San Diego Noir

Before Legacy can run into the house and lock the door, Moses has him by the neck. Moses is a big guy, 6'2” and 220 pounds, who was an all-state quarterback at Mission Bay High, and worst of all, he’s black, which, like, terrifies entitled assholes like Legacy. He has him backed up to his car with nowhere to run.

“C’mon, man! I didn’t do anything? Why you aggro?” Legacy whines. Moses doesn’t know what aggro means, but he’s guessing something like upset. Moses is fairly upset.

“Theodore Bear. You know him.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name!” Legacy tries to get by, but Moses pushes him back against the car.

“Legacy? I can smell bullshit from the next county.”

“I’m gonna call my dad!” Legacy screeches. It’s a good threat. Moses’s career is stalled because he pissed off Legacy’s dad by hassling him back when he was a powerful downtown lawyer and partner at the prestigious Burke, Spitz, and Culver law firm.

Moses doesn’t really care now though. He slams Legacy against the car again.

“Oww! Dude! Fine! I see the guy every now and then, sell him some X or weed.”

“That all?”

“We surf a little. He can get me in the good clubs and the best tail. Man likes his comfort and fun. Dude! I wouldn’t lie to you!”

“You know more.” Moses kicks the car.

“He’s got something going down on Memorial Day on Monday. Don’t know where, don’t know what. C’mon, man! You’re hurtin’ me!”

Moses releases him and and starts to leave, but then changes his mind and takes the CD out of the stereo and breaks it in half, figuring it’s his good deed of the day, maybe the week.

It’s the next afternoon when he strikes gold.

THIRD PROTOCOL: LEARN WHAT THEY HAVE

It’s Memorial Day weekend and Mission Beach is hopping. There’s an estimated crowd of 800,000 people filling the beach, both local and tourist. Moses loves tourists. They always dress wrong for the beach and think just because it’s San Diego it doesn’t get cold. This May weekend is a somewhat cold one as San Diego’s sun takes its rare coffee-and-cigarette break before coming back with a vengeance in the later summer months. Moses likes the kayakers and wannabe surfers best who return to land like they just got back from storming 1944 Normandy; they have this great shell-shocked look on their faces and their eyes are wide and terrified. It’s like Apocalypse Now, “The horror …” Those who don’t bother with a wet suit are the best.

So Moses hears the mugging before he sees it, and only because he catches the name Teddy. He’s leaving his humble little condo for another day of chasing pavement, and after looking around for the source of the voice he sees this big guy cornering a pretty girl in an alley out of sight from the crowds. Moses recognizes him as a local thug and your garden-variety bully, so he hurries over.

“Leave the lady alone, Vinnie.”

Vinnie McBride smirks and steps away from the girl and gets close to Moses. They’re about the same build, but Vinnie has size on Moses from steroids and being a gym rat.

“You gonna make me, nigger?”

Vinnie always did have a talent for making situations worse for himself.

“Guess I gotta, Vinnie.” And Moses kicks him in the nuts. It’s a good ball-shot that should have sent the guy clear across the 5 into El Cajon, but he’s a ’roid freak and gets back up and rushes Moses, who dodges just in time and kicks him in the shin. Catching Vinnie as he stumbles, Moses shoves him into the wall and tosses him into a dumpster, slamming the lid shut. Vinnie will be napping for a while.

The racial slur just makes the fight a happier experience for Moses and he likes the location. Alleys are narrow, lots of hard edges, and usually a dumpster to dispose your trash, and the day he can’t take on a street thug like Vinnie is the day he walks off Crystal Pier and drowns himself.

Moses walks over to the girl. She’s about 5'8” with long, messy black hair that looks unwashed and eyes the color of melting butterscotch. She has a heart-shaped mouth and her nose is slightly bent like it’s been broken once or twice in her life. She’s wearing a wrinkled, red summer dress and scuffed sneakers. Moses guesses she’s in her late twenties.

“My name is Moses Johnson. You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Not like I haven’t been roughed up before.” He doesn’t like her laugh, it’s too harsh, and he hears it on too many young girls these days. “Thank you though. My name is Hope. I don’t have any money …”

“Money’s not necessary, just doing what was right. Can I buy you an ice cream? I know a place on the boardwalk that makes a mean cheesecake on a stick.”

“I’d like that. Guys usually want to buy me a drink, get me drunk.” She smiles ruefully and smoothes out her dress.

“Doc told me if I kept drinking my liver would mutate into something out of a Godzilla movie that would stomp on the city.”