The chief said, “Harborside, Chuy’s VW repair, right sir?”
Mike nodded, “Please, Chief.”
A half hour later, the chief nosed the Hummer against the police tape in front of what remained of Chuy’s shop. Petty Officer Camp and the master chief hopped out as Mike pushed open the weighted door, and slid out of the Hummer. He was immediately hit with the burnt pig smell, and immediately knew that more than one person had burned to death here. A SDPD officer stared at them curiously from inside the tape, until Mike started walking toward the shop. The PD officer put up his hand, “Sorry, this is a crime scene, you can’t come in here.”
Mike stopped at the tape and growled, “Get whoever is in charge over here. Now!”
The PD officer stepped away, and said something into his radio, and moments later, a harried looking investigator came out of the building, “What do you want… Captain?”
“My name is James, my wife and son were killed here. I want to see the scene. And that burnt out VW SUV,” pointing to a hulk next to the fence, “Is what my wife was driving.”
The investigator scrubbed his face, “James?”
“Trisha Harmon James, age forty-six, Michael Edward James, age seventeen. My wife and my son. They were her to pick up her Karmann Ghia that Chuy was fixing the wiring harness on.”
The investigator turned to the PD officer, “Log him in, my approval.” Turning back, he said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t let you in, but I can only let one person inside the scene. Not your guards.”
Mike said, “Master Chief?”
“Copied all, Captain. We’ll be right here.”
The investigator walked Mike through the scene, telling him six bodies had been found inside the office, including Chuy, Trish, Mikey, and three mechanics. He let Mike walk out back by himself, and Mike saw that all the cars Chuy had been working on were also burned up. Trish’s Karmann Ghia was totally destroyed, and about the only way he knew it was hers was he could read the partially burnt plate on the front. He kicked what was left of a screwdriver, and on a whim, picked it up and unscrewed the front plate, sticking it inside his shirt. Walking back out, he thanked the investigator, then retraced his steps, and the PD officer logged him out of the scene.
Mama Rosa limped slowly toward the Hummer, as Mike cleared the scene. He stopped as she held out her arms, and Mama Rosa hugged him tightly, saying, “Señor, know that these were not my people that did this. What they did… Is not human. Trisha and young Michael did not deserve to die here, for nothing. I would beg you, find those who did this, and punish them.” She hugged him fiercely, and whispered, “Kill them for me, Señor. Kill them dead!”
He hugged her back, “I will Mama, this I vow, on my honor.”
She stepped back, and Mike saw tears in her eyes, as she said, “Vaya con Dios, Señor.”
Slipping the license plate in the floorboard, he climbed into the Hummer, as Chief Nealan asked, “Back to the compound?”
Mike nodded, and they rode back in silence. Mike walked back into his office, took the license plate and propped it in front of the pictures of Trish and Mikey on his desk. Tribute or reminder, I’m not sure which at this point. Don’t have enough details to know what really happened, and the investigator wasn’t a lot of help. The bodies were burned inside the building, but was that where they were killed? At least there isn’t any family I have to notify, there was only us…
Immersing himself in paperwork the rest of the day helped a little bit, and he finally walked down to the beach late in the afternoon. In the distance, he could hear the cadre working a BUDS class in the sand, and watched the Mark V boat patrolling slowly back and forth, as the sun sank toward the horizon, painting the clouds a deep red. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in morning, sailor take warning. Why the hell did that suddenly pop into my head? Am I going completely off my rocker? He took a deep breath of the salty air, and, with one last look, headed for the BOQ.
The ringing of his phone woke him a little after 0500, and he grabbed it, “James.”
“Mike, it’s Jimmy, you need to meet me in the SCIF as soon as you can.”
“What?”
“Get over here as soon as you can.”
Not sure what was going on, Mike jumped through the shower, dressed quickly and carded into the building in twenty minutes. Buzzing the door to the SCIF, he heard it click, and pushed it open. The master chief stood there, a cup of coffee in hand, “I need to show you a video.”
Mike bristled, “You woke my ass up for a video? What the…”
Shoving the coffee at him, the master chief continued, “You need to see this in private. Now. I’ve got it cued up in the conference room.”
Mike walked into the conference room and was surprised, then scared, when the master chief didn’t follow him. Steeling himself, he walked over to the computer, and refreshed the screen. It took him a minute to recognize what he was seeing, and it looked like a video of a riot. With trembling fingers, he clicked the mouse over the play button, staring intently at the screen. Suddenly he recognized the front of Chuy’s shop, and almost stopped the video, but let it run. He saw Chuy come out, yelling something in Spanish, but he couldn’t pick it up. He watched as Chuy was beaten down, then Trish come through the door, going toward Chuy as if to protect him. Someone swung on her, and he saw Mikey come running out, yelling, “Leave my mother alone!”
He watched in horror as a Hispanic female with a baseball bat teed off on Mikey, hitting him in the temple as he reached for Trish. As he collapsed, she took another full swing and hit him in the back of the head, and he saw his son’s skull fracture and depress. Trish, bleeding from her face, screamed and turned to crawl to Mikey, as a Hispanic male swung a machete at her, hitting her square in the face. She fell boneless, and Mike knew that was the killing blow. The male grabbed the female and they posed with their feet on the bodies, and both were yelling something at the camera.
Hands came out of the crowd, and the three bodies were picked up and thrown back in the building, and someone off camera threw a lit Molotov cocktail into the building as the camera panned away. Mike watched it a second time, then a third, fixing the faces of the male and female in his mind. If he saw them, well, he’d be in jail for murder, but at this point, he didn’t care. Stopping the video, he walked woodenly out of the conference room, the cooling cup of coffee forgotten. “Jimmy, I want screenshots of those two, and I want to know what they said. I want as complete a transcript as you can get.”
The master chief nodded, “You’ll get it. The reason I called you, is News Eight is going to run the video this morning. I didn’t want you blindsided…”
Mike reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, “Thanks, Jimmy. I’m gonna take a day here. If you need me, I’ll be down at the beach.”
“Roger that.”
Mike dropped his hand and walked blindly out of the SCIF, then out of the building to the beach. His thoughts in a turmoil, he kept coming back to the end of the video, I’ll find them. I will do what Mama Rosa wanted. It’s not about revenge, at least I know they went out fighting. Now it’s a matter of honor, I will honor Trish and Mikey the only way I know…
The master chief called the duty office, “I need Vasquez and Ramos in the SCIF in forty-five minutes.” Waiting a few seconds, he followed up, “No, report to me directly, and yes, I know what time it is. Just do it.” Hanging the phone up, he poured another cup of coffee and deliberated going to the smoke pit and firing up the first cigar of the day.