Grizzly Season. S W Lauden
tattoo on her left shoulder blade. He traced her spine with his eyes as she sauntered out into the cool night air.
Magnus strolled around the cot like he was lost.
“Sorry to break up your little party.”
“I’m just glad you didn’t get here until after she licked all the honey off.”
“Keep cracking jokes, if you want. Just remember that your friend isn’t exactly enjoying the same amenities that you are.”
Greg strained against the ropes, but knew it was no use.
“Is he okay?”
“For now. The bears don’t usually come until after dusk. Unless it’s trash day, of course.”
Magnus chuckled and picked at his fingernails. Greg jumped right back in: “You can’t leave him down there all night.”
“I can, and I most definitely will. It all depends on you, Greg.”
“How do you know my name?”
“We know exactly who you are. I’ve had my eye on your cabin ever since you arrived in our neck of the woods. It’s not every day we get a celebrity up here.”
Bad Citizen Corporation was the last thing that Greg wanted to talk about at the moment. But, he was willing to try anything to save Marco from being eaten alive.
“How do you know about my band?”
“What band? I was talking about those people you saved down by the beach. It was all over the local news for a few weeks.”
Magnus held a folded newspaper up for Greg to see. It was a regional rag called The SoCal Sentinel.
“I’m just screwing with you. Everybody’s probably heard of your band by now. See for yourself.”
Magnus held the newspaper up for Greg to read. The page was open to a trashy gossip column. Greg checked the date. It was weeks old.
LA Buzz: What Happened To The ‘Punk Rock Cop’?
by Leslie Thompson, Staff Reporter
According to acquaintances, Greg Salem, a Virgil Heights police officer who burst into the spotlight last year, hasn’t been heard from in months.
Salem was involved in an on-duty shooting during which he claimed the underage suspect pulled a gun. He was put on leave. The weapon in question was never recovered, but the search for it led to one of the biggest gang busts in recent years.
He was back in the spotlight two weeks later when he rescued a couple of hostages during a tense beach standoff, which left one suspect dead. But Salem, who is also a former singer of LA-based punk band Bad Citizen Corporation, hasn’t been heard from since. Is he dead, or simply hiding out? Working undercover, or writing another album?
There were another dozen paragraphs, but Greg stopped reading. He already knew how that story ended. Magnus brought the paper down with a slap.
“Like I said, you’re famous.”
“She’s got a pretty good imagination.”
“Perception is reality.”
Magnus folded his arms across his chest. He was looking up at the ceiling of the tent, deep in thought, when he went on.
“I actually used to work in the music industry myself. Did marketing for a few hair-metal bands in the eighties.”
Greg had a hard time picturing this ragged pot farmer in a corporate boardroom.
“So, why’d a marketing guy leave entertainment for agriculture?”
“Who says I left entertainment? It’s all about diversification these days.”
Greg motioned to the inside of the tent with his head.
“This isn’t exactly The Ritz, but I’m guessing you come and go when you feel like it.”
“Life’s about choices. I did my time in fancy hotels, ate at all the hip restaurants on both coasts, but I was suffocating—at and happy, like a caged animal waiting to be slaughtered. Don’t get me wrong, the money was great and there were plenty of perks. But the people? All sharks.”
“And you prefer bears.”
Magnus finally brought his gaze down to lock eyes with Greg.
“I’m always looking for the next opportunity. A man can learn a lot about himself by living out here. Speaking of which, I’ve got something to show you.”
Magnus walked over to a backpack on the ground and pulled out a piece of cloth. Greg watched as he slowly unfolded it, careful not to let it touch the ground. He was soon holding the corners of a California state flag in his outstretched hands.
“See that? It’s a grizzly bear. They used to live all over these mountains a hundred years ago. Fierce hunters. True individuals.”
“So what?”
“They were hunted to extinction. Completely wiped out. But there they are, right on the state flag. A constant lie that we perpetuate.”
“There are still plenty of black bears up here.”
“Imported from Yosemite a century ago. There’s less and less that’s native about Southern California.”
Greg smiled. Magnus was getting to the point, whatever that turned out to be.
“You and I are special, Greg. Born and raised here. Natives. Just like the grizzlies.”
“Meaning we’re almost extinct?”
“Might be unavoidable, if we don’t stop the hemorrhaging. All the transplants coming here only care about money and the weather, but they’re destroying our soul. Sure, they like their symbols. They want you to think that they’re all about individualism and freedom, but it’s not true. The minute you become a threat—BOOM—they take everything away from you.”
“So all of this is about illegal immigration?”
“To the contrary, I’ll take Mexicans, Guatemalans, Nicaraguans—anybody from south of the border—over these East Coast assholes that just keep coming like locust.”
“What’s that have to do with me and Marco? Let us go and we’ll forget this place even exists.”
“You hard of hearing from all that punk-rock crap? I’m giving you the opportunity to get in on the ground floor of something huge.”
It took Greg a moment to figure out what this whack job was driving at. A job offer was the last thing he expected. Greg tried to look like he was considering it, but his mind was only focused on getting out of there.
“Seems like you have plenty of people here who can help you out.”
“These kids? They’re strays and runaways, mostly here for the weed and sex. All they’re good for is working the fields and keeping the product moving. I need a business partner—somebody who can handle the day-to-day while I work on taking this thing to the next level.”
“Let my friend go and I’m all ears.”
Magnus stood up and lumbered over to the door. He wore a pinched expression when he turned to face Greg again, like something bored into the back of his skull.
“I’ll consider taking him out of there tonight. What happens tomorrow depends on you.”
“Can you at least untie me?”
“Not sure that’s in my best interest, but I can send one of the girls back in. That should keep your mind off of those ropes.”
Greg wasn’t up for any soulless cult sex but thought he might get some useful information out of Magnus’s harem, or at least one of them.
“Maybe just Ursula.”
“You’ll