Vacant Shore

by Jack Hardin

  “Who?” he said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Heather…I left her here.” Stacey stepped behind her desk, the tips of her sandals inches from Ellie.

  “Who’s Heather?”

  “A new girl.”

  “Stacey,” Quinton said, “this thing we’ve created is working. But if you can’t get a handle on your people then I’ll be pulling out.”

  “I’m telling you, I do have a handle on them. Everyone around here is freaked out with the way you killed Julip.”

  “Your people are weak. They needed to fear someone. You can’t, or haven’t, commanded that.

  Quinton’s tone held an authority, an apathy Ellie had never heard in it before. Papers shuffled on the desk overhead. Stacey moved in closer to the desk and her toenails, painted purple and inset with tiny crystals, were but a hair's breadth from Ellie.

  “Here,” Stacey said. “Take this. Just go easy on him. He’s in the back. Are you talking with him now?”

  “I have an appointment to get to. One of my people doesn’t like what you and I have going on over here.”

  “So drop them,” she said.

  “It’s not that easy. He’s a key player.”

  Stacey’s feet disappeared and Ellie heard the door open again. “Where did she go?” Stacey muttered, and the door shut.

  Ellie’s heart was beating in her eardrums, her elbow throbbing from the way she had to contort it. She waited half a minute before peeking out from behind the desk. She stayed on her knees and looked across the messy desk out the one-way window. When she saw Stacey and Quinton at the other end of the floor, she came to her feet and skirted to the door.

  Stacey Blume’s office was in the corner of the building. Ellie had seen a door leading outside just on the other side of the wall. She cautiously opened the door and, seeing no one, left the office and darted to the exterior door. Holding her breath, hoping an alarm wouldn’t go off, she pushed the door open.

  She was at the back corner, where the stairs led down to a dumpster. She shot down them and turned down the side of the building, where wild vegetation was growing through a chain link fence and jutted up within a couple feet of the warehouse. Ellie fought through vines and branches for a hundred feet before coming out at the end of the building near the street. She scanned the length of cars and saw a red Pontiac Trans Am back up into the road. Quinton’s car. It shot down the road.

  Ellie ran to the truck and had the keys in the ignition before her backside was completely on the vinyl seat. With a quick flip of the wrist she turned the keys. Nothing. She tried again. Still, nothing. She grit her teeth and pumped the gas as anxiety rose in her chest. She tried a third time and heard a crisp click and then the metallic groaning of the engine as it roared to life. She looked behind her, threw the car in reverse, and tore down the street.

  ____________________

  Just as Ellie was starting to fear she had already lost him, Ellie saw the Trans Am take the south onramp to Route 41. She sped up and, after getting on the highway, eased off the gas when she was comfortable with her distance.

  She felt like someone had slipped some kind of pill in her drink, like she had suddenly been thrust into a evil dream. He was in front of them all this time. As she focused on the red vehicle ahead, her mind tried to bring the pieces together. But she was jolted by what she thought had been true about Quinton. He had been gone for the last five months. Hadn’t he? Had that been a stage? And who was he heading to meet? Her heart suddenly ached for Major. His last friend in the world—the only one who hadn’t died–was who she had been after all this time.

  She grabbed her phone, and, as she went to dial Mark, her shaking thumb touched Major’s name and dialed him. She hung up before the call connected and tried again, this time tapping Mark’s contact. It rang eight times before finally going to voicemail. Ellie growled at the phone and tried him again. “Come on, Mark.” But he didn’t answer. She left him a message to call her ASAP, that she had Ringo. Two miles later, she tried again with the same results.

  ____________________

  Quinton slowed coming into Matlacha. He crossed over the Matlacha Pass Bridge and braked three miles later at Pine Island Center’s four way stop. He turned right and drove north for another five miles before turing west onto Pineland Road. Ellie followed behind, passing up the Groovy Grove. The road snaked north as it neared the island’s edge, and the Trans Am disappeared around a cluster of thick vegetation. Just as Ellie was nearing the small Post Office, the truck suddenly jolted, making her tighten her grip on the wheel. She fed it more gas and the truck punched forward before coughing again. “Come on,” she muttered. “Not now...not now.” But the old clunker coughed one last time, shuddering as it died. She gave the ignition a couple more tries, but she got no response. She jumped out of the truck and started running.

  Ellie had grown up not half a mile from here. She knew that after following the coastline for a quarter mile Pineland Road cut back inland on an angle. The fastest way to keep an eye on Quinton would be to cut through the back property lines and wild vegetation. She cleared a split rail fence and negotiated cabbage palms, ficus, and wax myrtles before finally breaking back to the road. Pineland’s marina was up ahead on her left, and as she neared it she saw the red car. She came up and stopped behind a cluster of palms. Quinton was already on a boat. She watched as he started the engines and backed out of the slip. Ten seconds later he was heading toward open water, his back to her. Ellie left the cover of the palms and ran across the grass and through the parking lot before pulling up at the glass door that led inside the marina’s offices. She closed her eyes and took in a few controlled breaths, then opened the door.

  Stuart Hodges had a bulbous body type and wore a plaid button-down shirt tucked into jean shorts that were held up by red, white, and blue striped suspenders. He smiled large when he saw who it was. “Hey there, Ellie. What’s catching?”

  “Hey, Stu. I have a favor to ask you.”

  “Well, sure. Hey, are you all right?”

  “Yes. Fine, thanks. Listen, I don’t have my wallet on me, but I need to borrow a boat. Could you do that for me?”

  “Oh sure, Ellie. I’ve got the Sea Pro out there. If you want to take that.”

  “Stu, that’s perfect.” He opened a drawer and grabbed a set of keys. He tossed them to her. “Quinton Davis shot through here a minute ago. Keeps his skiff in a slip up here.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Looked like he was late for a meeting with Jimmy Buffett.”

  “I’m in a bit of a hurry myself. Thank again, Stu. I’ll bring her back soon.” Then she pushed open the door and ran for the docks.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Ellie ran the boat hard, following the trail left by Quinton’s wake. When she finally spotted him she backed down to ten knots and kept her distance. A couple miles later Quinton turned toward one of the fishing shacks, where a flat-bottom skiff was already tied up. He circled around, drew near, and tied off before cutting his engine and getting out. Then he disappeared inside.

  Ellie curved around to the west side of Little Wood Key and pulled up in a cluster of mangroves. She anchored, then worked her fingers over the laces of her Doc Martens and removed them.

  Her heart was beating fast when she set a foot on the gunwale and dove in.

  ____________________

  When Quinton stepped into the shack, Aldrich was already there, sitting on a crate against the far wall. A dark blue backpack lay at his feet. “Are you ever going to finish repairing this place?” he asked.

  Quinton cautiously stepped past the compressor, careful to avoid the soft, rotting area of the floor. “Been a little busy lately.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Aldrich stood and looked out the window toward Cayo Costa. “In my opinion, you’ve been been busy at the wrong things.”

  Quinton folded his arms across his chest. “And just how is that?”

  Still looking out the window, Aldri
ch said, “You’re running fentanyl now? Is that right?”

  “I am. It’s been a good move for us.”

  Aldrich turned around and looked at his cousin. “When you convinced me to come on with you and Ringo—the real Ringo—a couple years ago I did so because of the simplicity of your rules. They favored anonymity. If your first executive order is to abolish the first of those rules then that makes me very nervous.”

  “You can walk away anytime you want.”

  “I don’t want. The money has been good. I’ve finally been...compensated, as it were.”

  “I got you into this game, Aldrich. It was you who was griping to me about how things weren’t fair and how you wanted a piece of the pie. Ringo and I thought it made perfect sense to work your angle. And it worked. But don’t come up in here acting like I owe you or you’re calling the shots.”

  Aldrich blew a puff of air from his cheeks. “You all had a rule all this time. You were only selling coke. But now you get the remote from Ringo and immediately switch the channel? No. I can’t have any part of that.”

  Quinton spread his hands and shook them. “This is the big money. I mean, the really big money.”

  “Quinton, it’s not even about the product. It’s that now you’re working with others. People not in our small organization. If they make one mistake, if they get caught, you have to know that they’ll bring you—us—down with them. When Ringo said he was giving the reins over to you I thought, fine. But something happened to you while you were gone. I don’t know what it was, but I don’t like it. It makes me nervous. We all thought that since you were gone for a few months you would come back refreshed. But I haven’t seen the old Quinton since he left back in April.”

  “For ten years I’ve lived under a cloud. Now the sun has come out and I’ve decided to live a little.”

  “The fentanyl angle is too risky.”

  Quinton was smiling now. “That’s what I mean by living a little.”

  “So you’re not going to stop?”

  “Get out if you want. We don’t need you now anyway.”

  “And that’s your final answer?” Aldrich stooped down and reached into a backpack at his feet.

  “We done here? I’ve got another appointment coming.”

  “Sure. Just one last thing.”

  ____________________

  Ellie surfaced just beneath the fishing shack. She treaded water as she caught her breath and then quietly swam over to the small dock. She slicked a hand down her face and wiped the salty water from her eyes. Above, muffled voices issued from the open door. It sounded like two men. Ellie couldn’t make out any words, so she cautiously maneuvered around the dock and peered up at the door. Not seeing any sentries she heaved herself up and silently made her way to the door. She stopped a foot from the entry when she could clearly hear Quinton speaking.

  “We done here? I’ve got another appointment coming.”

  The second man’s voice was lower than Quinton’s, and he gave a muffled reply that Ellie couldn’t make out.

  Then she heard a sound that was as familiar to her as Major’s voice or Katie’s laugh.

  The discharge of a suppressed handgun.

  It was followed quickly by a second shot and then a discordant thump. Ellie froze momentarily. She didn’t have a weapon on her person. The only option was to slip back into the water. She turned and as she moved her weight off her front foot the old deck board issued a loud, betraying creek, like she had stepped on a crow.

  Before she could fully turn to jump into the water a bullet shot through the wall an inch from her left side. Another one followed just behind it, closer than the last. Ellie froze.

  Inside, the man with the gun spoke loudly. “I would get in here if I were you.”

  Ellie knew that voice. Or did she? No. The face that her mind offered up didn’t fit the situation. She swallowed hard and stepped into the doorway, her hands slightly raised.

  Her breathing hijacked when she saw the man who was standing against the far wall, facing the doorway, a gun trained in her direction.

  He was shaking his head, like he was disappointed. “Hello, Ellie.” He motioned with the gun for her to step inside.

  She took a few steps forward and just stared at him, blinking, unable to speak. For a brief moment, she thought this was some kind of inappropriate joke. But his eyes held a coldness she had never seen in them before, silently telling her that this was the furthest thing from a joke she had ever experienced.

  Her brows lowered and drew together. “I...don’t understand.” She searched all that she knew for a rational explanation. Some surfaced, but they all disappeared before his frozen disposition and the gun he had trained on her. Up to this point she thought she had pieced together who was behind everything, who was calling the shots. Now, she wasn’t sure of anything at all.

  He flicked the muzzle toward a side wall and told her to sit down against it.

  Ellie did as she was told and slid to the floor, pressed her back against the wall. She had never felt as disoriented as she did in this moment. Not even that fatal, misguided afternoon when Assam Murad and his family were murdered by God knew who. At least in that situation there had been the possibility that something could go wrong. But this? She hadn’t planned for this at all. Her thoughts swirled, muddled, like they were caught up in a tornado intent on sucking the coherence out of everything it touched.

  “Why?” she whispered, half to herself and half to him. But it all ran deeper than that. Deeper than a simple “why” and even, for now, superseding the “how.”

  She looked on him, her confused eyes searching his. “Why you?”

  It was Garrett Cage.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Garrett shook his head. “Somehow I knew you would finally get in the way. Even after I made sure they let you go. You’re too nosy for your own good, Ellie.”

  She didn’t hear him. Her eyes were glued on Quinton’s body. He lay flat on his stomach, his legs and arms sprawled unnaturally. His head was turned away from her. A pool of blood had started to gather around his neck and slip through a crack in the rotting wood. Her words came out dazedly, softly. “You killed Quinton?” Ellie didn’t dream much—not that she could remember—and when she did she didn’t have nightmares. She had always thought that a little strange, given the kind of career she’d had for over a decade. But now, she felt as though she were in a true nightmare. That panic in the chest, the constricting of your vessels as your blood pressure rises, that uncontrollable feeling that the world is upside down and that you’re stuck in a reality that will never be right.

  “Ellie, come on. You’re smarter than that. You’re going to sit there and tell me that you had no idea this entire time?”

  She looked back at Garrett, where the cold set of his eyes, the tension now present along his jawline, the low hang of his brows, all served to index an internal state of apathy and indifference. “No,” she said. “I didn’t.” Her confused eyes fell to his feet. She felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her soul. “I...don’t understand. You…” But she couldn’t finish. There were too many scattered pieces to bring together.

  “You helped me get rid of Nunez. When you got too close via the whole Oswald thing, I had to let you go.”

  Stunned, she said. “Helped you get rid of Nunez?”

  “Well, sure. And I have to say, you went far above my expectations.” He looked over at Quinton’s body. “Ours, I should say.”

  Her eyes were frantically searching the last few months. “You got rid of me because…” and she didn’t finish. There was a more pressing question. “You were the ones behind Adam’s murder?”

  “No. No. I mean, not me directly. But Scotch...” He shook his head. “He was a live wire. But, not to worry. He was taken care of long ago.” Garrett’s face now held that mildly charming look that came so naturally to him. One would think the two of them were now talking about the baseball scores.

  Ellie closed her eyes
and tried to summon a clear thought. “Why, Garrett?”

  “Why not, Ellie? I couldn’t watch everyone making money on the side, get away with it, and not settle in on some myself.”

  She opened her eyes and glared at him. “You’re everything that’s wrong with the world.”

  “And what is that, Ellie?”

  “You’re in a position to do good. People...families...kids...rely on the work you’re doing to help keep them safe. You...betrayed that.”

  “Oh, cut it with the Pollyanna bullcrap, Ellie. You of all people know the system is broken.”

  Her eyes burned into his. “That doesn’t mean that I have to be.” She stood up.

  “Sit back down.”

  “No. So shoot me already.” She had another question ready. “When did all this start?”

  Garrett ignored the question and kept his gun trained on her. He crouched down to the backpack. He put his right hand inside, felt around, and came out with a pair of handcuffs. “Put these on.”

  He tossed them to her and for the full second that they were in the air, Ellie’s instincts kicked back in, finally pushing her from her daze. She reached for them and missed. The cuffs clattered to the floor in front of her, and she took an extra step forward to grab them.

  “Easy, Ellie. Too close.” She slowed her movements and picked up the cuffs. “Now, put them on.”

  She pressed a cuff against her left wrist and clicked it around as she subtly placed her weight on the back of her leg. “It’s just too bad Quinton Davis—or should I say Ringo—killed you.” Suddenly his eyes brightened as if he had remembered something important. “Wait now, I guess I need to tell you about—”

  But Ellie wasn’t listening anymore. With all the speed of a striking gator, Ellie whipped her back leg around, and her bare foot caught the center of the suppressor. The gun jerked to the side and flew from Garrett’s fingers into the window, shattering it, and falling off into the water.