“I want to talk about Rubicon.”

Rix glanced at his friend, who’d climbed back onto the boat and was now looming over me.

“I saw your posts on the Examiner forum,” I said. “I thought you might like to share your story.”

He gulped half the Corona and pointed at me, eyebrow cocked. “You’re with them, aren’t you?”

“Who?”

“Rubicon.”

“I’m a journalist with the—”

“We don’t play that game here,” said Rix. “If Rubicon wants to knock on my front door, that’s fine.”

“Alright.”

“But have the courtesy to tell the truth.”

I brought a business card out of my pocket and said, “I’m really not deceiving you, Mr. Rix.”

“You people will try anything.”

“Here’s my card.”

I held it out, but Rix turned away. I offered the card to the man in the boat, but he didn’t take it either, so I bent down and left it on the driveway, hoping the next rinse wouldn’t carry it off.

7.

Retreat’s Town Hall put me in mind of a colonial outpost in the tropics. Yellow air bricks let in a salty breeze, the entrance was flanked by squat palms, and everyone inside was a crispy bureaucrat. An assistant led me into the mayor’s office. The venetian blinds were drawn, the room illuminated with green reading lamps. The AC gave me goosebumps, and I wondered if Klausmeyer kept it that way so he could sport his herringbone blazer. The mayor was on the far side of middle age, with blond hair thin on his freckled scalp and tiny crayfish eyes.

“Really great to meet you, Whitney,” he said. He sat about a mile away, behind his leather-topped desk. “When I heard a girl had come down from New York to write about Retreat, I hoped we’d get a chance to chat.”

“I appreciate your taking the time to see me.”

“Have you been to Marble Beach yet?”

“No.”

“Pelican Key?”

“Afraid not.”

The mayor soundlessly slapped his palm on the desk. “Well, where the heck have you been?”

“Mostly Ocean General Hospital,” I said, “and the south side.”

“Right.” He leaned forward seriously. “Rubicon Tech.”

“Yes.”

“I assume you’ve met Eva Kriss?”

“Yeah. Do you mind if I record?”

“I’m an open book,” he said, and I set the tape rolling, then double-checked it.

“An incredible woman, Eva,” Klausmeyer continued.

“How so?”

“She sat right where you’re sitting now and sold me on Rubicon in half an hour. I could tell right away it was a win-win.”

“In what way?”

“You’ve been spending time on the south side?”

I told him about my ride-alongs with Common Dreams.

“Heroes,” he said. “And we need heroes down there.”

“How long have things been bad on the south side?”

“Were you born in New York, Whitney?”

“Los Angeles.”

This seemed to solve something in his mind.