Eye of the Sh*t Storm Jackson Ford (detective books to read txt) 📖

us into his little spot in the bamboo, jabbering away, like he hasn’t spoken to a human being in years.

“You have to be so careful on the river these days,” he’s saying now, gesticulating with a hand smeared with grime. There’s a wedding ring on one finger, but no sign of a partner anywhere. “This isn’t the first time Bradley and I have run into trouble. This was a bad one, though, not like the last time I got jumped. That one was drunk, he could barely take two steps without falling over. I pretty much walked away from him. This time though? Oh man… let’s just say I’m glad you folks showed up.”

I just sip my coffee and let his chatter wash over me. Mostly what I’m doing is marvelling at his setup. It’s not just the microwave. Grant’s carved himself a little home out of the bamboo, occupying an empty spot between the two groves. It’s all but invisible from the sloped side and the land above it, and there’s only one entrance from the river side. It’s not exactly what you’d call roomy though, especially with Grant’s possessions: three duffel bags of clothes, a surprisingly neat sleeping bag and mat, bottles of water. And the microwave, of course.

Nic and I sit on upturned plastic crates, drinking our coffee. Annie leans up against one of the bamboo trunks, staring at nothing. She protested hard when Grant insisted on making us coffee, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Neither would I to be honest.

“Anyway, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Grant says. “There’s not all that much space, I know, but I’m sure we could work it out if you folks wanted to catch a few Zs.”

Right then, there’s another rumble of thunder from above. There’s a little bit of sunlight still – the sun has dropped lower in the sky, escaping the growing cloud cover as it sinks towards the horizon.

He winces. “OK, all right, it might be a little too wet to sleep out in the open. Doesn’t rain much here – well, I’m sure you folks know that, you’re Angelenos, I can tell – but when it does, hoo boy. When that happens, I usually go to the big camp downriver, under the freeway.”

It’s the one the cop from before was talking about. I’ve never been there, but I’ve seen it on the news a few times. One of the big freeway junctions over the storm drain was really unstable after the quake, so the government put a whole bunch of scaffolding and supports in. Then there were lawsuits and committee hearings and God knows what else, because that’s how the government do, and the propped-up freeways just sat there.

Combine that with a million people who have lost their houses and their jobs, and you get a gigantic, impromptu homeless camp. Why yes: it is an incredibly stupid idea to set up a massive camp in the middle of the storm drain, right in the path of any floods. There have been an endless number of hot takes and long reads online, exploring why these people have actually made camp in such an unstable place. I’ll be honest: I’m a little hazy on the reasons. From what I can tell, it’s because they have nowhere else to go, although I have no idea how true that really is.

“How long have you been out here?” Nic asks.

The question seems to catch Grant off guard. “Me? Oh, wow. Since the Big One, at least.”

“What’s the Big One?” Leo asks. He’s sitting cross-legged on the ground, rubbing Bradley Cooper’s belly.

“He’s not from around here,” I explain.

“Oh, wow, OK.” Grant’s smile is awkward – probably because he wants to ask why we’re hanging around with a kid who isn’t from around here. “Sorry, little fella. I meant the quake. Two months ago? Three? I’ll be honest, I lost track of time…”

In the silence that follows, Annie pushes off the bamboo, gives us a pointed look. “We should get going.”

Grant leaps to his feet. “No, no, no, please, you certainly aren’t imposing. Are you sure I can’t make you any coffee? I might even have a teabag or two if—”

“I’m fine, thank you,” says Annie, with exaggerated politeness.

“We’ll head out after we’re finished drinking ours,” I tell her. Actually, I think I’ll ask Grant for a second. Maybe a third. Instant or not, this shit is good.

Nic’s eyes land on the microwave, and he chuckles. “How did you even…?”

“The microwave?” He winks. He actually winks. “Little bit of elbow grease and a prayer. Even insulated the wires properly, in case it gets wet.” He points to the darkening clouds.

“For real, though. How?”

“I’m an electrical engineer. Well, I was. I used to work on traction substations – you know, for rail networks.” He sighs. “But, after the Big One, a bunch of us got laid off. Trains ain’t really running any more. I tried to get work, but you know how it is.” He brightens. “Anyway, if you can find your way around a transformer, it’s pretty easy to hook up a microwave. Beats eating cold meals all day, I’ll tell you that. I actually stole it after my landlord kicked me out.” His mouth twists in a strange smile. “I almost didn’t, but… well, I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“… I’m sorry,” Nic says.

“What? No, don’t be! God no, no no no. I’m doing just fine.”

“You were literally getting robbed when we came by,” I say.

His smile falters. “Anyway, it’s not so bad,” he says, utterly ignoring my point. “I actually had a job interview today.” He plucks at his suit lapel.

“Right on,” Nic says. “For an engineer position?”

“Yes. Well, kind of. It’s more of a contract thing. Company that runs trash compactors needs a few of their units looked at.” He barks another laugh, this one sounding just a little more forced than before. “Lots of trash after the Big One, as I’m sure you can imagine!”

My