times." "Didn't say nothing. Just left."

Marc could see this line of inquiry wasn't going to yield a wealth of information, so he left and continued walking around the eastern side of the area that was surrounded by a six-foot-high temporary metal fence. He found a delivery gate in the back, and lo and behold, it only had one person manning it. The kid didn't look old enough to have driven there alone, with spotty facial hair and acne, straggly hair past his shoulders, an orange Festival Security polo untucked from black jeans, and checkered slip-ons.

Before he saw Marc, he brought a joint to his lips and sparked the end of it.

"Medical?" Marc asked.

The kid coughed on the inhale in surprise and looked over at him. He slid his long hair away from his eyes and shot Marc a nasty look.

"Yeah, medical. I got a condition. What does it matter to you?"

Marc flashed his badge and turned his hip so the kid could see the gun.

"What's your name?" Marc asked.

The kid shot up like he'd been hit with a cattle prod and set the joint into a blue plastic ashtray with faded lettering.

"It's Dave, and honest officer, I-I was … I mean … I'm in pain from a car accident a few months ago. The weed helps relax me. Better that than Oxy, right?"

Marc couldn't argue with his reasoning.

"I just had an accident myself, Dave, and I won't go near those pills they try to hook you on. Listen, I don't give a shit about you smoking. I just need to get back there and talk to someone quickly."

"I'm sorry. They will fire me if anyone goes back without a pass." Marc laughed.

"Like, fire you in a way worse than they will if they catch you getting high on the clock?"

Dave looked around and weighed his options. Without another word, he pulled a key out of his pocket, inserted it into the padlock on the fence, removed the chain from the metal posts, and swung the gate open for Marc.

"I appreciate it, and you can get your joint now, too," Marc said with a smile.

The kid gave him a cautious smile, like a dog afraid that your benevolent gesture was merely a trap to get you to the vet.