Devil's Harbor Read Online Free PDF Page A

blackened. First the floater, now this.
    There was nothing on Glenn’s desk except a near-empty in-box, a severe-looking desk lamp, a framed photo facing out toward his visitors, a whiff of Windex, and a copy of the day’s Times . A leafy potted plant drooped in the corner near the door, far from the morning sunlight streaming through the window. A flag hung from a pole in the other corner.
    DMO Glenn was a small man with a small, round, close-cropped head. His eyes darted around behind small, round glasses perched on a pug nose, and he had a rash-colored mustache. His small, womanish hands were clasped over the copy of the Times . He wore a blue uniform shirt, meticulously pressed, and a gold badge on the left side of his chest, his name embroidered on the right. The framed photo facing out, which was meant to be seen by visitors, showed Glenn in shorts and a singlet, standing by a striped marlin hanging from its tail on a dock. The chief had the thin white legs and flabby triceps of a man who worked all year behind a glass-and-metal desk. The marlin was as long as Glenn was tall, not counting its bill, and Finn figured it to be at least 180 pounds. He wondered how Glenn had landed it and decided he hadn’t. Then he wondered how the Long Beach Air and Marine Station had ended up with a civilian DMO, one who’d been parachuted into the position from Miami, which meant that nobody knew anything about him, other than that he was an asshole.
    Finn held Glenn’s gaze, waiting for the man to get to the point. Glenn looked away, taking a long moment to look out his window, which Finn figured he was doing for effect, since the view was of the windowless wall of another building.
    Then Glenn turned, swept away an imaginary speck of dust from his spotless desk, and said, “A hundred miles from the border and you managed to create a border incident. This is a terrible mess, Agent Finn.”
    â€œIf you mean Perez, the guy opened fire on us. I just—”
    Glenn pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I don’t care about Perez. I mean this!” he said, bringing his finger down on the copy of the Los Angeles Times . “Have you read the editorial? No? Here’s a summary: they’re saying you’re a cowboy, with your lasso trick. They make it look like we’re all a bunch of cowboys who shoot first and ask questions later. It’s a PR disaster. We’re in full damage control. You got a lawyer or you want a union one?”
    â€œI didn’t shoot first. And you’re worried about what the newspapers are saying?” said Finn.
    The pitch of Glenn’s voice jumped a couple of notes. “ Of course I’m worried about what the newspapers are saying. There’s a bigger picture, Agent Finn. There’s more at stake here than a few pangas landing on the beach. This could go national. We have to fix this.” Glenn’s face was flushed the color of sunburn.
    â€œFix it how?” said Finn.
    With thumb and forefinger, Glenn stroked his mustache. “I called the paper, said I wanted to make a statement. And I spoke to the assistant commissioner in Washington. He suggested we conduct a proper inquiry, and I agreed.”
    Finn looked quizzical. “A proper inquiry?” he said.
    Glenn leaned forward. “The Office of Internal Affairs in Washington is sending out two of their guys. Guys with no connection to this station or even to Air and Marine. We need to make it clear to the media that we’re doing things thoroughly. That we’re not hiding anything.”
    â€œWait—I do get it. You’re hanging me out to dry.”
    â€œI’m not ‘hanging you,’” said Glenn, making air quotes, but saying it like he wished he were. “I’m establishing a proper, multichannel internal investigation that will get to the truth—”
    â€œWe already had our own investigation—”
    â€œThat was before the