J is for Judgement

violently. He started to say something more, but then he stopped himself and looked off across the parking lot. I'd caught the glint of tears, but I couldn't tell if they were from the smoke or the loss of his boat.
    "Are you okay?" I asked.
    "I live on that boat. Everything I have is tied up in the Lord. It's my life. He had to have known that. He'd be a fool not to know. He loved the boat as much as I did." He shook his head in disbelief.
    "That's a rough one," I said. "How'd you hear about it?"
    "Renata showed up at my office after lunch," I said. "She said he'd cleared out of her place and she was worried he'd try to make a run for it. Her boat was at die dock, so I guess she thought of yours."
    "How'd he get in? That's what I can't figure out. I had all the locks changed the minute I bought that boat."
    "Maybe he broke in. Or he might have picked the lock," I said. "At any rate, by the time we got here, it was gone."
    He stared at me. "Is that the woman? Renata? What's her last name?"
    "Why?"
    "I'd like to talk to her. She might know more than she's saying."
    "Yeah, she might," I said. I was thinking about the shooting the night before, wondering if Carl could account for his whereabouts. "When did you get back? I heard you were out of town last night, but no one seemed to know where you were."
    "Wouldn't have done much good. I was hard to reach. I had a bunch of meetings up in SLO-town in the afternoon. I was at the Best Western overnight, checked out before eight this morning, and threw my bag in the trunk. I sat in another bunch of meetings today and started home around five."
    "It must have been a shock."
    "Jesus, I'll say. I can't believe it's gone."
    SLO-town was the shorthand for San Luis Obispo, a small college town ninety miles north of us. It sounds like he'd been small college town ninety miles north of us. It sounds like he'd been completely tied up for the last two day or had his alibi all rehearsed. "What will you do now? Do you have a place to stay?"
    "I'll try one of those places unless the tourists beat me to it," he said with a nod toward the motels that lined Cabana Boulevard. "What about you? I take you never caught up with him."
    "Actually, I ran into him at Michael's last night. I was hoping we could talk, but something else came up. We were separated inadvertently, and that's the last saw of him. I heard he was supposed to meet you, as matter of fact."
    "I had to cancel at the last minute when this other business came up."
    "You never saw him at all?"
    "We only chatted by phone."
    "What'd he want? Did he say?"
    "No. Not a word."
    "He told me you had something that belonged him."
    "He said that? Well, that's odd. I wonder what I meant." He gave his watch a glance. "Oh, shit. It's getting late. I better get a move on before all the rooms get snapped up."
    I stepped away from the car. "I'll let you go, then I said. "If you hear anything about the Lord, will you let me know?"
    "Sure thing."
    The car started with a rumble. He backed out of d slot and pulled up beside the kiosk with his ticket extended to the woman in the booth. I went on about my business, moving toward the snack shack with a quick backward glance. He'd adjusted his rearview mirror to keep an eye on me. The last thing I saw of him was his vanity license plate, which read SAILSMN. That was cute. I thought he'd probably done a little sales job on me. He was lying about something. I just wasn't sure what it was.
    22 By THE TIME I reached the beachside neighborhood on the periphery of Perdido where all the motels are situated, the ocean was tinted by an eerie gray-green haze. As I watched, an odd refraction of fading sunlight created the fleeting mirage of an island hovering above the sea, mossy and unreachable. There was something otherworldly in its gloom. I've seen something like it in the endless passageway created when two mirrors reflect one another, shadowy rooms curving back out of sight. The moment passed, and the image turned to smoke. The air was hot and still, unusually humid for the California coast. The area residents would have to search their garages tonight, looking for last summer's electric floor fans, wide blades sueded with dust. Sleep would be a restless confection of sweat and tangled sheets without hope of refreshment.
    I parked on a side street just off the main thorough- fare. All the motel lights had come on, creating an artificial daylight: neon greens and blues blinking out competing invitations to