Pursuing Chase

by C J Schnier

  “What’s that way out there?” Kelly asked pointing east, down the harbor.”

  “That is where the Civil War started. Fort Sumter. Interestingly enough the union commander, a man by the name of Major Robert Anderson, only lost one man in the battle, and it was to appendicitis, not battle,” I told her.

  “How do you know that off the top of your head?” she asked surprised.

  “Oh, my grandmother was an Anderson. She claimed we were direct descendants, a great great great uncle or something. I did a report on the battle a couple of times in school. The civil war is a big deal in this state,” I explained, ”Come on, there’s more to see.”

  Leading her back up East Battery Street we marveled at the antebellum shotgun houses facing the water and stacked next to one another. Their pastel paint jobs were another famous landmark of the city. There were thousands of photographs and paintings of that particular sight, and Kelly loved every minute of seeing it in person.

  Moving on I brought us back up Meeting Street to the famous Charleston Market. Ushering her past the impressive Greek Revival styled Market Hall, we ducked into the first of many long one-story sheds. Booths and tables filled the building with trinkets, souvenirs, and crafts. Everything from hand-made jewelry, to throw rugs, photographs, and even several women weaving Gullah sweetgrass baskets and other random items out of palm fronds.

  Wandering through the myriad wares we took our time, browsing at our leisure, finally exiting the far end some 1200 feet later. The sun started to set, and our stomachs were letting us know it was time to move on. Making our way back east it was difficult not to stop at any of the fantastic looking restaurants. The Charleston Crab House, in particular, was hard to pass up.

  East one block from the start of The Market ran King Street. I led us up the street, pointing out hotels I had stayed in or restaurants I had eaten at. But King Street was not how I had remembered it. Now full of high-end chain restaurants and shops, it just was not the ambiance that we wanted.

  “I know a place that has great oysters if you’re in the mood,” I told Kelly.

  “That sounds delicious, is it close? My feet are hurting from all this walking.”

  “We could walk there, but it’s a little ways away. Let’s get the car. There should be street parking near the restaurant.”

  Kelly agreed, and we made our way several blocks back to the car. The place I had in mind was Leon’s Fine Poultry and Oyster Shop, located in the uptown part of King Street. Since it was still early, parking was not an issue, and we found a spot nearly across the street from the establishment. Even the local crowd had not yet descended upon the establishment, so it was mostly empty.

  From the outside, Leon’s looks like a converted garage or service center. A large bike rack bordered their outdoor patio area, but with the oppressive summer heat, we opted for an inside table. From the inside, Leon’s looked completely different. Artwork was displayed on the walls while tables sat under exposed rafters, ceiling fans, and a mix of vintage and modern lighting. A brick fireplace on the back wall showed off a colorful looking portrait, and a long bar stretched down the left side of the main dining room.

  The hostess sat us immediately, leaving a couple of menus with us. Glancing at it I noticed that the drink menu had separate categories for cheap wine and cheap beer as well as higher end choices. You had to like a place that didn't take itself too seriously.

  “Today has been wonderful,” Kelly remarked. “This city is just so much fun. I feel like you could spend months here and not see everything.”

  “That’s true, and if you ever got tired of Charleston, there are plenty more places to check out in the area. There’s the artist village at Folly Beach, or you could hit up Edisto Beach. Beaufort is gorgeous and just a short drive south, with Hilton Head and Savannah just a bit farther. If you want shameless tourism, Myrtle Beach isn’t too far of a drive north.”

  “And what about where you’re from. You said it was inland?”

  “Camden is about a two-hour drive. It’s near Columbia, dead center of the state,” I informed her.

  “How did a waterdog like you come from a landlocked town?” she asked.

  “Ahh, you forget, I was born in Florida. It’s in my blood,” I told her with a smile.

  “Well, no matter where you’re from, thank you. This was exactly what I needed to get my mind off the storm and my uncle,” she said taking a sip of her drink.

  “Well, truth be told, I had ulterior motives.”

  “Oh?”

  “I figured that I would take you out to a romantic, beautiful city, show you around some, maybe impress you with a plethora of useless trivial knowledge,” I said.

  “Well, you certainly did that. Then what?”

  “Then I was going to take you for an amazing dinner and try to force the oysters on you. I hear they’re an aphrodisiac,” I replied with a sly wink.

  “You dog you,” she teased.

  “Then maybe have a drink or two at a low brow local watering hole. You know to lower those inhibitions.”

  “Oh yes, certainly. And then what?” she asked, playing along.

  “I would to take you back to my yacht and show you the best sex of your life,” I finished boldly.

  “Chase! I do declare!” Kelly admonished playfully with a Scarlett O’Hara impersonation.

  We both laughed, enjoying the flirtations until our waiter returned.

  “Do Y'all know what Y'all are going to have tonight?” he asked with a strong Carolina accent.

  “Yes, I do. I’m going to have a dozen of your finest raw oysters.”

  “Very good. And you sir?”

  “The same.”

  Kelly and I spent the next hour enjoying both our food and ourselves. Thoughts of hurricanes and drug cartels were blissfully absent for the first time in weeks. We lingered after our check arrived, neither of us wanting to break the spell of our infatuation with the other. Finally, Kelly urged us out the door.

  “So how about a night-cap at that local watering hole?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “Absolutely,” I replied, kissing her before grabbing her hand and heading for the car.

  I opened the passenger door and helped into her seat, trying my best to impersonate an act of chivalry. I drove us farther up King Street, pausing to look down several side streets, trying to remember exactly where my destination was. Finally deciding to turn left down Grove Street, we came to the intersection of Rutledge Ave.

  Across the street on a wall was a vast white mural. The state’s logo, a palmetto tree with a crescent moon was displayed, but the leaves of the palmetto were what appeared to be doves taking flight. Next to it, in five foot high bright red lettering, the words “Charleston Strong” stood out in bold against its white backdrop. Either side of the mural was covered in dozens if not hundreds of blue and red birds, many with names next to them.

  “Woah,” gasped Kelly. “Is that because of that kid that shot all those people in that church a couple of years ago?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” I whispered, awed by the dominant and powerful piece of art.

  “That is such a great message of unity and love against such a senseless tragedy,” she said.

  Studying the mural for another moment, I finally turned left and drove right by my destination, Moe’s Crosstown Tavern. We found a parking place a block away and took one last glance at the mural before entering.

  A local had told me about Moe’s a few years ago. Located in the bottom floor of a house, it looked more like a deli than a bar or restaurant from the outside. The inside, however, was all dive.

  Moe’s was the kind of place that served both cheap and craft beer as well as greasy food. The floor was wood and worn through in places from years of use and abuse from chairs and bar stools. It was the kind of place you would grab a late night brew and shoot a game of pool, not one of the posh establishments that made up the ritzy downtown district.

  Kelly and I took a seat at th
e bar, glancing around at the beer signs and sports flags. Several of the TVs were turned to the weather where Irma had yet to make landfall, yet the storm already covered half the state of Florida like a cyclone of destruction.

  The bartender took our orders. We drank our beers and did our best to ignore the TVs, choosing instead to pay attention to each other. Kelly rubbed my leg while we flirted and toyed with each other until I finally whispered in her ear, “Do you want to get out of here?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she cooed back.

  Throwing a twenty on the bar I let her drag me out the door. As soon as it was clear, she pushed me back against the wall of the building and kissed me.

  “Let’s go home sailor, I’m ready for the last part of your plan.”

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Giggling together loud enough to drown out the buzz of cicadas, Kelly and I walked hand in hand down the long, creaky, and deserted wooden docks of the marina. The moonlight was accenting and illuminating our path as we made our way back home to Paramour, who sat content and secure in her slip. Charleston had been precisely what we had needed to unwind after the stresses of the last few weeks. Hell, of the stresses of the previous few months.

  As we approached our slip, I noticed that the docks were not as deserted as I had thought. A man, two slips farther down, stood up from the dock box he had sat on, flipped his cigarette into the water, and looked straight at us. Despite the bright moonlight, I could not make out his features, he had chosen to sit in a patch of darkness.

  Something about him struck me as odd, and I nearly dismissed my feelings, eager to get down below with Kelly. I had spent enough time around boaters to know that most of them are more than a little odd. But something was wrong here, it wasn’t just the eccentricities of a sailor. A nagging voice in my head that refused to be silenced yelled at me to pay attention.

  Just as I was about the help Kelly board Paramour, he started towards us. He moved slow and unthreateningly. I noticed that he had a limp, he favored his left leg with each step.

  “Are you coming, Chase?” Kelly asked, noticing that I had stopped short.

  “Hang on a second,” I said, motioning towards the man limping down the dock. “Something’s not right.”

  “It’s just some guy out for a stroll. Now come on, I’m looking forward to getting you into bed.”

  As nice as that sounded, my intuition disagreed with both her and my hormones. I looked to where the man had been sitting. There was no boat docked there, just an empty dock. That struck me as odd. If the man didn’t have a boat, why was he here? I turned my attention to the man himself and forced myself to think about what I saw. He was dressed in what looked like khaki pants with a light jacket and a ball cap. It didn’t dawn on me what was strange about this until he put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Why the jacket? It was stiflingly hot outside, and this guy looked like he was dressed for a crisp autumn day.

  The pieces started to fall into place, the lack of a boat, the concealing clothes, the limp, and even the cigarette. My brain refused to accept it, there was no way it could be him. But the man finally stepped into the light, and there could be no more doubt. Here, on this secluded dock, hundreds of miles away from where we had last seen him, stood the man that had hunted us. Pursuing us from Florida, through the Bahamas, and finally up the east coast of the United States to South Carolina. For the briefest of moments I couldn’t help but wonder how he had done it yet again.

  “How the fuck are you here?” I hissed. “We’ve got the money, it’s over!”

  Unaware of my recent revelation, Kelly moved to my side and asked, “Who is it, Chase?”

  Alonzo did not hesitate. His movements were smooth and well-practiced, in one quick and fluid motion, he had withdrawn a pistol from his jacket pocket. I threw up my arm to pull Kelly back behind me, but I was too late. The hitman fired the instant the barrel was clear of his pocket and aimed our way. No warning, no hesitation. Even in the darkness I could see his cold, unblinking, and disturbingly remorseless eyes as he pulled the trigger.

  The shot’s report hit my ears only a moment before the surprised gasp that exploded from Kelly. She reeled backward, caught herself, and then leaned forward, slumping to the dock. I grabbed her as she fell, limp and unresponsive. Turning her so that she would lay on her back I lowered her gently to the wooden planks. Kelly, eyes wide with shock and fear, stared into me as she clutched desperately at my arm, gasping for breath.

  “Kelly! Oh shit, oh shit! I’ve got you, baby,” I cried as I held her in my arms, focused totally on her.

  Thoughts of Alonzo and the knowledge that I was undoubtedly going to be shot at any second vanished. At that moment my whole world was Kelly Walsh. She was the only thing that mattered.

  “Chase…” she gasped.

  “Shhhh, don’t talk. I’m going to get you out of here. You’re going to be ok,” I said as I looked her over for where she had been hit.

  The wound wasn’t hard to find, she had been struck in the chest. Dark red blood was soaking through the breast of her sundress. A cancerous dark patch of burgundy against the vibrant pattern of the material.

  “Oh shit baby. I’ve got to get pressure on this,” I told her, fumbling to get at her wound.

  “Chase,” she whispered again, this time weaker and more feeble than before.

  I started to tell her again not to talk and to save her strength, but the look in her eyes stopped me. I saw in her sorrow and pity, but most of all there was love. True, unfathomably deep love.

  “I’m… so glad that I met you,” she started as tears ran down her face.

  My own tears streamed down my cheeks to my chin where they fell unnoticed by either of us.

  “It’s going to be ok baby. It’s going to be ok.”

  “No… my darling. I don’t… think so,” her words coming in rushed pants and gasps. The words distorted by a strange gurgling sound in her throat. The strain of talking was evident on her face, and my heart broke more and more with each word.

  “Chase?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  Kelly exhaled a long slow breath. Her eyes gave a brief flutter before they shut. Her grip on my arm relaxed, and then the rest of her body went limp.

  “I love you too,” I cried as I pulled her body close to mine. “I love you too.”

  I knew that she was gone.

  “How very touching,” A voice said from behind me. It was cold and uncaring. “Don’t worry, you will be joining her soon.”

  That voice ripped me from my sorrow, jolting me back into the present, and the dangerous situation I was in. My grief and pain would have to wait. I laid Kelly’s body down and forced myself to turn my thoughts from her loss. Willing my sadness to go away, I allowed anger to take its place and course through me, to fuel me.

  “You better hope to god that you kill me because if you don’t, that limp will be the least of your problems,” I growled.

  “Defiant to the end. Are you ready Mr. Hawkins? I’ll make this quick.”

  Turning to face him, I looked into his eyes, projecting my hatred and anger with my own while my mind raced and grasped for any idea to help me out of this predicament. The hired killer raised the pistol, but still, I kept my eyes focused on his. I coiled all of my muscles, my only chance to survive was to anticipate the shot and to try to move out of the way in time. With any luck, I would just be wounded instead of dead.

  Alonzo’s finger started to flex, the gun was unwavering, rock-steady in his hand. It was now or never.

  “What in the hell is going on out here?” yelled the twangy southern voice of Mr. Jim.

  Alonzo snapped his head in Jim’s direction, startled by the unexpected interruption. His gun hand instinctively following his gaze. Seeing my chance, I uncoiled all my muscles and tackled Alonzo, driving my shoulder under his arms and into his chest with every ounce of strength I had.

  The killer let out an ‘oof’ as my tack
le lifted him off his feet and drove him hard into the unyielding dock. His gun slipped from his hand, bounced once, and slid off the dock into the water. I was on my knees in an instant and raining blows into my assailant’s face.

  Alonzo managed to get an arm up to protect himself, but some of my punches still slipped through his defense. Without warning the man twisted underneath my knees and lashed back with a quick sweeping motion. A searing pain erupted in my right chest as the hitman slithered out from under me. It was only then that I saw the small knife in his hand.

  We both scrambled to our feet, keeping several feet between us. Alonzo held a strange fighting stance, still favoring his left knee. I risked a glance down at my sliced shirt and flexed the muscles in my chest, testing for any pain. There wasn’t much, the cut may require stitches, but it wasn’t debilitating or lethal. I ripped my shirt off and flung it down at my feet, making sure to keep my distance from the trained killer.

  “What in the hell are you two doing?” Jim asked, jogging down the dock.

  “Stay out of this old man,” Alonzo snapped, brandishing his knife in the dim light.

  “Jim,” I started with surprising calmness, “I need you to call the police and an ambulance. Kelly has been shot, and only one of the two of us is walking out of here alive tonight,” I said nodding at the hired gun.

  Jim looked at the two of us, took in the hostility between us, and backed away towards Kelly’s body.

  “I don’t know what is going on here, son, but don’t do anything you’re going to regret,” he said as he moved away. “Cops are already on their way, called ‘em when I heard the shot.”

  Waving Jim off I squared back off with Alonzo.

  “Are You ready to end this shit?” I asked.

  “You’re not on your boat this time. Now it is me who has the advantage.”

  “Come on then,” I said, beckoning him towards me.

  He lunged at me, turning the thrust into a slice at the last moment. The knife blade hissed past my stomach, barely missing me as I jumped backward. He came at me again, and again the knife slid past harmlessly. As I backed away, I looked around the dock for any sort of weapon. I had zero experience in knife fighting, my best shot at winning lay in either disarming him or attacking at greater range.