Zuma Beach was part of the Malibu coastline, north of where Pepperdine University sat across from the Pacific Ocean on Highway 1, the Pacific Coast Highway. Zuma was popular with surfers and families, immigrants and SoCal natives. Sewage spilling into the water under the tourist-heavy pier at Santa Monica ten miles south didn’t make it to Zuma and the daily report in the Los Angeles Times listing beaches to avoid because of high bacterial count rarely included its name. It was also one of the largest continuous public beaches in Southern California. Drive over the mountains on Kanan Dume after a twelve-mile up-and-down ride cut out of the rock and head north a couple of miles, then take a series of right turns and end up in line behind hundreds of other cars waiting to pay seven dollars to park. This single entry point for parking usually looked like the entrance to Disneyland on a busy holiday weekend; SUVs packed with kids and coolers, everyone antsy to get in and start having fun. On a Saturday evening after 5:00 p.m., though, what traffic there was headed in the other direction to exit the parking lots. The toll-takers were gone for the evening and Josh didn’t need to pull his wallet out as he passed by.
Josh remembered taking a date to Zuma last Memorial day. Going to the beach on the first major holiday of the good weather, the official start of summer, was insane. But the woman he was seeing loved the beach, thought it would be romantic, and Josh was in the honeymoon phase. Anything she wanted was fine with him. He remembered waiting half an hour in line to pay for parking and entering a massively overflowing lot with dozens of cars cruising for an open spot. He groaned but his companion – a native Malibu beauty – told him to keep driving past this first lot on the narrow road paralleling the highway. There was a second lot a little ways down. It, too, was teeming. Keep going, she said. Turned out there was a third lot, with only about a dozen cars hunting for the rare open parking spot. She looked at him and mouthed the words “keep going” as they passed thousands of bodies laying on the beach, throwing Frisbees, or splashing in the surf. Josh drove past a fourth lot. By the time they reached the ninth section of the parking area, he had the luxury of picking a spot closest to the sand and away from any rust-bucket beaters whose owners clearly wouldn’t care if they dinged his Beemer when they opened their creaky door. They’d outlasted the couples and families and surfers who either didn’t know or didn’t have the patience to keep going. Josh counted a total of thirty-two people on this stretch of beach. On Memorial Day. It was a perfect date.
This time he was heading to the very last parking lot. It was close to sunset and by the time he passed the third lot there were barely any cars. By the eighth lot there were no cars at all and only a handful of surfers on the beach. When Josh reached the final parking lot, it was deserted. A squat, cinderblock building marked the end of Zuma beach. It was the last of a dozen public restrooms/shower houses along the beach. One surfer was rinsing sand off his board at the outside shower and as Josh parked the surfer finished and headed up to the highway. You could park on the PCH and skip paying the seven dollars, hopping over a small wooden railing and crossing the parking lot to the beach, but risked getting a ticket if you exceeded the two-hour limit or violated the strict rules about keeping two wheels on the grass and two on the shoulder. The cops made millions every summer ticketing tourists who didn’t know the subtleties. The surfer tossed his board into the back of a faded yellow convertible VW Thing. Josh had never seen one outside California, but they were the cool ride for the very poor in LA. Behind the surfer’s car was a black-on-black Lexus SC400. Beautiful car. Nothing else – no other car in the lot and no other car parked on the road within two hundred yards. The Lexus must have been Helen’s. Josh noted the license plate, but did not need to write it down. MNYGAL. Subtle.
Out on the beach a couple walked slowly, the breeze pushing the woman’s hair away from her face. She held hands with her partner, occasionally leaning her head against his shoulder. It looked like a commercial for Viagra. They were heading past the public part of the beach. There are only three kinds of beach in southern California: public, where anyone could walk; protected, which was part of the many acres of preserved land in California and was too rough and tumble for regular beachgoers; and private. The communities and homeowners along the coast owned the private beaches. This couple looked pretty comfortable crossing the line from public to private beach. They were probably residents of the community just north of Zuma. Helen’s instructions said to park near the restroom and walk onto the sand directly across, waiting for her at the shoreline. Josh didn’t know what to expect. She wanted the design, so she wasn’t just going to shoot him from the roof of the restroom. He was pretty sure she, or one of her other partners, would meet him. Josh was hoping he had enough leverage to survive the meeting. If she wanted the design badly enough, he would be okay tonight. After that, it was only going to get worse.
Josh locked the car and stepped off the asphalt onto the sand. It felt funny trudging across fifty feet of beach in regular clothes. Still no one in sight. He got to the line where the surf fizzled out against the sand and waited. No matter what else was on your mind, it was impossible not to look out at the ocean, particularly at sunset. It was getting cool and it had been a clear day, so the remaining light sparkled on the water. Fewer than 100 feet off shore, a fin broke the surface and then quickly disappeared. Josh kept watching, and the fin reappeared. This time it didn’t just break the surface; almost the entire body of the dolphin arced over the water. Three other fins did the same thing a little further out. Fifty feet ahead of the first one, another four sleek figures emerged. Three more a little closer in. Maybe they were feeding, maybe just playing. But watching them pass by leisurely, close enough that a surfer or good swimmer could easily make their way out and touch the cool, slick skin as they passed, calmed Josh. He turned around just as Helen emerged from behind the gray structure where the surfer had been cleaning up. She looked directly at Josh, never wavering as she crossed the dozen yards of sand. Most people took on an awkward gait when walking across sand. Helen didn’t. Josh couldn’t suppress the thought he had slept with this woman, that she was beautiful, and that he had felt so attracted to someone who was threatening to destroy his life. Humiliation mixed with his fear. She held her shoes in her left hand and the light wind whipped her loose-fitting white silk pants. Her bare arms were golden tan and as she got closer he could see the gentle lines of muscle in the shoulders. If she had a gun or other weapon, it was hidden somewhere she couldn’t easily reach. She walked right up to Josh, not stopping a polite few feet away. He almost stepped back until he realized this was part of the game she played; she planted a gentle kiss on his cheek and stepped back. She was a predator and this was part of toying with her prey. Helen knew the memory of the couple hours they’d spent being intimate would be to her advantage.
“Josh, how lovely to see you this evening.”
Her casual demeanor didn’t take him by surprise any more. Josh was beginning to get her rhythm. The stark beauty of her face, the slim, tight sensuality of her body were not lessened – they created an even greater contrast with the evil he knew she was capable of. This was the woman who had ordered the death of his sister. The muscles of Josh’s neck tightened, but his face showed nothing.
“Dear, please tell me how Crawford met his untimely death. I can’t wait to hear the details.” Her taunt froze on her lips as her eyes moved to Josh’s neck. The angry laceration glowed in the dimming light. Helen reached out to touch it. He didn’t flinch. Helen’s eyes returned to his and her smile lessened.
“You are a very lucky man, Josh. Very lucky.”
Josh wanted to lash out and smash her like he had Crawford. His plan to stay calm was disappearing. “Why’d you send him? I told you I had it, I was sending it first thing in the morning. You didn’t have to…there was no reason…” His voice was rising. He unclenched his fists as he realized they had tightened and were digging his nails into his palms. “You didn’t have to do that. I said I would do what you wanted.”
“I gave you a deadline. You missed it. I always do what I promise. Now, sweetie, give me the Ventrica design so we can avoid any future unpleasantness.”
They looked at one another, not saying anything. She was less sure of how Josh would respond than she had seemed on their previous visit. Part of him knew that could be an advantage, but it was hard to keep a clear head. He couldn’t stop playing a scene in his head where she casually gave Crawford the order to kill Allison
“How do I know you’ll leave me and my sister alone if I give it to you?”
Her smile was back. “I think I’ve shown I’m true to my word.” Irony. “Now give me the design and you can go back to your perfect little life. I’ll tell my boss you cooperated and it will be over. We’ll just forget about the dust-up with Crawford.”
Josh hesitated, not feeling so confident in his plan now that he was standing alone on the beach with the person who he knew was capable of anything. So without looking down Helen pulled a small but ugly gun from one of the shoes she carried in her left hand. Not pointing it at Josh, just holding it to her side. He knew she would shoot him without hesitation if she thought it would get her the design. He also knew she would shoot Allison or anyone else. Her or someone else sent by whomever she worked for. The idea that she had an employer rattled around in the back of Josh’s mind, a concept that felt too overwhelming to examine right now. Looking in her eyes he shivered.
A couple deep breathes. His neck relaxed, just a little. No one in sight, no partner running along the beach. Just Helen and her gun. “I killed Crawford in self-defense. I didn’t tell the police anything, just that there was a burglar and we struggled. I don’t know him; I don’t know anything about you. I can’t do anything to cause you harm. I just want it to be over.”
She shifted her weight in the sand, the gun visible only to Josh had there been any other observer. “The design, Josh. And it’s over.”
He raised his hands to his sides. “It’s not on me.”
“Where is it?” There was an edge in her voice and it scared him.
“I scanned it and sent it to an email address I set up.”
“Cute, sweetie. Tell me the address and password. If it’s there, you and your sister live. If it’s not…you’ll think your little struggle with Crawford was a lover’s tango compared to what I can do.”
Giving her the address would buy time. “It’s boris_and_Natasha@hotmail.com. The password is Ventrica.” She got the reference to the evil characters from Rocky and Bullwinkle right away.
“I’ll know in an hour if you’re playing me, Josh. And you’ll know right after that if I’m pleased or not.”
She turned away without another word. Josh had a sudden urge to leap after her, grab her by the neck, break her in half. He could end this now. The beach was deserted. He tensed, shifting his weight forward almost unconsciously. Helen was less than ten feet away. As the rage began to surface and Josh could almost feel her neck snapping in his hands, he heard her voice carry over the light breeze.
“Patience, Josh. There’s a high-powered rifle with its crosshairs on your head in the very capable hands of my friend on the roof of the other restroom waaaaay down the beach…” She casually pointed at an identical cinderblock hut more than 100 yards away.
She hadn’t bothered to turn around. She had seen something in Josh’s eyes and knew he was close to a breaking point. Helen continued across the sand and headed to the black Lexus on PCH. Josh waited until she had driven away before slowly trudging to his car, drained and shaken.
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Sonofabitch, Helen thought. He would have made a move on me right there. She had adroitly lied about having a colleague on the nearby beach, though Helen was certain she would have been able to shoot him dead before reaching her if need be. But Josh had managed to kill Crawford after Crawford had him in a stranglehold with one of those nasty wires he liked to use. That was a bad sign. She didn’t think anyone could get away from Crawford at close range. If Josh wasn’t lying, and she tended to think he wasn’t, then the cops didn’t know about Helen’s plan. Killing him on the beach would have ruined any chance of getting the design and would have led to a deeper investigation by the police. If they were just thinking Barnes had killed a burglar in self-defense, then she was in good shape. Crawford’s body couldn’t lead back to her and Josh wouldn’t do anything until he was sure his sister was safe. She would get the design, get rid of Josh and sister, then head out of town for a while. She was sure she could do work for her boss from anywhere. Helen was pretty certain he had other operations going all over the world. She would be more anonymous in a different city until ready for retirement. Flooring the Lexus, Helen was irritated by the sand in her shoe. She wanted to get home quickly and see if the design was there.