Page 29 of Whistle

Flattening my palms on the wooden arms of the tall Adirondack chair, I started to push up to go find that drink. It would be the only way to shut up my damn brain.

That’s when I saw it. A faint flicker. The glow of a small red light. Something passed in front of it, blocking it out, and then it reappeared. Sinking back into the chair, I stared at what I knew was a lit cigarette. It was so dark, the house that much higher than the beach, that I didn’t even know there was anyone down there. Hell, it had felt like I was alone for miles.

An uneasy feeling melted down my spine, congealing to the bone and leaving me suspicious. I waited for the small light to continue, for the person imbibing themselves of the cancer stick to keep walking.

Only, it remained rooted in place, right in front of the house. The light flickered and something passed in front of it, hiding the glow. Must be using their hand to block the wind. It appeared again, and I stared intently into the dark until I was sure my eyes could make out the outline of a person.

Sure, sure, it wasn’t a crime to walk on the beach and have a smoke. But the persistent feeling gnawing at my instincts wouldn’t let me look away. Ash flicked from the tip, fading out long before it hit the sand, and the cigarette was lifted back to a pair of lips. The person started moving, making the back of my neck tighten as they headed not down the beach but toward the house.

Quickly, I glanced from side to side, confirming what I already knew. There were no houses on either side of this one. At least not close enough for the person to be walking to them instead.

No, these bougie beach houses had “privacy” and “personal space” or whatever it was those monied avocado heads out there in Cali called it.

Even though it was dark and I was up here on the deck, I still moved slowly, taking pains to not make any noise or call attention to myself. I leaned forward to look at the stairway leading up from the sand onto the long wooden walkway that led to the house. There were three stories here (could have been more; I didn’t ask for a tour), so there was a deck below me and a partial one above, which made more than one way to access the house from the beach.

I waited for an alarm to pierce the night. Surely, the rich were loaded down with them here. But none came.

The lit cigarette crested the stairwell, and I watched the man pull it from between his lips and toss it onto the deck. After letting himself through the small gate at the top of the steps, he put it out with his shoe.

My eyes narrowed, and I slid deeper into the chair. I watched him stuff his hands into the pockets of a dark-colored jacket and bow his face so all I saw was the top of a dark head.

He walked along the path almost as though he belonged there, like he wasn’t out of place or uninvited. A swift, powerful punch of something that made me intensely angry slammed into my gut, momentarily robbing me of breath.

Did Bodhi call him? Is this some kind of booty call? A little post-prison fun?

I jumped up from the chair, the wooden leg scratching the deck boards. The man below tensed and spun, looking over the railing.

Suppressing a curse, I slid back into the shadows as he pulled his face up to look toward the windows. When he saw nothing, he resumed walking toward the house.

Another thought assailed me. Is this guy gonna help Bodhi run?

Look, Rush might be resigned to letting his old bestie make his own choices and ruin his life. But me? Over my cold, dead body.

Like hell I’d let this little shit run off into the night with some hoodlum smoking a cigarette like he had no respect for his lungs. In my line of work, oxygen might be optional, but it wasn’t because our lungs were too diseased to work.

Kids these days acted like they didn’t have D.A.R.E. in school.

His shoe scuffed lightly against the wood, and I peered over the railing in time to see him disappear beneath the deck.

As quiet as I could, I rushed to the door and slid inside, ran soundlessly through the room, and hit the stairs.

Bang! Bang! The loud thudding hitting against something hard echoed through the house.

“I know you’re in there, Lawson! Open the door or I’m smashing it in!”

Forgetting about being quiet, I rushed down the stairs and into the hallway.

Bang!

The sound of a lock clicking and a large slider opening led me to a shut bedroom door.

“What the fuck—” The muffled voice was cut off by something being knocked over and breaking. There was a grunt and an oomph.

Grabbing the handle, I twisted, but the fucking thing was locked. This shit locked his bedroom door to keep me out.

Another grunt and clatter. My vision tunneled. With a roar, I backed up and went running, slamming into the door. A loud splintering sound filled the hallway, and then it gave way and I stumbled inside.

The room was dark, the only light from the moon shining in through the open slider door. A table was overturned, as was a chair and a lamp. Sheer curtains whipped in the wind, almost like a white flag of surrender.

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