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T
he funeral had been a tough one, even for Sturman.

There was a motley group in attendance, which wasn’t surprising considering the company Steve Black had kept. The old pirate had never married, so his family was made up mostly of members of his motorcycle club, plus a few other dive captains and an assortment of bar buddies. Despite the odd collection of friends, it was obvious how deeply Steve’s death had affected the people who knew him.

After the preacher had said the final words, everyone had headed off to The Lighthouse. Where else? Sturman knew Steve would have wanted a lively wake in his second home, and the unashamed drunk would have rolled over in his grave if alcohol hadn’t been involved. Everyone’s spirits had changed after the service had ended, many people beginning to smile through their tears.

Sturman had been drinking a few in memory of his old friend, but not as much as he usually did—he didn’t want to make a scene. He was standing next to the pool tables at The Lighthouse with Steve’s younger brother, listening to the others gathered there tell stories about the friend they’d lost. The old man had led a pretty colorful life.

“Want another shot at the title?” Sturman grinned at Cody Black. He’d just beaten him at eight ball for the third time.

“You’re gettin’ cocky, brother. Time for you to go down.”

“Rack ’em.”

Cody, a shorter, bearded version of Steve, gathered the billiard balls into the triangular rack and carefully lifted it away. As Sturman leaned forward to break, Cody muttered a curse under his breath.

“Who brought the goddamn Mexican in here?”

Sturman slammed the cue stick forward and broke the tight formation with a loud crack, then stood and turned to see what Cody was talking about as two balls dropped. Near the door stood Joe Montoya, looking around the room. He noticed Sturman and headed his way.

“It’s that cop, isn’t it?”

“Easy, Cody. That cop is my friend. We were in the service together.”

Cody glowered, but he kept his mouth shut as Joe neared. Sturman pulled his hat brim down and wondered why Joe would show up at Steve’s wake. Joe already knew every damn member of Steve’s family was a bigot.

“Hey, Montoya. What’s up?”

“I’m very sorry to come here. I realize this is bad timing, but can we talk for a minute, Sturman?”

“Cody, why don’t you play with Hank? I’m gonna go talk to him for a minute.”

Sturman and Joe slid into a booth on the far side of the bar. Sturman signaled Jill for two beers, then studied his friend’s face.

“This must be important, Montoya.” Sturman grinned. “You know how much this crowd likes folks with brown skin . . . and how they adore the law.”

Joe smiled. “I hear you. But this is important. Listen—your biologist friend came in to the coroner’s. She saw Steve, and we showed her the body of that immigrant I told you about . . . the one who died in the ocean a few weeks ago when trying to cross over.”

Sturman stopped raising the glass of beer to his lips and set the beer down. His expression tightened. “And?”

“She thinks they both showed signs of being attacked by those squid. She said it’s hard for her to tell, since she hasn’t examined human bodies before, but she said the injuries look consistent with the biology of a Humboldt squid. Also, the shark expert who came in wrote off any shark species as a possible cause of death.”

Sturman sat quietly for a moment. “Anyone else know about this?”

“Not yet.”

“You going to tell anyone?”

“No. Not now. I’m not sure yet how we want to handle such a bizarre situation.”

“Goddammit, Montoya. There are people right in this room who make their living scuba diving. Many of them go out at night.”

“I know, Sturman. Tell them not to go diving right now . . . but you should probably make something up. I doubt they’ll believe you if you tell them the truth anyway.”

“When you going to tell the press—make an announcement ?”

“Once my boss has a chance to look this over. We don’t want to cause an unnecessary panic. These were isolated incidents, after all.”

“You’d be comfortable with another ‘isolated incident’?”

“That’s not fair. This isn’t my call anyway.”

“So after the sheriff’s office announces this, then what?”

“I don’t know. We’ll probably make some recommendations to prevent it from happening again. Which brings me to my next point. You and Dr. Martell are going to be heading out again after—”

“Hey, you! You,
vato
!”

Two bigger bikers were heading toward the booth. The shorter one, in the front, wore a black leather vest that showed off a tapestry of tattoos running down muscular arms. He was weaving as he walked. Sturman had met him before, maybe while drinking with Steve, but couldn’t remember his name.

“Yeah, you, boy. What the fuck you doin’ here? Steve don’t want no wetbacks at his wake.”

Joe watched them come. “Back off, guys. I’m a cop. I’m not here for trouble.”

“You ain’t a cop in here, wetback. You got two seconds to get the fuck out or I’m gonna rip your head off.”

“Sturman, I better go. We can talk about this more later.” Joe stood and raised his hands. “Easy, boys, I’m leaving.”

“Who you calling
boy
?”

Joe stopped walking toward the door and turned back to the biker. Having spent years with him in the Navy, Sturman wasn’t surprised.

“You—
boy
,” Joe said. “I said I was leaving,
boy.
”

The muscular biker lunged at Joe. Joe ducked underneath the sucker punch that came flying at the side of his head. The momentum carried them both over, and an instant later they were heaped on the floor, with Joe on the bottom.

The second, taller biker moved toward the two men on the floor. As he rushed past the booth, Sturman kicked his leg out, tripping him. The man stumbled and crashed into the next booth, but didn’t go down. When he turned to face his attacker, Sturman was already on his feet. Before the biker could cock his arm all the way back, Sturman’s fist slammed into the man’s cheek with a loud smack. That was all it took. The biker crumpled to the floor unconscious, toppling a bar stool on the way down. By now, everybody in the bar was looking over at the commotion.

Sturman moved to help Joe with the shorter biker, who had straddled him on the floor and started raining punches down. Before Sturman could get there, Joe bucked with his hips and managed to roll on top of the biker. Joe head-butted his opponent in the face and the man rolled to his stomach, covering his face with his hands. Joe forced a forearm around the man’s neck and latched into a rear choke. Ten seconds later, the man went limp and Joe dumped him to the floor.

As Sturman reached down to help Joe up, he saw that other bikers were headed their way now, including Cody.

“We better get the fuck outta here, amigo. These guys are dangerous, and they’re not in the best mood.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

 

 

Sturman and Joe sat on a bench a half-mile from The Lighthouse. Joe finished cleaning up his bloody nose while Sturman enjoyed the cool breeze as he came down from the adrenaline high. They had scuffled with a few more of the bikers’ friends in the parking lot. Sturman had a big cut on his lip, but couldn’t figure out how it had gotten there.

“Thanks for getting us out of there, Sturman. I owe you one.”

“You already owed me one.”

“I mean it. Those guys meant business.”

“Just like the bars in Thailand, huh?”

“Yeah. Those were the days, weren’t they?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been in a good scrap. You gonna get some backup and go arrest those bastards ?”

“Nah. Those guys are pricks, but they’ve had a rough enough day, and you just embarrassed them in front of Steve’s friends. I can let it slide. Hey, man, I’m sorry to ruin that for you. Steve’s wake.”

“It’s all right. Never liked most of Steve’s friends, anyway.”

“Maria wouldn’t want you hanging out with that bunch.”

Sturman set his jaw and glared at Joe. “Don’t talk about her now.”

“You gotta talk about her sometime, Will. And for Christ’s sake, don’t fucking tell me I can’t talk about my own sister.”

The men sat quietly, listening to the sounds of the waterfront at night: muffled music and voices from nearby bars; a cool, steady breeze ruffling the palms overhead; distant traffic on the freeway. The blaring sound of a semi-trailer truck using its jake brakes reminded Sturman of the night he had lost his wife.

“J
esus, Sturman. What happened to your face?”

He smiled at Val from the stern of his boat, wincing slightly as the scabbed-over cut on his lower lip opened again. Val had just come down the dock and was standing beside
Maria.
The sun had just set.

“Fell off my bike.”

Val shook her head. “Men. Really—what happened?”

“Steve’s wake.”

“What? You mean you got in a fight at your friend’s funeral?”

Sturman touched his lip. “At his wake. In a bar. And I didn’t start it.”

“My God. You didn’t start it. Well, you smell like alcohol. Have you been drinking today?”

“Who are you, my mother?”

“No. I’m a paying customer. And I’m not about to go out on the water at night with a drunk captain.”

Sturman was silent for a moment. “I haven’t had a drink since last night.”

“You must have had a lot. You smell like a bar. Are you really okay to drive the boat?”

“Of course I am. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a lot to drink the night before work.” Sturman turned and went inside the cabin. The air filled with a loud rumble as he fired up the boat. He returned with a lit cigarette in his mouth.

She frowned. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Usually only when I’m drinking.” He blew smoke in her direction. “Or being nagged.”

“So pretty often then. Nasty habit.”

“Nobody’s perfect. Well, you ever gonna hop on board, Doc? Sun’s goin’ down.”

Val stood looking at him, hands on her hips. Why was this man so difficult? “So you don’t want to talk about anything, you drink too much, and you smoke. Typical sailor.” Val threw her daypack at Sturman, harder than she needed to. He caught it as it slammed into his chest.

“Easy. I’m the one who got in a fight.”

“Just drive the boat.”

Val felt her father’s temper rising inside her. Sturman actually reminded her a bit of her father—tall, quiet, tough. And a drinker. After untying the boat from the dock cleats, she climbed on board and stood facing away from Sturman. She heard an unfamiliar sound behind her. He was laughing.

“You feeling lucky, Doc?”

“You think this is funny? If you don’t want to tell me—”

“Whoa. You sure are a feisty one.” He grinned. “All I wanted to know was if you thought we’d catch something tonight. I’m feelin’ lucky.”

Val smiled. “Third time’s a charm, right?” Sturman knew how to piss her off, but she was excited about their chances tonight, too.

As Sturman steered the boat slowly out of the harbor into a light wind, Val studied his face again. He had a fresh growth of dark stubble on his jaw, and his lip was split near the middle. She knew he probably hadn’t seen a doctor, but realized it was futile to try and get this man to do anything he didn’t want to. And she was feeling edgy because she knew they needed to have another uncomfortable talk, which would probably ruin his mood. Might as well get it out of the way.

“I talked to the coroner, Sturman.”

His smile faded. “Montoya told me last night.”

“So he told you everything?”

Sturman turned the helm slightly to avoid a large buoy at the mouth of the harbor. “I guess.”

“The injuries were consistent with what I’d expect from a Humboldt squid.”

“You sure?”

“Well, obviously I can’t be certain. In fact, some of the damage, such as the child’s severed hand that was also found, seemed excessive for the smaller beak of a Humboldt squid. These animals generally can’t bite through larger bones. But my best guess is that the circular tears on the skin of both your friend and the John Doe immigrant were made by the arms and tentacles of a Humboldt. Their suckers leave a pretty distinct mark.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“I’m sorry, Will. I hope your friend didn’t suffer much.”

Sturman clenched his jaw, then forced a smile. “Let’s go sink a hook into one of the bastards.”

Val thought of asking Sturman again to not take this personally, but she could tell that now was not the time. As
Maria
cleared the buoys at the mouth of the harbor, he forced down the throttles and the twin engines roared. The boat rose to meet the oncoming swells as it fought its way toward the fading light to the west.

 

 

This time, she knew they had found the shoal.

They were four miles off the beach at La Jolla, and had spent several hours motoring in the darkness before getting a promising reading.

Val was positive the massive school of fish on the depth finder was being pursued by Humboldt squid because when she and Sturman had reeled in their lines a minute ago, lifeless hunks of tentacled flesh were still wrapped around one of the glowing lures. Sturman’s dog, Bud, had whined at the unfamiliar smell and was acting restless.

Val had successfully led them to the shoal, based on its previous location, its trend toward shallower waters, and a slight northerly drift from the currents. Now that they’d finally located the animals, they had a new problem. The shoal was attacking the hooked individuals and consuming them before she and Sturman could get them to the surface.

“Sturman, we need to reel them in faster. I need an intact animal if we want to get a transmitter out there.”

“We’ve got enough here for calamari.”

“Funny.”

“Doc, I hate to break it to you, but we aren’t going to get these big guys in any faster.” Sturman’s face was still dripping with sweat from the effort to land the last Humboldt.

“Well, we need to try. Don’t worry about breaking the line or freeing the hooks like you do with a fish. The next time one hits, just reel as fast as you can.”

Sturman looked at her darkly and spat over the side of the boat. “Right.”

“Sturman—your dog!”

Bud had jumped up onto the side of the boat and was looking down into the water. Sturman shouted at him to come down, but the mutt was focused on the dark water, his ears laid back and his tail high in the air. A sudden swell hit the side of the boat, tipping it violently to the side. Bud scrabbled on the side but lost his footing. As his front paws began to slide off the side of the boat, Sturman grabbed a handful of hair and loose skin at the back of the dog’s neck and jerked him back into the boat.

“Dammit, Bud!” Sturman’s expression momentarily changed to one Val hadn’t seen on his face before. The look was gone an instant later as he pushed Bud’s face away from his and stopped the dog from licking his chin. “Thanks, Doc. I don’t want to lose another friend to these sons of bitches.”

“I don’t want you to, either. Even though I’ve had good luck diving with these animals, when they’re in a feeding frenzy they might attack anything.”

“Well, they ain’t gettin’ my dog.” Sturman clipped a short leash onto Bud’s collar and tied the other end to the ladder. “You want the other lines back in?”

“No. I think the two lures still down there should do the trick, and I don’t want to tangle the—”

The fishing rod leaning out over the port side bent deeply. Sturman freed the pole from its holder and pulled back on it. His tank top stretched as he jammed the butt of the pole against his stomach, and the hammerhead shark tattoo on his shoulder rippled under the strain of his shoulder muscles. “Start the timer, Doc.”

Sturman fought to land the animal. He slammed his hip into the gunwale as his quarry made a run or was seized by other members of the shoal. Val stood next to him with a large net, ready to scoop the catch from the water when it reached the boat. Minutes passed, and Val began to pace on the boat behind him.

“There! I can see it,” she said. “It’s not alone. Keep reeling. Almost here . . .”

The hooked squid, larger than Sturman’s dog, was now visible ten feet below the surface, emitting angry pulses of light as it fought the lure. Around it other shapes darted in and out as members of the shoal snatched at its flesh.

A burst of water splashed into Sturman’s face as the creature reached the surface and jetted water out of its siphons. Val leaned forward to net it.

“Sturman, the net’s not big enough!”

Val looked down at the large squid. It had to be five or six feet long, nearly a hundred pounds. In the harsh white lights, Val could see it had been badly damaged—but it was still alive.

Sturman grunted as the squid tried to make another run. “Grab the gaff.”

“No. I need it alive.”

“You got a better idea? I don’t know how long he’s gonna be here.”

Despite his obvious strength, he looked exhausted from the fight. She watched as a smaller Humboldt darted up and latched on to the mantle of the hooked squid. Val raised the net over her head and smashed the aluminum frame into the body of the attacking squid. It released its grip and disappeared into the black water.

Val turned and looked around the boat
. Come on, Val. Think.
She rushed into the cabin and searched for a means of landing the squid, but found nothing. She hurried back to Sturman, who was now bent toward the water, his elbows jammed against the top of the gunwale.

“Sturman, can you bring her around to the transom? Maybe we can slide her onto it when a wave hits.”

He grunted and began working his way to the stern. Val grabbed the transmitter and a coil of rope that was cleated to the side of the boat. She tied a quick loop in the loose end and pulled the rope through the loop to form a makeshift lasso. As a heavy swell rocked into the boat, Sturman pulled hard on the line, and the squid slid up with the water rushing over the transom.

Val leaned forward and slid the loop over the broad fins on the squid’s mantle, then jerked the line tight. “Drop the pole! I need your help!”

A minute later they had managed to drag the thrashing animal into the stern using the coil of rope. Bud was barking nonstop at the unwelcome visitor. Out of the water, its soft body looked weak and flaccid sprawled across the bottom of the boat, which was now covered in foamy seawater. Despite obvious injuries from the other squid, it was still struggling to survive. Its arms writhed and coiled in desperation. A jet of ink spurted from its tubular body, coating their feet in dark fluid.

Sturman, still breathing hard, grimaced. “Bastard’s staining up my boat!”

Bud went quiet and strained against his leash to smell the animal. It lashed out and seized Bud’s head with twin tentacles, dragging the yelping mutt toward its wriggling arms. Sturman stepped forward and slammed his heel onto the squid’s smooth body. The stomp sounded like a water balloon exploding against the ground. Sturman stomped again and it released his dog.

“Goddammit, we need it alive!”

“My dog comes first, Doc. Thing’s already gone, anyway.”

“Well, it is now, isn’t it?” Val sat down. She knew Sturman was right. The Humboldt had been badly damaged by the other squid. It was pointless to waste the transmitter on it.

“How about that? I can still see my footprint on it.”

On the squid’s soft mantle, a glowing footprint was visible where the sole of Sturman’s sandal had struck it. They watched as the glowing print slowly faded to match the reddish hue of the body.

“That’s just the photophores reacting to the impact.”

“Pretty cool.”

“This one is too badly damaged. We need to try again.”

“What we need is another plan. We need to get them out of the water faster.”

 

 

Ten minutes later they finished securing the fishing tackle. The squid they had landed lay motionless in the bottom of the boat. Its angry crimson coloration had slowly faded away, until it was simply a large, almost formless slab of pale flesh, marked by large cuts and tears. Sturman squatted down and ran his broad hand over the smooth, lifeless body.

“It isn’t as slimy as I thought it would be. Feels like a giant uncooked chicken breast.”

“Be careful. I think she’s dead, but she might have a final spasm before she goes.”

Sturman ignored her advice. “You keep saying ‘she.’ Is this a female?”

“Probably. That’s a very large Humboldt. The males are usually smaller.” She sighed. “Well, it’s not a total loss. I can dissect this one in the lab. My God, she
is
one of the bigger ones I’ve ever seen out of the water.”

“She’s one big girl. Is this a really old one, then?”

“It’s probably quite old for a Humboldt, but that’s not saying much. These animals only live for a few years. All cephalopods grow incredibly fast.”

Sturman’s hands moved to the tentacles. He separated one from the arms, stretched it out and ran his palm along the surface. “Its suckers feel like little knives.”

“They have over a thousand of them. Each one is lined with serrated teeth to grip the slick sides of fish.”

Val headed into the cabin as Sturman continued to examine the animal. When she returned a few minutes later he was still looking at it.

“So what now, Doc? Any more ideas?” Sturman stood and turned to face her as she pulled up the back zipper on her wet suit. He shook his head. “No way.”

“Yes.”

“Hell no.”

“I’m getting into the water.”