“You are such a bitch!” Karen saw the pile of stones in the clearing, calling her to action like David facing Goliath. She scooped one up and threw it as hard as she could at Lisa’s face. Lisa expertly moved to avoid contact, but her shoes hit some gravel and she lost her footing. She fell headfirst against a boulder.
And there she lay.
For a second, Karen was frozen in place. She looked around her. Were there any witnesses? A crow called out to another crow in the tall pine trees. Were they reporting what happened? And then there was God. He had seen it.
“Jesus, please,” she prayed. “Let her be okay.”
She kneeled over her friend’s body. “Lisa.” She could barely say her name. What if she killed her? And then again, louder, “Lisa?” Air was still coming out of her friend’s delicate nostrils.
She gently lifted Lisa’s head, her hair streaming behind like a black veil, and surprisingly there was no blood, no evidence of the collision with the ground. Lisa’s eyes were closed and there was a tiny bit of foam at the corner of her mouth. Karen wished she had brought her canteen.
“Dear Lord, please. I’ll do anything. I’ll be a better person. Just heal Lisa.”
A crow cawed again, and miraculously, Lisa’s eyes fluttered open.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?”
“What happened?” Lisa squinted and frowned, pulling herself up by her elbows.
No, can it really be true? Has she forgotten?
“You slipped and hit your head. Maybe it’s the altitude. I think it got to you.” She helped Lisa to her feet.
“That was really weird.”
“What do you remember?”
“Just that we were walking up the hill.” Lisa’s eyes got big. “I wanted to tell you something.”
“Not now,” Karen said. “Later tonight, okay?”
Lisa reluctantly nodded, and although a bit wobbly, she took the lead again. Walking behind her, Karen said silently: Thank you, Jesus.
“Let’s pray for Lisa,” Wendy instructed, as the paramedics strapped Lisa onto a gurney.
The Lukewarms had arrived and were sobbing, their noses red like cartoon bunnies. They all smelled death in the room.
All arms were extended toward Lisa’s body. Karen didn’t want to. Stupid poison-oak boy, with his pink legs, stood right next to her. Jacob on her other side. His whole body, especially his hands, seemed to be shaking, but no one else noticed.
What was that on her sleeve? The striped beetle again. Karen wanted to scream, but she didn’t. Instead she swallowed her cry, closed her eyes, and extended her arm.
Part II
The Lineup
Wheels of Justice
by Jon Bailiff
Steamer Lane
I’m not the kind of guy who goes around with wild, violent fantasies, like I got some shooter game playin’ in my head. So this or that guy’s got some beef. So what? I’m not out for confrontation.
But I’ve doled out plenty. ’Cause what are you gonna do? Nothing? Fuck that!
I’ll be the first to admit I’ve had some issues here and there. Major issues with the Santa Cruz PD. Always fuckin’ with me. Like true-blue dickheads — like I’m the loser! But that ain’t me. Drunk and disorderly? Okay. Domestics? Maybe. But that assault charge? Total fuckin’ bullshit. It’s called self-defense!
I don’t look for trouble. But if some goddamn faggot, pardon my lack of political correctness, and fuck you very much, tries some shit out on me? Well, okay. Trouble’s in trouble now!
I surf Steamer Lane. It’s my home break — not yours. You’re not Westside Santa Cruz born and raised. Steamer’s is not for you. Go back to the Valley, or Cowell’s, or even Pacifica. We will not be tolerating any university inclusivity-diversity bullshit from outsider kooks, queers, and mud people. Stay behind the railing and watch.
So yeah, that incident at Steamer’s. Don’t act like you don’t know. Everybody saw that shit. It was all over the Sentinel. Of course, those assholes got it fuckin’ backward, ’cause I was totally in the right. You know I was.
Little-known fact: West Cliff, Lighthouse Field, even the Lane — after dark, it’s a major gay cruise. Oh yeah. Don’t believe me, fuckhead? Check Grindr. There’s so much fuckin’ action. You’ll be gettin’ it wet in MINUTES. It’s truly disgusting.
So it’s bar time and I’m all fucked up. I’m in the Carp lot, leaning on the railing, chilling, just checking out the swell for a dawn patrol. Minding my own business. This fat fuck comes wiggling up and sort of leans against the rail — and I know what’s going down. I know before he even opens his pussy mouth. I am instantly pissed! Just instantly mortally pissed! I say, “Eat shit, you fuckin’ faggot!”
I let him know who’s the boss out here — which is what you have to do in such situations. And yeah, maybe I did get a little too “defensive” on the guy. Grindr-ass motherfucker. He had it coming.
Anyway. The cops somehow manage to come to the conclusion that it was all me! I was amazed that guy could even ID me. It was pitch black. So I told the judge how it went down. That I was in fear for my life, what with how dangerous it is out there, so late at night.
He’s like, “What were you doing out there at that hour?”
“Just doing a surf check, Your Honor.”
But him and the DA didn’t get it. It was that ugly-ass faggot that made me go off! I had no choice. Am I right? You know I am.
They said I went over the line, as far as self-defense.
I was like, Fuck him! He deserves worse!
It was touch and go, they said. “The guy almost didn’t make it. But he’s gonna be okay.”
I thought, Oh really? Too bad. I shoulda put that faggot in a wheelchair.
Thought it. But I’m not stupid. I didn’t say it. Queers can be cops, or even judges now. They’re everywhere.
My trial was a joke. No one was on my side. No one but Ashley the bitch, my ex-GF. The DA wanted assault with intent. But I got away with aggravated assault, due to my saying I was “feeling very threatened, Your Honor, and it was not my intention.” Fuck ’em.
I’ll tell you this for free — County is a bitch. Nothing to do. Nada. And what is doubly fucked-up is that, when the surf is going off, you can hear it in the lockup, late at night, when all the losers are asleep and it’s halfway quiet. Those big breakers out there goin’ boom... boom... boom. Makes me feel so far down.
Did I mention there wasn’t shit-all to do in lockup? I tried not to go nuts. Some guys seem like they can just read through anything — sit there, nose in a book, all day, all night. Sometimes I kinda wish I’d given school a little more effort, back in the day. Looking back on it, I just... couldn’t. Couldn’t concentrate, you know? Couldn’t focus my mind. Even if I tried to really put something in my head, I’d hear my old man yelling. If I even looked at him wrong — bam! He’d start kickin’ the crap out of me. Yeah, but that motherfucker sure didn’t like being reminded of the shit he did like me for. He took what he wanted. Fucked for life. That’s me.
What I hate about County is dudes surrounding me, all day, every day, with their endless bullshit. Couldn’t sleep with all those brown faggoty motherfuckers waiting for me to let my guard down. But I wasn’t looking for trouble. I got twenty-four to thirty-six months. And with time off for being a good little bitch. I was out in thirty.