Chapter 80
APRIL
I’d parked almost a mile south of the pier, walked out to the Pacific Ocean, and then walked the mile to the pier.
I was hoping to make this look like an accidental drowning, but in case the LAPD—my beloved—assumed this was a murder, I didn’t want any cameras picking me up walking down below the pier.
On the plus side, I hadn’t been behaving very femininely lately.
As Harry approached, I saw him swaggering slightly. Sand was never easy to walk in, so I wasn’t ready to concede that he was drunk, but God, I hoped so!
I remained under the pier itself, figuring no one could see us there. It was eleven p.m., and no one was on the beach, but as always, I preferred to be safe rather than sorry.
When he was about twenty feet from the pier, he yelled, “April!”
“Shhh,” I said. “I’m under the bridge.”
He made his way there, and I could immediately tell he was, in fact, drunk. Fuck yeah!
“Don’t you think you’re being a little cautious?” he slurred. He was more than drunk. He was wasted.
“If you had cops following you around all day, you’d be cautious, too.”
“I guess,” he said flippantly. “So you got that money?”
We were about ten feet from the ocean water itself, and I didn’t want to have to fight him on land. I needed to use the ocean to my advantage.
“I sure do. It’s in an envelope.”
“Excellent. Hey, just between you and me, did you kill them both?”
I couldn’t wait to dispose of Harry Shoe.
“I’ll tell you after I give you the money.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” he said.
Floats. How ironic. Let’s see if you float, Harry.
“Follow me down to the water. I can’t risk anyone seeing us.”
“There’s no one even on the beach.”
“Okay, I’ll just keep the money.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s go down by the water.”
If Harry had been sober, maybe he would have been wary of walking down to the water, but all he saw were dollar signs, and he’d do just about anything I said.
We slowly headed toward the water between giant wooden piers that held up the world-famous Santa Monica Pier. It was very dark, which was good for me.
As we approached the water, I let him take the lead and get a few feet in front of me.
“A few more feet and we’ll be out of any camera's vision,” I said.
“Whatfuckingever,” he stuttered. “I just can’t wait to get my $7500. You brought it all, right?”
“Every last cent,” I said.
Harry took one more step and stood on the water’s edge.
It was now or never.
I tackled him and wrapped my hands around his waist. He went down without much of a fight. We were now in the water, but it was very shallow. Probably only one or two feet deep.
“What are you doing?” he yelled as his head rose above water.
My arms were still around his waist, and I needed them, so I quickly jumped on his back, my knees on top of his lower spine.
I then used my arms to push down the top of his shoulders, which helped move his head underwater. If it came to it, I’d try to strangle him, but leaving marks on his throat would be an obvious sign of murder. I was trying to avoid that.
I continued pushing his shoulders down. It worked for the most part. He’d occasionally reach his head out of the water, but it wouldn’t last long as I pushed him back under. He was offering very little resistance. I’d expected more, even from an old, frail drunk.
At one point, he managed to let out a slight scream. Even though no one appeared to be on the beach, I couldn’t take a chance. Maybe a maintenance man was above us, working on the pier itself. Not likely at eleven p.m., but you never know.
I moved my knees further up on Harry’s back and now used my left and right hands to push down his head. He managed ever so slightly to raise it, but I could tell his strength was weakening.
I kept using my hands to push him down, hoping to avoid any bruises or scratches on his neck. It was working. Harry Shoe was dying, and I knew it.
He probably knew it too.
As I pressed down harder, his legs waggled from side to side below me. It’s like he was a fish out of water, trying to flop back into the water. Only Harry was the exact opposite. His only chance was to get from sea to land.
He managed to raise his head one last time, and I whispered in his ear, “Yes, I killed the other two. Thanks for letting me complete my trifecta.”
Harry let out some odd noise, and then I pushed his head back under, and this time, I encountered almost no resistance. I held it for a good minute, until I felt his body going limp.
And when it did finally go limp, I held him down for thirty more seconds.
This was now overkill. Literally.
There was no doubt he was dead.
I turned him over, and his eyes were bug-eyed. Poor, Harry. Poor, poor Harry.
I used all my strength to push him deeper. It worked briefly, but then the tide immediately pushed him back to the shore.
By this point, I was exhausted and was done trying to push him out. The sea was all-powerful, and it would decide whether it would sweep Harry out to sea or whether it would dock him on the beach.
But I’d done my job.
Harry Shoe was dead.