Will be reprinted in The Best American Mystery and Suspense 2025, edited by Don Winslow and Steph Cha (Available at booksellers everywhere in October 2025. Pre-order your copy here.)

Originally published in The Yard: Crime Blog (October 15th, 2024)

“Bad Man Down”

by Victor De Anda

North Shore, Salton Sea, Riverside County—1999

The early summer morning reeked of humid garbage. Roepp and Ramon stood shoulder to shoulder, their knees kissing the back bumper of the ’96 Buick Park Ave. Ramon’s neck was damp with sweat. Another hour and the sun would creep up over the horizon. Out here in the low desert, the sun wasn’t your friend, it was your vengeful ex-lover. Not even the nearby water cooled things down. The Salton Sea was where everything came to die.

Ramon stared down into the open car trunk at the motionless body inside. The stiff’s name was Grisby. He was a tall and lanky guy, but now he looked like a crumpled up marionette with a giant head, his strings cut. To make him fit into the trunk, Roepp had to break the guy’s arms and legs. Next to Grisby’s head laid a stick of dynamite. 

“Why the fuck have you got a stick of dynamite in the car?” Ramon said. 

Roepp shrugged. “I was a Boy Scout, believe it or not.”

“Shit,” Ramon said. “Always be prepared?”

“Damn straight,” Roepp said. “Let’s finish this shit and get some breakfast.”

Roepp grabbed Grisby’s ankles while Ramon tugged on his arms to pull him out and get a hold of his upper body. 

“Damn,” Ramon said. “Forgot how heavy this guy was. I hate doing this shit.”

Roepp got Grisby’s legs out of the trunk. “He’s tall, that’s why. And his head’s the size of a watermelon. Are you going to keep talking or you going to help?”

Ramon dropped his side of the body back into the trunk. “Let’s switch,” he said. “You’re stronger than I am, always have been.” 

It was true, Roepp was the big, beefy guy. Ramon was the slender, stealthy one. 

“Now you want to fucking play musical chairs?” Roepp said. “Jesus.” He let go of Grisby’s legs and they draped over the back bumper so he was half in, half out of the trunk.

“Breakfast is on me,” Ramon. “Anywhere you want. Name it.” 

Roepp relented. “That’s easy. Elmer’s.”

“Sounds good,” Ramon said. “Know what you want?”

“The Clubhouse Omelet, what else?” Roepp said. 

Ramon nodded. “You got it.”

They swapped places. Ramon grabbed Grisby’s ankles and Roepp grabbed his armpits. After a three count, they heaved the body out of the trunk. They moved towards the water, Ramon shuffling backwards, Roepp pushing forward like they were moving a busted-up couch into a friend’s apartment.

“Slow down,” Roepp said. “This guy’s built like a Charms Blow pop. It’s his damn head that’s so heavy. Should we just cut it off?”

Ramon stopped moving. “That’s not what Derek said to do. He had very specific instructions for Grisby, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s got to go in the water,” Roepp said. “We could just bury him. Who’s going to know?”

Ramon cocked his head and raised his eyebrows at Roepp. “Derek would find out somehow. He always does.”

“Right,” Roepp said. “Let’s finish this, my stomach’s rumblilng.”

They resumed their march toward the water. To the west, the waning light of the full moon was giving way to the approaching sunlight. Ramon could see what was around them now—the dilapidated ruins of an abandoned motel, the water, and the piles of dead fish carpeting the shoreline.

“Ever think of quitting this gig?” Ramon said. “Doing something else?”

Roepp shifted his grip on Grisby’s upper torso. “Fuck no, I’m good at this shit.”

“Seriously?” Ramon said.

“Sure, I bitch and moan about it all the time,” Roepp said. “But what else am I going to do? I’m not doing the bouncer bit again, unless I’m fifty and can’t handle this shit anymore.”

“I think about it all the time,” Ramon said. “Not sure what I’d do, though.”

“Derek takes care of us,” Roepp said. “Why leave?”

Ramon was sweating even more now. “What happens when we get too old for this? What’s Derek going to do with us then?”

Roepp shrugged. “He’ll find something for us to do. Like Old Billy.”

“Old Billy can barely remember his own name,” Ramon said. “Derek’s only keeping him on ‘cause he’s family.”

“So?”

“We’re not family,” Ramon said. “Derek’s going to dump us the minute we’re not useful to him anymore. Can’t you see that?”

Roepp shook his head. “He wouldn’t do that. We’ve worked for him since high school.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ramon said. “That’s why we’ve got to get out before he takes us off the board.”

Roepp’s face wrinkled up. “Fuck, this place stinks like rotten eggs.”

Ramon scanned their surroundings and stopped moving. 

Roepp was still shuffling along when he realized Ramon had come to a halt. Grisby’s body crumpled together like a compressed accordian. “What the hell are you stopping for now?”

“Where’s the goddamn boat?” Ramon said. “Derek said there would be a boat.”

“He said it would be obvious,” Roepp said as he looked around for it too.

“Drop the lollipop,” Ramon said. “Let’s find the boat first. All I see are dead fish.”

They released Grisby, his broken-up body landing on the ground with a dull thud. Next to him sat a pile of dead seagull carcasses.  

“This is bullshit,” Roepp said. “Of all the places in Riverside County, Derek’s got to pick this one. Why?”

Ramon took a few steps to the right, his eyes gliding along the gentle curves of the shoreline. “Except for the crazy hippies and junkies who live out here, nobody comes around this place, not even the cops.”

“It’s a fucking dump,” Roepp said. “We could just leave the stiff in that broken-down motel over there.”

Ramon wandered over to the left, past a pile of sun-bleached cinder blocks piled together into a makeshift fort. “You heard what Derek said. He wants Grisby in the water. God knows why.”

“Between you and me,” Roepp said, “Sometimes I question Derek’s reasoning,”

Ramon turned back to Roepp. “Why else do you think I’m exploring other options?”

Roepp’s eyes went wide. “Who you been talking to, Gennaro’s guys? Or maybe the Lopez crew?”

“No man,” Ramon said. “I haven’t talked to anyone.”

“Yeah, you don’t want that getting back to Derek,” Roepp said. 

“No shit, Sherlock,” Ramon said. “Forget I even mentioned it.”

A gunshot echoed in the morning sky around them, piercing the quiet. They each drew their guns, checking the surroundings for any hostiles. Nothing. More daylight crept in around them.

Roepp looked at Ramon. “Probably just some drunk hippie, right?”

“Right,” Ramon said. He continued searching the area around the cinder block fort and then stopped. “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Roepp asked.

Ramon turned his head toward Roepp. “Looks like it might float, give me a hand.”

Roepp caught up with Ramon to sneak a peek. 

The oblong shape Ramon stared at was made of fiberglass with several benches of seats in it, four people wide. Its outer shell was sculpted to look like the trunk of a tree. The whole thing was scratched and beat to hell. Stacked next to it were a pair of makeshift oars.

“Where do you think Derek found this thing,” said Ramon. “A Disneyland yard sale?”

Roepp grabbed a hold of one end of the “boat.” “Who the fuck knows,” he said. “I’m not asking any more questions, I need to eat.”

Twenty minutes later, they had paddled the log ride boat out a ways across the water. Grisby’s body stretched across the front row like a drunken Disney parkgoer. Sunlight peeked over the horizon, the temperature rising.

“Okay, right here’s good,” Ramon said. “Let’s toss him and get the fuck out of here.” 

They both stood and lifted Grisby, the boat bobbling. After a few swings to get some momentum, they heaved Grisby’s body toward the water. He sailed into the air for a few seconds before landing on his back with a wet slap. His body dipped underwater for a moment, then floated back to the surface. His defiant face stared back at them. 

“Why didn’t you close his eyes?” Ramon said.

Roepp glared. “I choked him out and broke his arms and legs. I gotta do everything?”

After a long sigh, Ramon sat down in the boat. “Fuck it.”

Roepp kept standing.  

“What do you think this Grisby guy did to piss off Derek?” Roepp said.

“Maybe he gave his two weeks notice,” Ramon said. “Derek doesn’t like people jumping ship. He’s paranoid like that.”

“Nah,” Roepp said. “I heard Grisby was skimming cash off the monthly nut. He was an accountant or something.”

Ramon turned to look at Roepp. “Then why are you asking me for?”

“Just killing time,” Roepp said.

The sun was over the horizon now, the dawn giving way to daylight. Ramon loosened his tie. Grisby’s body was still bobbing up and down in the water like an abandoned life preserver.

“He should’ve sunk by now,” Roepp said. “What the fuck?”

Ramon checked his watch. “Let’s give him another five minutes.”

“I say we leave him and get the fuck out of here,” Roepp said as he took a seat. “We put him in the water, that’s what Derek wanted, right?”

Ramon motioned to the water and Grisby’s body. “Sure, but this looks sloppy,” he said. “We can’t just leave him floating here. He’s got to go under.”

“Well, why didn’t we weigh him down like I said we should?” Roepp said.

“You did not say that,” Ramon said.

Roepp nodded. “Well, I meant to.”

“Shit,” Ramon said, snapping his fingers.

Roepp threw his arms up. “Now what?”

“Grisby’s not going to sink ‘cause he’s face up. We’ve got to turn him over.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Roepp said. “Let’s do it, then.”

Several attempts later, they managed to flip Grisby’s body over using the oars. He was face down on the water like he was talking to the dead fishes. 

“He’ll sink now,” Ramon said. “Just give it another couple minutes. His lungs have to fill up with water.”

“I’m fucking starving,” Roepp said. “When we get to Elmer’s, I’m getting the Clubhouse Omelet.”

“You said that already,” Ramon said. 

“Just letting you know in case I forget,” Roepp said. “No need to be a whiny bitch about it.”

A gurgling sound echoed from the water. They both turned to get a better look at Grisby sinking below the surface, a clump of air bubbles signaling his passage into the next world.

Ramon gestured towards the water. “See? What’d I tell you?”

The humid air around them was getting warmer, like an oven warming up.

“Now let’s get to Elmer’s before the breakfast rush,” Roepp said. 

They were rowing back to shore when a big whoosh filled the air, followed by a splash and ripples in the water.

Ramon checked behind them. It was Grisby, he was still floating face down on the water’s surface, like a toilet turd that wouldn’t flush. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Ramon said. “This guy won’t go down.”

Roepp stopped rowing to steal a glance back at the dead man. “I told you we needed something to keep him down.”

“No you didn’t,” Ramon said. 

Roepp’s eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “Yes I did.”

Ramon scanned the shoreline. “Whatever we do, it better be quick. Someone’s liable to see us.” He pointed toward the cinder block fort they’d seen earlier. “Let’s grab some of those. And some rope. You brought rope, right?”

“Of course I fucking brought rope,” Roepp said. “I’m a professional.” 

Back onshore, Roepp rummaged through the Buick’s trunk, turning over its contents for the third time. “Shit,” he said. “The rope’s gone.” He opened the rear door and searched the backseat. “It was in here the other day.”

“Professional, huh? That’s just fucking great,” Ramon said. “Looks like we’ll have to improvise.” He wandered over to the decrepit motel beyond the cinder block fort. 

The motel’s entire front wall had been knocked down, exposing the rooms to the open air. Shit was strewn everywhere—soiled mattresses, fast food wrappers, even a kid’s ratty stuffed teddy bear. It all reeked of piss and shit. Then he spotted a wooden spool with reddish-metallic strands coiled around it.

Back at the car, Ramon showed his discovery to Roepp. 

“Copper wiring, huh?” Roepp said. “Think that’ll work?”

“It’s all we got,” Ramon said. “You still got that Rambo knife?”

Roepp nodded in the affirmative.

“Grab that stick of dynamite too,” Ramon said.

The sun was higher in the sky when they rowed back to Grisby’s body, still floating face down. Ramon was sweating harder now. The desert was a nice place to be if you were chilling by the pool with a nice drink. But not if you were out in the middle of it doing shit work like this. 

“Fuck this heat,” Roepp said. “And this dog shit smell.”

Ramon held up a cinder block like a flight attendant would demonstrate fastening a seat buckle. “Get yourself a good amount of wire,” he said. “Wrap one cinder block a few times, then roll out about two feet’s worth and wrap the next cinder block. Use the knife to cut the wire. We want to weigh him down with these. You got that?”

Roepp shook his head. “I’ve done this before, dickhead.”

Ten minutes later, Ramon studied Roepp’s handiwork. “Looks good,” he said. “Now let’s get them on Grisby.”

They paddled the boat just next to the body and stood up. “I’ll throw my blocks around his waist,” Roepp said.

“Then I’ll put mine around his shoulders,” Ramon said. “On three. One-two-three!”

They each dropped their cinderblock chains onto the body. Grisby’s body slumped downward with the extra weight, the murky water slowly swallowing him whole again.  

Ramon sat back down in the boat. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Great fucking idea,” Roepp said. 

They each dipped their oars in the water when a familiar whoosh and splash filled the air. More ripples. They both turned around.

Grisby’s body drifted on the water’s surface, taunting them.

“What the fuck?” Roepp said. “Those cinder blocks have to be twenty pounds each!”

“They must’ve slipped off,” Ramon said. His face lit up with an a-ha thought. “Wait a minute.” 

Roepp looked at him. “Got any more bright ideas?”

“It’s got to be the salt content,” Ramon said.

His arms in the air, Roepp shook his head in disbelief. “What the fuck are you saying, Grisby’s got too much salt in him? His last meal was a couple of Arby’s sandwiches? Get a fucking grip.”

“No, you idiot,” Ramon said. “It’s the water. That’s why they call it the Salton SEA.” 

“Huh?” Roepp said. 

“The salt water is what’s making him float,” Ramon said. “He’s never going down.”

Roepp pulled on his hair. “Then why would Derek make us dump the body here?”

His index finger in front of his face, Ramon looked Roepp in the eye. “It’s a test. Has to be.”

“What?” Roepp said. 

Ramon searched the boat for the rest of the items they brought with them. “Yeah, and we’re going to pass with flying colors. Give me that dynamite stick.”

The sun was beating down on them now, its glare reflecting off the water. Grisby, still face down, looked like he was scouring the bottom of the lake for something he lost. Tucked under his belt was the dynamite, its long fuse sticking up skyward.  

“Light that thing and let’s go,” Ramon said.

Roepp pulled out his Zippo. “I’m already out of here.” He lit the fuse and they both sculled like a prep school crewing team on speed. Neither of them looked back. 

They were nearly at the shoreline when a thundering boom filled the air. They stopped rowing. Ramon turned back to see water spray and bits of Grisby flying everywhere. Seconds later, the sky rained pieces of flesh and bone, pelting the water around them. A loud metallic thump echoed from somewhere close.

They pulled their pistols and checked their surroundings. 

“What the fuck was that?” said Roepp.

“Probably just some junkie falling into a dumpster at the motel,” said Ramon. “C’mon, let’s get to Elmer’s before the blue-hairs show up.”

They reached the shore and walked back to the car, tired but victorious.

“So we blew up Grisby,” Roepp said. “Couldn’t the cops check for DNA from a tiny scrap of him?”

“Not sure,” Ramon said. “But if Derek asks, Grisby’s at the bottom of the lake.”

Roepp shoved Ramon’s shoulder. “I thought you said it was a SEA.”

“Shut up,” Ramon said. 

Ramon and Roepp piled into the front seat of the Buick. Ramon gripped the steering wheel and turned the ignition. He shifted the car into drive and noticed something out the front windshield.  

There, lying sideways on the Buick’s hood, sat Grisby’s head. Or most of it, anyways. A chunk of his skull and one eye socket was gone, his face blackened from the explosion.

Grisby stared back at them with one good eye, his lower face curled into a grin. Yellowing teeth poking out from his lips like a broken zipper. 

Ramon looked over at Roepp and let out a long sigh. “That does it. I’m opening up a fucking donut shop. Anything beats this bullshit.”

“You’d give me free donuts, right?” Roepp asked.