moving a car in the early morning light. But all the windows were still opaque from last night's wet marine air.
A sharp whistle and another flash of light blistered her corneas. When her vision cleared, she looked up to the cliff overlooking the marina. A figure held up a hand, waved, and motioned for her to come up. Who was this Boy Scout signaling her with a mirror?
Adrenaline propelled her through the quiet parking lot to where a path had been carved into the rock. She took it, scrambling up the rocky path, and in a few more minutes, she was on the top of the bluff. He stood his ground, she had to give him that much, calmly smoking.
"What the hell you think you're doing, Gabriel Alexander? You could put someone's eye out with that thing."
He waited until she finished the tirade, then stubbed out the cigarette with the heel of his huaraches. "You're in trouble 'cause of me, aren't you, Whisper?"
"I told you before, don't call me Whisper!" She hated this reminder of the schoolyard taunt, the result of an overpowering shyness that earned her the hated nickname. That is, until an older boy turned the tables on her tormentors, forever winning her trust and devotion. The rest, as they say, is history.
"Okay, Katy . Happy now?"
"I'm here, aren't I? And I'm not in any kind of trouble. I just moved from one marina to another, that's all."
"Sure you did. I came to check on you over at Baja Naval. Your dock mates said your boat got chained up, but the next day you and your boat are pulling away from the dock bright and early."
"Then how'd you know I'd be here?"
"I live in this RV park. Spend most my afternoons sitting out here watching the sport fishermen come into the marina, so when I saw this little sailboat get washed through the estuary, I figured it had to be you. I'd ask what you're doing here, but I guess that's a redundant question. So, are you doing this on account of me?"
That got her stubborn up. "Why do you think this is about you?"
Gabe shook his head and walked away. Katy started to follow and then thought better of it. This was Gabe she was dealing with here, and where she used to be like iron to magnet, she wasn't that person anymore.
She stood where she was and spoke his name. "Gabe."
He turned. "Did he tell you that my trailer is here? No, of course not. That would make it too easy. You're in dangerous water, sweetheart. You know that, don't you?"
His comment brought her back to the present. Now if she could only convince him that she had his best interests at heart. "You're the one who should leave. Why don't you take off for Costa Rica, or Brazil?"
"I'm tired of running, Katy. I thought I could live the rest of my life hiding, but I might as well have stayed and testified against the mob for all the good it's done me. I'm miserable living without a name or a home. I want to get a lawyer, take my chances in the States."
"Gabe, I'm on a forced sabbatical from my job with the San Francisco police department and if you go back now, the truth will come out and I could still be prosecuted for helping you jump bail. Is that how you want to thank me?"
"Let's get out of the open and talk about this, okay?" He turned and walked through a row of dilapidated trailers, all of them devoid of wheels and so abysmally rusted on their stands that it was obvious that they were never moving again.
Gabe opened the door on a tiny old twenty-four footer with a riot of bougainvillea permanently welded to its sides.
Katy took the stepstool up and entered a pockmarked and rusted door. The interior was about the same space as her sailboat and just as tidy. Gabe motioned for her to take a seat at one of the two bench seats between a bolted-down dinette scrubbed clean of most of its original color.
"I rent it from a guy who's in the hospital up in the States," he said, lighting a burner on his small stove and setting a kettle on it. "Had a heart attack so he's probably not coming back any time soon."
Leaning
A sharp whistle and another flash of light blistered her corneas. When her vision cleared, she looked up to the cliff overlooking the marina. A figure held up a hand, waved, and motioned for her to come up. Who was this Boy Scout signaling her with a mirror?
Adrenaline propelled her through the quiet parking lot to where a path had been carved into the rock. She took it, scrambling up the rocky path, and in a few more minutes, she was on the top of the bluff. He stood his ground, she had to give him that much, calmly smoking.
"What the hell you think you're doing, Gabriel Alexander? You could put someone's eye out with that thing."
He waited until she finished the tirade, then stubbed out the cigarette with the heel of his huaraches. "You're in trouble 'cause of me, aren't you, Whisper?"
"I told you before, don't call me Whisper!" She hated this reminder of the schoolyard taunt, the result of an overpowering shyness that earned her the hated nickname. That is, until an older boy turned the tables on her tormentors, forever winning her trust and devotion. The rest, as they say, is history.
"Okay, Katy . Happy now?"
"I'm here, aren't I? And I'm not in any kind of trouble. I just moved from one marina to another, that's all."
"Sure you did. I came to check on you over at Baja Naval. Your dock mates said your boat got chained up, but the next day you and your boat are pulling away from the dock bright and early."
"Then how'd you know I'd be here?"
"I live in this RV park. Spend most my afternoons sitting out here watching the sport fishermen come into the marina, so when I saw this little sailboat get washed through the estuary, I figured it had to be you. I'd ask what you're doing here, but I guess that's a redundant question. So, are you doing this on account of me?"
That got her stubborn up. "Why do you think this is about you?"
Gabe shook his head and walked away. Katy started to follow and then thought better of it. This was Gabe she was dealing with here, and where she used to be like iron to magnet, she wasn't that person anymore.
She stood where she was and spoke his name. "Gabe."
He turned. "Did he tell you that my trailer is here? No, of course not. That would make it too easy. You're in dangerous water, sweetheart. You know that, don't you?"
His comment brought her back to the present. Now if she could only convince him that she had his best interests at heart. "You're the one who should leave. Why don't you take off for Costa Rica, or Brazil?"
"I'm tired of running, Katy. I thought I could live the rest of my life hiding, but I might as well have stayed and testified against the mob for all the good it's done me. I'm miserable living without a name or a home. I want to get a lawyer, take my chances in the States."
"Gabe, I'm on a forced sabbatical from my job with the San Francisco police department and if you go back now, the truth will come out and I could still be prosecuted for helping you jump bail. Is that how you want to thank me?"
"Let's get out of the open and talk about this, okay?" He turned and walked through a row of dilapidated trailers, all of them devoid of wheels and so abysmally rusted on their stands that it was obvious that they were never moving again.
Gabe opened the door on a tiny old twenty-four footer with a riot of bougainvillea permanently welded to its sides.
Katy took the stepstool up and entered a pockmarked and rusted door. The interior was about the same space as her sailboat and just as tidy. Gabe motioned for her to take a seat at one of the two bench seats between a bolted-down dinette scrubbed clean of most of its original color.
"I rent it from a guy who's in the hospital up in the States," he said, lighting a burner on his small stove and setting a kettle on it. "Had a heart attack so he's probably not coming back any time soon."
Leaning
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