The Boss of Hampton Beach

by Jed Power

  Chapter 39

  "That rotten, filthy fed motherfucker," Tony said as he jumped in the driver's seat of the Jag. Wayne was in the passenger seat beside him, Rhonda in back. It was late night and they were in the parking lot of the North Hampton restaurant where they'd just had dinner and drinks. After leaving, Tony had used the outside pay phone and gotten some not-so-great news.

  "What happened?" Wayne asked.

  "Yeah, what's wrong, baby?" Rhonda leaned forward and stared quizzically at Tony.

  The smell of her perfume distracted Tony, but tonight not even Rhonda's sweet perfume was enough to erase the conversation he'd just had. "What’s wrong? What happened? I'll tell you what happened. That fed asked me a while ago to help him find the coke from the harbor. I couldn't help him and that skinny little fuck he hangs around with any more than I could help those two staties." He banged the steering wheel so hard it shook. "So, now he's going to cut me loose. Says he can't work with me anymore. That I'm on my own."

  "What's that mean?" Rhonda asked, looking from Tony to Wayne and back again.

  Tony shot her an angry look. "It means I won't have any protection with this asshole anymore. It means that any fucking rinky-dink local or state cop that wants to bust my chops can go ahead and do it now. He won't step in for me anymore. It's me against the world."

  "He might be trying to rattle your cage, Boss," Wayne said as he drummed his fingers on the dashboard.

  "Will you fucking stop that," Tony said irritably. "And if he's trying to shake me up, he's doing a good job. I got a good thing going here. I move what I want and no one looks at me twice. For years now, anyone got it in their head to give me grief, this asshole'd tell them to back off. And they would. Then I'd do the fed a little favor and go merrily on my way. I made money. He made busts. A real sweet deal." He shook his head. "Christ, I've been helping that cocksucker for years. I handed him some of the best busts he ever made. Isn't that right, Wayne?"

  Wayne nodded. "That's for sure."

  "You mean you won't be able to make any more money?" Rhonda sounded like a little girl who just found out she couldn't have ice cream on her birthday. "No more coke either?"

  "Not unless I want to end up doing prison time. And I don't. I'm too good looking for that. All because of that goddamn rip-off. Now I'm getting screwed for something I didn't have anything to do with. That just isn't fair."

  "We could keep trying to find the coke," Wayne said, but he didn't sound like he believed that would help. Then he perked up. "Maybe we could grab that Marlowe jerk again, have some more fun with him. Or maybe find somebody else . . ."

  "Too late. It's all over. The fed said that the harbor coke was grabbed down in Massachusetts. So I guess because it wasn't his bust or something he's pissed and he's dumping me. Period. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do now."

  Tony let out a long, deep breath. He stared out the windshield at the crowded parking lot and the traffic going by on Route 1. How the hell had it come to this, he wondered. Somebody kills a couple of boat people, nobodies, and snatches some coke. So what? What the hell did that have to do with him? He'd even done his best to help find the coke. And now that lousy fed was just going to walk away and leave him for the wolves. Local yokels and state cops who knew all about his cocaine business and had been dying to bust him for years, but couldn't even try because working for the fed made him bulletproof. Once those bastards heard he wasn't working with the fed anymore they'd be all over him like stink on shit. The only thing in doubt was who'd be the first to nail him. And with the weight he moved, shit, that could mean fifteen, twenty, maybe even thirty years mandatory. Tony shivered.

  "Hey, Boss, you all right?" Wayne gave Tony a little shake on the arm.

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Tony answered coming back to earth. "I'm fine. Just fucking fine."

  "Maybe you could start over somewhere else," Wayne said. "Someplace they don't know us . . . err, you. You told me once you had a bundle stashed."

  Christ! He'd been so shook up he'd completely forgotten about his stash! He'd stuck a safe in his bedroom walk-in closet years ago. He closed his eyes. Pictured the closet. Watched himself open the closet door, walk inside, and hit a concealed button, causing a large section of the far wall to slide aside. Inside that wall was the safe. And inside that safe was–$1,000,000 cash, give or take a few grand. Along with how much blow? He'd forgotten. Yeah, that would make a good start somewhere else.

  Tony smiled. Suddenly the world didn't look like it was about to swallow him whole. He slapped Wayne on the shoulder. "You know, Wayne, you aren't as dumb as you look."

  Wayne straightened up in his seat.

  Rhonda started bouncing up and down in the back seat. Probably happy that her visions of having to return to hair styling school could be replaced with visions of lots of coke and money coming in. "You could sell the mansion, Tony. It must be worth a lot."

  "Yeah, sure." Tony started the Jag and pulled out into the Route 1 traffic. "Maybe I . . ." Rhonda leaned forward again, staring. Wayne turned and joined in with his own stare. ". . . we need a change. Yeah, that might be a good idea."

  They all laughed and Tony started talking about all the parts of the country he knew that were wide open, where he knew people, had connections. Where someone smart and flush like him could move in and just start right up, no problem.

  No problem at all. Until they got to Route 1A, Ocean Boulevard. They were toodling along with all the windows down, surrounded by the nice aroma of the sea and–smoke?

  "Hey, what's that?" Wayne asked. Ahead of them in the distance the sky was lit up like day, flames illuminating billowing clouds of smoke. There was a little intake of breath from Rhonda in the back. Tony floored the gas and the Jag sped up. No one spoke, at least out loud.

  Please don't let it be. Please. The plea kept running round and round inside Tony's head. His stomach clenched like he'd just been gut punched as they got close enough to see that the fire was definitely on Boar's Head. The peninsula's main entrance was blocked off. Both sides of 1A were littered with cars pulled over and empty of people who'd gotten out for a closer look at whatever was burning.

  Tony pulled the Jag into the parking lot at Little Jack's Seafood Restaurant and they all scrambled out. Tony's stomach flip-flopped as they hurried across 1A. With any luck he wouldn't know the people who lived in whatever the hell was burning.

  "Hey, wait for me," Rhonda called. Tony couldn't stop now. Not until he knew for sure. He dodged around the police cars with Wayne close on his heels. Up ahead Tony could see flashing lights from the fire engines bouncing off houses.

  He kept his mind focused on getting up the street, past the cops and gawkers coming back down the other way, not asking anyone what was burning, afraid of what they might say. Finally, he rounded the last corner . . .

  "Oh, Jesus." Tony slowed down, walking like a zombie toward his burning mansion. Wayne walked beside him, his face lit up like a kid watching Fourth of July fireworks. Fucking pyromaniac.

  Tony got close enough to feel the heat on his face before the cops stopped him. He stood, stunned, and stared at the smoldering remains of his home. There wasn't much left to look at–the walls had collapsed along with the second floor. Rhonda puffed up behind them as Tony pictured walking into the bedroom closet, releasing the false wall, opening the big safe, and looking at . . . a pile of goddamn ashes.

  Wait a second! Hadn't it been a fireproof safe? Tony asked himself. Of course it had. Only an imbecile would put in a safe that wasn't fireproof.

  He tore his gaze away from the fire-ravaged building and studied the state police cruisers parked nearby and what he recognized as statie unmarked cars too–he could spot them a mile away.

  And the men who belonged to those unmarked cars–he could spot them two miles away. They had on white short-sleeve shirts, guns on their hips, and buzz cuts. Five or six of th
em stood close to the house like vultures just waiting to sift through the ruins.

  That sucker-punched feeling was back in full force.

  "At least you can collect insurance," Wayne said.

  "Yeah, insurance," Rhonda piped in, like that idea was a real stroke of genius.

  Tony looked from Wayne to Rhonda and back again. Was it the flames making their eyes sparkle or the hope that they still had a chance to live the high life? "I don't have any insurance," Tony said. "It cost too much. Me being right on the cliff with the ocean and wind and hurricanes and everything. Just too much."

  Apparently the flames hadn't put that sparkle in their eyes.

  They watched what was left of the fire in silence. Until Tony noticed that the guys with the buzz haircuts were looking his way and talking amongst themselves. Once these guys were able to sift through what was left of his place, they'd find more than a few reasons to talk to him personally.

  He'd had enough excitement for one day. "Let's go." Tony turned and began walking away. Wayne and Rhonda shuffled along behind.

  "Well, you still got the Jag, Tony," Wayne said halfheartedly.

  So he was Tony now. Amazing how fast a guy could tumble down in this world. Tony let it pass. What someone called him was the least of his troubles now.

  "Yeah, the Jag," Rhonda said, her tone as flat as her hair, wet with the mist of the fire hoses.

  "Yeah, I still got the Jag," Tony parroted as the three of them crossed 1A and headed for Little Jack's and the car. He started to tell them that there was only one month left on the lease, but stopped. If he lost Rhonda and Wayne, he'd be stuck with himself for company. Not a good option.

  ~*~*~