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“Two more members of the Mexican drug cartel have been arrested. Along with the bust—more than one hundred pounds of methamphetamine, ten pounds of cocaine, and half a pound of heroin was seized in the raid. Vice squad detective Jason Holt said he estimates to have removed nearly five million dollars of trash from the streets. The almost five-year long investigation culminated late last night when a long undercover operation targeting the remaining members of the Cortez Family was brought to a successful end. The Department of Justice said that they believe the trafficking organization run under this family is now shut down. In related news, Josh Hart, believed to be linked to the cartel, was found guilty of aggravated assault and battery in March and was sentenced to three years in prison today.”
It looks like Jason’s involvement is out there for the world to see now. He called me right after Bass this morning. I’m still not convinced there isn’t more to it. His being in the courtroom when Hart was sentenced placed doubts in my mind.
I push all that aside for now and walk out to the beach. I think about the last couple of months. Beck and I talk often. He and Ruby are still together. He took her out of town back when I was arrested because her ex-boyfriend was still harassing her. But once they returned the ex never showed his face again. I guess Jason did what he said he would.
***
Last month I opened a corporation, naming it Plan B. I’m going to buy small struggling magazines, and the first one on my list is Surfers End. I had written a number of freelance articles for them over the past few months and knew they were in trouble. I think I can actually help them put their mark on the world—or at least I hope I can. Either way, I’m excited to try.
Aerie has kept in touch with me since I met up with her and her boss that day a few months ago. Kimberly, or Kay, as Aerie calls her, quit sometime at the end of April to work at an LA radio station. The offer was one she couldn’t pass up, is all Aerie would say. Fuck me if Kimberly’s not going to be the next Ryan Seacrest.
Anyway, Aerie needed a freelance writer to help out. With Kay gone, she was absorbing the responsibility of both divisions, and on top of that, so many employees had quit. I said I would help and have actually done a lot work under my pen name—my New York City name—Alex Coven.
Yesterday she contacted me to see if I could help her with something important . . . of personal interest to her. She needed some research done right away on Damon Wolf’s companies—I jumped on it like a bulldog. I managed to obtain access to Damon’s company, Sheep Dynamics, under the guise of writing an article on his rise to the top. I knew that would get me in. I perused all of Sheep Dynamics subsidiaries’ financials. I found what she was looking for in no time—information on Nick Wilde’s career. The more I learned through my research the more my stomach turned over for the swine that Wolf is, and the more I knew I could help her. I also discovered that Sound Music Magazine was in the red and they were financially vulnerable. So I decided to take it. Why not?
The night air is warm as I cross the bridge to the beach. I make my way to the rocks and sit. Raising my head, I watch the momentary sonic boom that fills the sky. I think about my life and the choices I’ve made, finally understanding I can’t change any of them. I can only move forward, which I’m trying to do each and every day. Streaks of color cross the sky and I lean back on the rocks to absorb the sounds of the fireworks in the darkness of the beach. I watch the sky come alive with so many vibrant hues, starbursts of color, and showers of light. And as ribbons of smoke blur the sky, I can say for the first time in a long time, my path is clear.
Epilogue
Disappear
October
3 months later
The one year anniversary of my mother’s death
Tonight journalists from all around the state came to see me receive the award I was originally supposed to get three years ago. At first I intended to turn it down when they approached me again. I reminded myself that it was a time I’d tried hard to forget. But then after I thought about it I decided, yes, I wanted it. I felt I had earned it.
News of the drug cartel’s trial coming to a successful end had swept the airwaves. Senior management at the Los Angeles Times took notice and decided they wanted to honor me with the honor I was supposed to receive, but never did, almost four years ago—California’s Journalist of the Year Award. They wanted to, and I quote, “Highlight my brilliant work in underground crime investigation.”
I was nervous as hell. When I wrote my speech, I’d decided I would approach the award with levity. I’d tucked a not ecard into my back pocket. But as I moved to take the podium, I decided to change gears and approach it with honesty instead. I strode across the stage and took a deep calming breath.
The podium stood shorter than I imagined and as I pulled the microphone toward me, I glanced around the room. Food was being ushered out to the tables and I knew my time was limited. So with sweaty palms I gripped the wooden sides of the stand and spoke. But before long my attention was taken elsewhere and I paused. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted her as soon as she entered the room. Her red hair flowed past her shoulders and her tight green dress seemed to hug her body in all the right places. I made a mental note that she seemed to wear green a lot. It looked good on her. I realized I’d stalled and I cleared my throat.
I glanced across the many faces in the room and found hers again immediately. Her mouth took on a scowl as she took notice of me watching her and then she quickly turned away. But it didn’t take long until I scanned the room for her again. She was pointing to a number of trays on a table and directing where she wanted them. The more I watched her, the faster my heart beat. Words spilled mindlessly from my mouth as my ears rung from the thudding echoing in them. When I shifted my gaze to follow her movement, I noticed some of the women dabbing their napkins under their eyes. I could only assume my heartfelt words had moved them. But when I saw S’belle pick up one of the black linen napkins and do the same, the thought that she’d listened to my speech for some reason rather than tuning me out—it took my breath away. I finished my speech.
It looks like Jason’s involvement is out there for the world to see now. He called me right after Bass this morning. I’m still not convinced there isn’t more to it. His being in the courtroom when Hart was sentenced placed doubts in my mind.
I push all that aside for now and walk out to the beach. I think about the last couple of months. Beck and I talk often. He and Ruby are still together. He took her out of town back when I was arrested because her ex-boyfriend was still harassing her. But once they returned the ex never showed his face again. I guess Jason did what he said he would.
***
Last month I opened a corporation, naming it Plan B. I’m going to buy small struggling magazines, and the first one on my list is Surfers End. I had written a number of freelance articles for them over the past few months and knew they were in trouble. I think I can actually help them put their mark on the world—or at least I hope I can. Either way, I’m excited to try.
Aerie has kept in touch with me since I met up with her and her boss that day a few months ago. Kimberly, or Kay, as Aerie calls her, quit sometime at the end of April to work at an LA radio station. The offer was one she couldn’t pass up, is all Aerie would say. Fuck me if Kimberly’s not going to be the next Ryan Seacrest.
Anyway, Aerie needed a freelance writer to help out. With Kay gone, she was absorbing the responsibility of both divisions, and on top of that, so many employees had quit. I said I would help and have actually done a lot work under my pen name—my New York City name—Alex Coven.
Yesterday she contacted me to see if I could help her with something important . . . of personal interest to her. She needed some research done right away on Damon Wolf’s companies—I jumped on it like a bulldog. I managed to obtain access to Damon’s company, Sheep Dynamics, under the guise of writing an article on his rise to the top. I knew that would get me in. I perused all of Sheep Dynamics subsidiaries’ financials. I found what she was looking for in no time—information on Nick Wilde’s career. The more I learned through my research the more my stomach turned over for the swine that Wolf is, and the more I knew I could help her. I also discovered that Sound Music Magazine was in the red and they were financially vulnerable. So I decided to take it. Why not?
The night air is warm as I cross the bridge to the beach. I make my way to the rocks and sit. Raising my head, I watch the momentary sonic boom that fills the sky. I think about my life and the choices I’ve made, finally understanding I can’t change any of them. I can only move forward, which I’m trying to do each and every day. Streaks of color cross the sky and I lean back on the rocks to absorb the sounds of the fireworks in the darkness of the beach. I watch the sky come alive with so many vibrant hues, starbursts of color, and showers of light. And as ribbons of smoke blur the sky, I can say for the first time in a long time, my path is clear.
Epilogue
Disappear
October
3 months later
The one year anniversary of my mother’s death
Tonight journalists from all around the state came to see me receive the award I was originally supposed to get three years ago. At first I intended to turn it down when they approached me again. I reminded myself that it was a time I’d tried hard to forget. But then after I thought about it I decided, yes, I wanted it. I felt I had earned it.
News of the drug cartel’s trial coming to a successful end had swept the airwaves. Senior management at the Los Angeles Times took notice and decided they wanted to honor me with the honor I was supposed to receive, but never did, almost four years ago—California’s Journalist of the Year Award. They wanted to, and I quote, “Highlight my brilliant work in underground crime investigation.”
I was nervous as hell. When I wrote my speech, I’d decided I would approach the award with levity. I’d tucked a not ecard into my back pocket. But as I moved to take the podium, I decided to change gears and approach it with honesty instead. I strode across the stage and took a deep calming breath.
The podium stood shorter than I imagined and as I pulled the microphone toward me, I glanced around the room. Food was being ushered out to the tables and I knew my time was limited. So with sweaty palms I gripped the wooden sides of the stand and spoke. But before long my attention was taken elsewhere and I paused. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted her as soon as she entered the room. Her red hair flowed past her shoulders and her tight green dress seemed to hug her body in all the right places. I made a mental note that she seemed to wear green a lot. It looked good on her. I realized I’d stalled and I cleared my throat.
I glanced across the many faces in the room and found hers again immediately. Her mouth took on a scowl as she took notice of me watching her and then she quickly turned away. But it didn’t take long until I scanned the room for her again. She was pointing to a number of trays on a table and directing where she wanted them. The more I watched her, the faster my heart beat. Words spilled mindlessly from my mouth as my ears rung from the thudding echoing in them. When I shifted my gaze to follow her movement, I noticed some of the women dabbing their napkins under their eyes. I could only assume my heartfelt words had moved them. But when I saw S’belle pick up one of the black linen napkins and do the same, the thought that she’d listened to my speech for some reason rather than tuning me out—it took my breath away. I finished my speech.
