Shiver on the Sky

by David Haywood Young

Chapter Thirty-Seven

  (Friday Morning—Owen)

  The Hermit drove his boat at high speed across the Bay, slowing only when he entered the no-wake zone surrounding the City Marina. Shadow leaned into the wind and barked loudly, obviously loving the ride. Owen decided his guess that the new speedboat was primarily a toy had been confirmed. The lighter load, after they’d dropped the others off in Port Aransas, made a hell of a difference to the way the boat handled.

  He’d been able to see the Fusty Navel from nearly half a mile away. Bright sunshine, the clarity of the air and his familiarity with the boat and surrounding marina were somehow jarring, underscoring a faintly alien undercurrent he sensed in what had once been a well-understood and friendly place.

  A glass wall—or maybe a lens—had been erected between his discovery of Leon’s body and everything prior to that moment. He saw everything on the far side of the wall refracted through the memory and viewpoint of a slightly different person. A person who shared his name and history, but with a slightly different focus.

  The Hermit glanced at him. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll clean up okay. She’s still a good boat.”

  Owen nodded. It was true enough.

  Maybe it was worth a try. Something caught in his nose, and he sneezed. When he straightened up he heard his own dark laughter echoing in a few of the slicker, more flippant shallows of his mind. Where else would he go, anyway? This was the only home he had.

  He decided he disliked snotty inner voices.

  Once aboard, it didn’t take long to clean up the worst of the mess. The Hermit rolled up the old rug from the main salon and had it on the dock almost before Owen finished tying up the speedboat. They opened hatches and windows, lit some incense Shawna had left, and went outside to wait in the sun. They’d come to an unspoken agreement that straightening up further could wait until it reeked a little less in there.

  This morning on the Nameless Owen had been joking with Martina, and noticed Andrea watching them soberly. All at once having fun seemed disloyal to Shawna. But that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? And who was Andrea to judge? He and Martina had both done everything they could for Shawna…and they were just friends, anyway.

  Somehow, that notion didn’t relieve his mind as much as he thought it should.

  He smelled rotting fish. Well, more than usual even for the marina. He searched for a moment, then cleaned out the cooler he’d left sitting next to his kayak the day he’d discovered Leon.

  He wiped his hands, then put the cell phone in a rod-holder and sat next to the Hermit. Somebody out there had to know something about what was going on. Maybe he should have bought a newspaper. At the very least it’d include Carl’s fulminating column, which could be counted on to be about whatever momentary amusement or rage had inspired Carl at the moment he wrote it. It wouldn’t be the same as actually hearing from him—but Owen thought it still might make him feel better. On the other hand, the Hermit would rag him about reading the toilet paper again. It probably wasn’t worth the hassle.

  “I kept that damn thing in a box, you know.” The Hermit nodded at his phone. “I charged it up when Shawna came to visit, in case we needed it. But it’s going right back in the box when this gets settled.” He put his feet up on the rail. “If you use a phone too much it starts to own you, instead of the other way around.” He grinned lazily. “Sort of like a camera stealing your soul.”

  “I guess.” Not that Owen had anything against phones, but this one didn’t seem to bring much luck. He picked it up and stared at it. “I want to call Gordon and ask about Carl, but I figure he’ll call me when he has something to say.”

  “Sure.” The Hermit smirked at him. “Go ahead and stare at it. A little self-discipline will be good for you.” He glanced at the parking lot and grunted in approval. “Good. They’re here.”

  They? Owen turned around. Aaron had parked his Bug next to Martina’s Festiva, and they were making their way out to the Fusty Navel. Owen grinned at the kid. However important it might be in theory, and in spite of Andrea’s firm instructions earlier, he’d had trouble believing Aaron would settle down and take high school seriously again quite so soon.

  He sobered when he got a better look at Martina’s face. She walked quickly, leaving Aaron behind as he craned his neck to watch squabbling seagulls.

  “What’s wrong?” Owen asked when she came up to the boat.

  “Have you talked to Gordon yet?” she asked.

  “No. What happened?”

  “Good to see you, kid!” the Hermit called to Aaron before she could answer. “See those wheelbarrows at the end of the dock? Get one and haul that rug off and out of here!”

  Aaron stopped, looking disgruntled, and turned back for the wheelbarrow. The Hermit nodded. “Life’s hard sometimes,” he said to Owen.

  Owen nodded, but didn’t look at him. “Martina?”

  She shook her head. “Gordon sounded trashed when I called him earlier. I guess he figured I’d talk to you. He’s probably asleep by now.”

  “Martina . . .”

  “Sorry. I’ll just say it. There was a fire last night. Somebody’s old warehouse burned to the ground. Gordon said it looked like arson. Carl was probably inside when it went up. He got out, but he’s pretty badly burned and beat up. Gordon said something about scarring and lung damage. A concussion, too.”

  “Where is he?” Owen stood up. The Hermit stood with him.

  “In the hospital. Christus Spohn Memorial.” She waved them back down. “You might as well sit. He’s not conscious. Gordon said he’s arranged a police guard, and he promised they’d call when he woke up.” Her mouth twisted. “Or as soon as they get through grilling him, I guess. Um, interrogating him. I guess he’s already as grilled as he’s going to get.” She blew unhappily through pursed lips.

  Owen contemplated this morbid attempt at humor. He decided not to comment. “How’d he get to the hospital?”

  “Gordon said the fire department found him out on the street. I guess they called an ambulance.”

  “This old warehouse—was it near your place?”

  Martina shrugged. “I didn’t ask. Why?” Her eyes widened. “You think it might have been CyberLook’s old offices? I didn’t even think of that. But it could be, couldn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. It probably doesn’t matter anymore.” It did, though. He’d liked that place, and didn’t want to think it had been abused this way.

  He realized she still stood on the dock. “Come on aboard.”

  Aaron came back with the wheelbarrow. Owen stepped off the boat and helped him with the rug. “Cokes in the fridge when you get back,” he said.

  Aaron nodded impassively, then flashed a quick smile. Yeah. Not a bad trade—a trip with a smelly old rug for a day of school.

  “Where’s your sister?” Owen asked him. “Does she know about Carl and the fire?” Come to think of it, did Aaron know?

  “She does,” Martina answered over her shoulder as she entered the main salon. “We called Gordon from the office before we picked up the Bug.”

  Aaron caught Owen’s eye and shrugged eloquently. Owen gave him half a grin, then turned and climbed back aboard.

  “Okay,” he said to the Hermit as Aaron trundled away. “I’m missing something. If Danny was using the warehouse, and he grabbed Carl, and Danny got shot—who burned the place down afterward? His ‘cousins’?”

  “Maybe whoever killed Danny,” the Hermit answered. “Don’t think we have the whole story there. But I’m not sure it’s our problem.” He raised an eyebrow at Owen’s reaction. “We talked about this. At some point, based on their behavior in the past, the hammerheads were going to get violent. Then they’d settle down. Well, it’s happened. You’re out of it.”

  “What about Carl? He still might die, and it’s because I involved him.”

  “Yeah.” The Hermit stood and leaned on the rail. “Could be whoever torched the place didn’t know Carl was in the building, since Danny
was dead.”

  Owen thought about it. “So?”

  “So maybe it’s over, Owen. If somebody out there has killed Danny and some NSA freak to settle this, and you’re in the clear, we need to think about what’s to be gained by—ah, by rocking the boat.” He glared at Aaron, who had just jumped aboard. The Fusty Navel rocked gently in her slip.

  Funny. Sort of. “You think I should just drop it?” Owen joined the Hermit at the rail. “How about the kidnapped girl?”

  “Dunno. I don’t know anything about her.” He turned to face Owen. “Look, boy, it’s not all wrapped up and pretty. But it might be as good as you’re going to get.”

  Owen nodded slowly. “Maybe it is.” But he didn’t want it to be true. “I’m going to wait until I talk to Carl before I make any decisions.” If he could talk to Carl. If Carl woke up.

  Aaron came up to them. “Those wheelbarrows are cool,” he said. “I’ve never seen ‘em with two big wheels like that. Rug was hard to fit in the Dumpster, though.” He took in their expressions. “Uh…I’m going inside for a Coke. You guys want anything?”

  Owen asked for a Coke. The Hermit just grunted and turned to stare across the Bay. Neither said anything more.

  Martina came back out with Aaron. She wanted to go shuffle cars to where they belonged. Aaron volunteered to ride along and help.

  Owen decided to go with them. It sounded better than straightening up inside. The Hermit waved them off, apparently planning to stay right where he was. Shadow joined him at the rail, watching mournfully as Owen walked away.

  They left in Martina’s car, planning to pick up Owen’s rented Focus first, then stop by to visit Carl in the hospital and drop off his car so he’d have it when he got out.

  Owen hoped it would work out that way.

  ***