Chapter 12
COLT
The morning run started the way it always did—just me and the sand and the sound of the Pacific keeping rhythm.
I had my earbuds but didn’t put them in.
My phone was in my pocket and shut off. I only brought it in case I twisted my ankle or something.
I almost did a barefoot run, but there were rocky areas I’d be going over and my feet were not ready for that.
I ran south, nodding at the other joggers I passed.
I nearly got taken out by a very exuberant dog chasing a stick, and I waved at the owner, who apologized.
In the two weeks I’d been back in California, I could already feel my stamina improving.
Soon, I’d be running all the way to San Diego.
Then again, no thanks. I’d run at Mission Beach about ten years ago and the Marines that lived there made me look like a fool with their speed and endurance. I knew my place.
I realized I had run several miles when I spotted the orange netting and signage up ahead.
I was nearing the site for the port we were going to be building.
The garish orange fencing and signage made me cringe.
Nothing said we are invaders like orange construction fencing on a public beach. Way to blend in.
As I got closer, I realized I wasn’t looking at a basic construction site. I slowed my pace, like it would change the outcome of what I could see ahead.
“Son of a bitch,” I breathed.
I bent forward, my hands on my knees, chest heaving, sweat trickling down my back. The scene was chaos. The orange netting was draped with kelp. The official signage had been pulled from the posts and replaced with hand-painted boards driven into the sand.
THIS BEACH BELONGS TO EVERYONE.
BILLIONAIRES DON’T OWN THE OCEAN.
SOME THINGS AREN’T FOR SALE.
GO HOME.
There was a handwritten note in a sheet protector duct taped to the orange fence that had been shredded. “Find another port. Don’t turn our beach into a billionaire’s wet dream.”
I stood up straight and exhaled through my nose.
My heart rate was coming down but my jaw was tight.
Garbage had been dumped all over the area.
Like someone had taken the trash bins placed up and down the beach and dumped them.
Plastic bottles, a dirty diaper, and beer cans.
This hadn’t been drunk teenagers vandalizing for the fun of it.
This was a coordinated effort. More than one person. Probably several people.
Judd was going to lose his shit.
Fuck it. I was going to lose my shit. It was getting old. The headquarters building was visible from where I stood. We had chosen the location specifically because of the easy access to what would be our port. I could see glaring red and orange spray paint all over the back of the building.
What. The. Fuck. How did this happen with no one seeing it?
I knew how. People were turning a blind eye because they were protecting their own. The dog shit was one thing. But what I was looking at now was vandalism that would cost money to fix.
Judd’s black sports car swung into the parking lot above. I didn’t even want to guess what had been spray painted up there. He got out of the car and stomped down the old steps that were scheduled to be revamped as part of the project.
“Colt.” His voice was dangerously quiet. That was worse than yelling. “I got a call.”
“I didn’t. I just happened to be running by when I saw it.”
“I’m done playing nice,” he seethed.
A sensible man would have talked him down from the ledge, but I was pretty pissed off myself.
“It’s a declaration of war.” He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket.
“This is organized. This is not one disgruntled local with a can of spray paint. This is a campaign.” He was already dialing.
His jaw worked while the call connected.
“Dustin. Call me back. Now.” He hung up and immediately dialed again.
“Yes. I need you to document this before anything gets touched. Send me—yes. Yes, the Surfside location. The beach access point.” He lowered the phone and turned to look at the wall of the building.
Now that I looked at it, I realized someone had attempted to paint a dick.
The vandal was no Banksy. Judd turned around and glared at me. “I want names, Colt.”
“Why the fuck would I have their names?” I snapped.
He seemed to still be operating under the impression I knew everyone and was somehow their sovereign king.
A couple walking a dog had stopped about thirty yards up the beach.
They were both holding their phones up. I watched them take pictures.
The woman said something to the man and he nodded, still filming.
Behind them, a pair of joggers slowed to a stop. More pictures.
Social media was going to eat this up.
“I’ll call a cleanup crew,” I said.
“No! I want a police report. I want this documented.” He looked at the growing cluster of people.
His nostrils flared. “This is harassment. This is criminal interference with a legitimate business operation. I have every right to sue the shit out of everyone, including the law enforcement that allowed this to happen. I want the names of the city council members. The mayor!”
“You can exercise every one of those rights after we get a crew down here and restore this beach to what it looked like yesterday.” I put my hand on his shoulder, steering him away from the fence and the growing audience.
“Right now, the optics are terrible and they’re getting worse with every picture somebody takes.
We clean it up fast, we say nothing, and we don’t give this any more oxygen. ”
He looked at me with the expression of a man who was not accustomed to being managed. I held his gaze and didn’t flinch.
“One hour,” I said. “Give me one hour before you go off half-cocked.”
His face was red and I honestly worried he was going to stroke out. “One hour,” he said. “But then they’re getting my whole cock.”
He walked back to his car and got in. He didn’t drive away, but I hoped he would. I wasn’t exactly a local, but I did have some friends here. At least, I used to. Clearly the vandalism said I was a target. I pulled out my phone and called Cody.
“What’s up?” he asked. “Did you get a cramp? Are you face down in the sand? Want me to call an ambulance, old man?”
“I need you to come down to the beach site.” I let out a long breath, suddenly feeling tired.
The humor was gone from his voice. “What happened? More dog shit?”
“Close enough. We need a crew out here before this starts trending. No one local is going to want to clean this up, so I’m going to have to make some calls.”
“I’ll be there in five,” he said.
I hung up and took a few pictures, too, for our own insurance needs. A crowd had formed, more people curious about what was happening. I didn’t miss the snickers and comments about us deserving it.
One young kid stepped behind where the fence was once blocking the area. “Stay back,” I told him.
He laughed and took a picture.
“You’re trespassing,” I warned him.
He scoffed. “Me? You’re the asshole tearing up the beach.”
“You think dumping trash makes it look better?” I snapped. “How is vandalizing and making a real mess any better than a port?”
“Just take your shit and go,” he hissed and walked away.
I turned and realized several people were filming the interaction. Great. My sweaty, red-faced ass was going to be all over the Gram. Me arguing with some punk kid who very well might have been the culprit. I looked like a damn fool.
I stood there like an idiot, waiting for Cody to show up. He wasn’t going to make the situation better, but at least I’d have an ally. I did a quick Google search to find a crew that could come out and clean this shit up. I didn’t know who to call.
“Colt.”
I looked up and saw Pete coming down the stairs. He looked embarrassed.
“Pete,” I said with a nod.
He looked around. “Shit.”
“I was just looking for a crew to clean up,” I said. “I’m guessing we’re not going to find anyone local.”
He put his hands in his pockets and sighed. “Sorry.”
“Got any recommendations?”
“None you want to hear.” Pete shook his head. “Look, this is getting too messy for me.”
“You’re quitting?”
His gaze dropped to his feet. “I lost a job this morning. People think I’m choosing sides.”
It was probably for the best if we found someone else. Judd wasn’t going to trust him anyway.
“I get it,” I said.
“I’m really sorry. I heard it was bad. I’ve got a cousin that might be willing to take on the job. He doesn’t live in town.”
“Send me his number,” I said.
Cody arrived and whistled. “Damn.”
Pete gave me his cousin’s number. I made the call while Cody walked around the disaster. The cousin promised to head over.
“What do you think?” Cody asked.
“I think we’ve pissed off a few people.”
A lot of people loved this town. A lot of people had strong feelings about what was about to happen to it.
I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but I had a feeling Summer might have an idea about the most likely suspects.
It didn’t have to be anyone in her circle but she would know who was doing it.
Judd came back down the stairs. “This cannot happen again,” he said, trying to sound tough but looking like a pouting toddler. “My lawyer is reaching out to the local cops. If they can’t get their shit together, we’ll take it to the state level. I know people.”
“I’ve got a crew coming in,” I said. “We’ll figure out the rest after this gets sorted out.”
“I suppose that local yokel quit?”
“He did.”
“Fuck!” Judd cursed and kicked the sand. “I want security on this site.”
I nodded. “I’ll arrange it.”
He looked at me like I was the one that had done the vandalizing.
“You vouched for this town, Colt. You told me the community would adapt. You told me people would see the benefit once the money started flowing.” He straightened his jacket.
“I am starting to question your read on this situation. Handle it.”
He walked away, got back in his car, and drove away.
Cody looked at me with one eyebrow raised. “You good?”
“No,” I said honestly. “This is a fucking mess.”
“You think you know who did this.”
“I don’t know anything,” I said. “I have a theory.”
“A theory that involves a certain surf instructor.”
“I said I don’t know.”
“But you’re going to find out.”
“Do I have a choice?” I asked. “We’re going to lose a lot of money if this keeps up.
We haven’t even started construction. What happens when the equipment and materials are on site?
I don’t want to lose thousands, possibly millions.
I definitely don’t want to have locals arrested left and right.
That’s not going to ingratiate us with the community. ”
“That’s assuming you can get the local police to do anything,” Cody said.
“Good point.”
“So? What’s the play?”
“Take me home,” I said. “I think I need to have a difficult conversation.”
We left the site and headed up to the parking lot. Sure enough, the artist had practiced his dicks on the pavement. There were cocks and balls in various shapes and colors all over the parking lot.
Cody laughed. “Been a while since I’ve seen such rudimentary artwork.”
“Either someone that’s never done this or a kid,” I said.
Cody pulled up to the house and I got out. I stood on the driveway for a moment, looking at the Banks house next door. Dad had taught us to face our problems head on.
I walked next door and knocked.