Read Online Nemesis by Bill Pronzini - Free Book Online Page A

lonely. Am I forgiven?”
    Forgiven. As if she were a penitent seeking absolution. Or a wannabe lover trying to mend fences.
    He said in the same flat voice, “We’ll talk later tonight. Try not to worry too much about tomorrow.”
    â€œI won’t.” Another of her nervous little giggles. “I’ll be on my guard.”
    *   *   *
    The parking lot adjacent to Fort Miley at the end of El Camino Del Mar was less than half full when Runyon arrived at twenty past four. He’d been there before, but only on a drive-through. Lands End ran from Point Lobos down near the Cliff House all the way along the shoreline to the Palace of the Legion of Honor and the Lincoln Park Golf Course—a lot of rugged, wooded acreage crisscrossed by walking paths and hiking trails. As with Baker Beach, he’d never had cause to wander the area on foot. The extra time was necessary to familiarize himself with the area and the designated drop point.
    He parked at the outer end of the lot. This time he did take the Magnum with him, slipping it into its clamshell belt holster under his loose-fitting shirt. This was city land, there were fewer people around, and the terrain was rugged enough in places to make ambush a possibility. He wouldn’t draw the weapon unless he had to, wouldn’t use it unless it meant saving the client’s life or his own. But he felt better having it close at hand.
    With the Nikon slung around his neck, he made his way down a steep set of wood-and-packed-earth steps to the Coastal Trail below. The sea breeze was fairly light today, carrying the pungent smells of sea salt and cypress. The maps he’d looked at told him the shipwreck overlook was to his right, away from the Sutro Bath ruins that lay below Cliff House. He took his time, stopping now and then to pretend to take photos of the Golden Gate Bridge and the rocky sweep of the coastline. There were a fair number of people on the path, on foot, on bicycles, pushing baby strollers, but their number would thin out by five-thirty.
    The shipwreck overlook was maybe a quarter-mile from the parking lot, beyond where the wide asphalt path roughened into packed earth. It was long and wide, made of concrete with a row of benches in the middle, bellying out so that you could stand at the edge and look more or less straight down to the rocky shoreline below. The trail was open on both sides. Opposite the overlook, a man-made retaining wall had been built to contain sliding rock off the steep cliff above; a low extension of the wall stretched out on one side for twenty or thirty yards.
    The wall was the only place to set up a surveillance, unless he wanted to sit or stand on the overlook itself. Neither option appealed to him. Conspicuous if he lingered in the area. A moving surveillance was tricky, too, potentially dangerous, but he’d have no choice if this was where the perp intended to make contact.
    Runyon walked out onto the overlook. While he was standing there, pretending to line up a photo, a couple of twentysomethings came wandering in from the trail and stood at the outer edge staring down. The girl, a chubby blonde as Nordic fair as her partner was Mediterranean dark, said, “I don’t see anything down there. You see anything, Jerry?”
    â€œNo. Must be high tide.”
    â€œWhat difference does that make? The signboard says you’re supposed to be able to see parts of old shipwrecks, engines and stern posts, whatever they are. From the Frank something and two other old ships—”
    â€œ Frank Buck. But only at low tide.”
    She ignored that, asked Runyon to look through his telephoto lens and tell her if he saw anything. He looked and shook his head. “Sorry, no.”
    â€œI told you, Carol,” the boy said. “Only at low tide.”
    â€œOh, screw low tide, I wanted to see the old wrecks.”
    â€œI’d rather screw a young wreck like you.”
    She