Wild Instinct

35

Gale walks toward home. The streetlights are soft but the stars are bright in the partial moonlight. He’s solidly drunk and he knows it, the bourbon fueling his confidence and his stride, the old groin and upper leg scars taut and itchy. It took him almost a year to walk without pain so now there’s some pleasure in this locomotion, prickly surgical scars or not.

He walks fast, trying to get far away from Geronima Mills and her innocent but humiliating proposition, her crushing beauty, his impossible desire. He’s made that soul-wrenching confession before — to Marilyn — but tonight, for some reason, it’s worse.

Tonight, he felt like he was saying hello to a friend he’d made a thousand years before he was even born.

A sister.

A mate.

He cuts across La Calera to carless Acjachema Street, walks past the up-lighted ruins of the Great Stone Church destroyed in the 1812 earthquake during Mass — leaving forty of his ancestors dead and now buried just a few hundred feet from here.

He follows the broad sidewalk of Old Mission Road.

Gale has always loved this little city in the early morning, loved the high mission walls with the bright violet bougainvillea spilling over the top, the smell of the gardens from within, especially at night like now, no tourists and most of the townspeople tucked in and sleeping, an occasional coyote trotting small-footed down the middle of Camino Capistrano with no apparent care in the world.

But what Gale sees now stops him in his tracks.

Halfway across Old Mission Road, a big mountain lion lopes along with a coyote dangling limply from his mouth.

The cat gives Gale a bored inspection without breaking stride, cheeks bright red, eyes tan in the streetlight, the coyote’s thin legs and bushy tail flopping along on the asphalt.

Gale crouches and sidles to the curb, his vision locked on the big lion as he continues down Old Mission, his long, black-tipped tail flicking left then right, testes shifting, shoulder muscles bunched and swaying beneath his tawny fur.

Spooked, the cat heads away from the mission, galloping onto Arguello Way and disappearing into an abundant flower garden that separates two ancient adobes, the tall hollyhocks parting, then shivering, then not.

A moment later, Gale sees the tan smudge of the lion emerge from the garden and disappear down the alley that intersects Trabuco Creek. Which, he knows, will lead the cat out of the town and into the rough hills, dense with oak and toyon.

His heart still thumping with the adrenaline, Gale listens for cars behind him but sees only a gray pickup parked curbside and apparently unoccupied.

He starts across Ramos in the near-silence of early morning, headed home. Wonders if it was the bourbon that saw that cat, but knows he was real just like El Diablo was real, and Luis Verdad and Magdalena.

Suddenly, bright light flares and tires squeal on asphalt behind him and Gale looks back over his shoulder and breaks into a run, the gray pickup coming at him fast.

He scrambles onto the sidewalk, the nearly silent truck missing him by inches. Hurdles a four-foot wall, hits the grass, and rolls, banging face-first into a massive oak tree.

Stands and finds his balance, draws his gun. The gray truck is already out of sight, its electric engine offering no noise to follow.

Gale clambers back over the wall and charges up the sidewalk.

The truck is so quiet that Gale has to guess where the damned thing went. His gut tells him it’s the same gray Rivian he’d seen from Geronima’s darkened living room.

Which means that whoever’s in the truck followed him here from Geronima’s place.

Which means they could be heading there right now, figuring on Gale’s return.

By the time he makes it to Acjacheme Court, Gale is breathing hard and his war scars are burning and he’s tasting blood, but he’s relieved that the Rivian is nowhere to be seen.

He hunkers in a hedge of white oleander. Holsters his gun, then rests his hands on his knees, breathing in and breathing out, eyes on Geronima’s house.

He looks out through the hedge, also relieved to see no lights on and knowing that high-strung Hulk will go ballistic if he hears anything unordinary out here.

Calls in an APB for a gray pickup truck, a Rivian, California plates, last seen on Ramos Street in San Juan Capistrano, fucker tried to kill me.

Uses his phone light to inspect the rear undercarriage of his Explorer; removes the magnetized Vigilant tracker, its red indicator light blipping, clamped to the steel chassis. Careful not to deactivate it, he slides it into his coat pocket.

Gale feels tricked and stupid and angry with himself.

Back in the driver’s seat he sets his gun in one cupholder and the tracker in the other. Looks out at the Mills residence in the first, salt-and-pepper light of morning.

Text message to Mendez:

Daniela calls immediately.

“You see the driver?”

“Just reflection.”

“Jeffs?”

“Only a guess.”

“Hired by Steve and Curtis again?”

“Jeffs doesn’t profit from me dead any other way that I can see.”

“You stay up late drinking with Geronima?”

“Moderately.”

“Did you make it home?”

“I’m outside Geronima’s house. Found a tracker on my Explorer, so he saw I was here. I’m thinking he might circle back for another shot.”

“I’m on my way.”

“No. I’m getting her out of here now. The adrenaline and bourbon have worn off and I’m clear in the head. Got my trusty Colt, nine in the magazine, one in the chamber.”

“Squeeze, don’t pull.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I worry about you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He knocks on Geronima’s front door, Hulk shrieking inside. Through the door’s side window, Gale sees a light come on and the dog stops barking.

Geronima, Hulk in her arms, opens the door.

“They tried to kill me at the mission. You’re not safe here and neither am I. I’ll tell you about it on the road. We need to go.”

“You’ve got blood on your face and clothes.”

“Just got skinned up a little. Get dressed, get ready, and we’ll go.”

“Hulk, too?”

“Bring the dog.”

“Bring him where?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

A moment later they’re on their way to the Hilton Garden Inn in Dana Point.

Gale checks in using one of his Vice squad undercover IDs and a Navy Federal Credit Union credit card bearing the name Luis Verdad.