Lowcountry Punch

by Benjamin Blackmore

  I hung up and put my eyes back on Jack. “Start talking.”

  Nothing.

  I clocked him on the side of the head. “Where is she?”

  Chester put his hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “This is not how you wanna do it.”

  I stood and faced Chester. “I want you to take a walk. You don’t want to be a part of this. He’s the only one who knows where she is.”

  He grabbed my shirt. “Doesn’t work like that. We’ll find her, but we’re gonna do it the right way.”

  He was right. I knew it. I took a few breaths to calm down. “He was going to pick her up somewhere. He said something about a vacation. I think he had someone grab her at the airport and then that person was going to drop her off with Jack. He mentioned heading to North Carolina.” I looked down at Jack and stepped on his leg. He grimaced. “Am I right? Where are you meeting them? Somewhere up the Intracoastal?”

  Ches looked down at Jack. “You’re gonna want us on your side. Tell us where she is and we’ll help you out.” He looked back into the car. “You, too, Ronnie. You’re welcome to say something. Buy yourself a few years.”

  Jack grinned. “You’re wasting your time. Ron doesn’t know anything about it.”

  I wanted to kick Jack but didn’t. Instead, I lifted him up and pushed him back into the police car next to Ronnie. “Let’s go,” I said to Ches. “I have an idea.”

  Once we were moving again, driving through the flooded streets, I said, “There are only a few places that would make sense. I know it’s a big leap, Ches, but we gotta do something. If I’m right, then McClellanville and Georgetown are plausible since they’re stops on the way north. We’re going to McClellanville. That’s where his cabin is. That’s his turf.”

  Jack opened his big mouth from the backseat. “You got it all figured out, don’t you?”

  Chester looked through the glass at Jack. “One more word and I’ll let him beat it out of you. Count on it.”

  Jack wisely chose not to reply.

  I dialed Steve’s number and told him what I was thinking. He said he’d get a couple teams together. One would meet us in McClellanville and the other would head into Georgetown.

  There wasn’t much else up that way. Most of it was government property without any access. The private docks in between Charleston and McClellanville would be hard to find in the black of the storm. And if Jack had to give directions to someone on the fly, that lowered the number of possibilities yet again.

  The crosstown highway was buried in two or three feet of water. I was sure the cruiser was going to drown, but she made it through, and we lifted up onto the new bridge. I hit the gas, and we sped up Highway 17, chasing the hurricane up the coast.

  During the twenty-minute drive, we tried several more times to get some information, to give Jack and Ronnie a chance to help, but it became evident we were wasting our time. I tried Officer Long again. He still hadn’t found the phone. Ches and I ran through every scenario we could think of and nothing else made sense. If I was wrong, we had no other way to turn. I knew it wasn’t right, but torture was heavy on my mind.

  As we came close to town, I didn’t bother turning toward Jack’s cabin. He didn’t have deepwater access. If he’d had someone pick her up, he would have had them bring her somewhere highly accessible, somewhere that Jack could pull up to in his boat, grab her, and keep on going. He had a much better chance on the water. Also, it made sense to run with the hurricane, not away from it. It was his shelter against everyone pursuing him. It’s what I would have done.

  But our moves were based on assumptions. Was he even picking her up? I think he was just crazy enough to think he could take her with him. In fact, I don’t think he would leave town without her.

  I turned off the highway onto South Pinckney Street. There were no cars on the road. Though the elements weren’t as bad as they had been back on the harbor, we still couldn’t roll down the windows without inviting all sorts of hell. Following a feeling, I cut right toward the south side of Jeremy Creek, the main creek off the Intracoastal. I lost the pavement under the tires and had to slow down some. I drove toward the houses along the water, the car bouncing over gravel.

  I turned back to the prisoners. “How we doin’? You’re still welcome to help out.”

  Jack turned up one side of his mouth and shook his head. But he wasn’t quite as confident as he had been. Were we doing something right? We drove up and down driveways for a while, looking for cars out of place, anything that didn’t look right. With no luck, we decided to move on.

  We got back on the main road and followed it around to the other side of the creek where the actual town is. McClellanville is really just a one bank, one hardware store, and one mechanic kind of municipality.

  I took another right, heading back toward the creek. As it came into view, I saw a line of shrimp boats tied to the docks. Only a few streetlights lit our way, surely run by a generator, as the town had clearly lost its power earlier in the storm.

  Right as I started to doubt myself, a pair of headlights appeared. A car came our way. Once the driver saw us, it stopped. Was this our guy? I continued on and waited for him to make a move. He shut his lights and hit the gas, peeling away from us. Relief overcame me. I couldn’t believe we could get that lucky. I floored it, not bothering to turn on the siren or lights. Chester radioed it in. We had our guy.

  As the car came into the glare of my headlights, I saw that it was an older model BMW. It bounced over a curb into a parking lot. “That looks like Tux Clinton’s car.”

  “Sure does.” I only saw one head through the back window, though. “I don’t see Liz.” I drove up over the same curb, and we bounced into the parking lot after him. He drove over another curb and onto South Pinckney, making a run back for the highway.

  Chasing him, we gained ground quickly. As I drove the cruiser to the left of him, Ches rolled down his window and fired a shot at the tire. I kept my eyes on the road. We were going close to ninety. We came even with the BMW and confirmed that it was Tux Clinton. He rolled down his own window and raised a gun. I braked when he pointed it toward us.

  Chester’s next shot hit the tire and it lost its air quickly. The BMW began to drag on its one side. “One more!” I yelled. “Don’t hit the trunk! She might be in there.” Ches kept firing until the other tire collapsed, and the BMW lost its speed. Tux brought the car to a stop in the middle of the road. I pulled up behind him and stepped onto the wet pavement.

  “He’s gonna run!” Chester yelled, already halfway to the BMW. The passenger side door opened. Tux rolled out and started to run along the shoulder. But Ches didn’t let him get far. “Stop, Tux! I’m not chasing you.” Ches fired a warning shot. Tux stopped running and put his hands up.

  I ran to his car and looked inside. There was a body in the backseat. My heart stopped. “No!” Blood flooded my cheeks. I tried the backdoor but it was locked. I opened the front door and scrambled for the unlock button. Finally found it, finally got to her.

  Liz was on her back, her head turned toward the side. Her eyes were closed. A strip of Duct tape covered her mouth. Her feet and hands were also taped. I whispered, “Tell me you’re alive, baby.” I looked up and down her body looking for bullet wounds. I didn’t see any. “Liz.” I choked up. “Liz!”

  As I reached for a wrist to check the pulse, she mumbled something through the tape. Then she lifted her bound hands. I will never experience a finer moment in my life than knowing then that she was alive. “It’s okay, baby,” I whispered. I put my cheek to hers and felt the warmth of life. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

  I stood up and looked over the top of the car. Ches was walking Tux back up the hill. I winked at him, beat on the hood twice, and smiled. He may have bested me the last time, but he was the one going to jail. We’d finally gotten Tux.

  I tore the tape around Liz’s hands. “I’m gonna let you get the tape off your face, all right?”

  She nodded and jerked at the t
ape, making a deep gasp as it came off.

  “How do you feel?” I asked. “Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head and knelt forward, ripping the binding off her legs. I gave her a hand as she stepped out into the drizzle from the last of the storm. One of the holes in her jeans near the knee had been ripped wide open. We watched Chester push Tux into the back of the patrol car.

  I tried to hug her, but she resisted, waving me off. She’d had enough. Saving her wasn’t going to make a difference.

  All the pain I’d ignored came rushing back, the last of my adrenaline depleted. I fell backwards.

  42

  All right, Eddie Rabbit, you’re right…you can’t run from love.

  I landed at LaGuardia around lunchtime three days later. I hadn’t checked a bag, so I went straight to the cab line. I’d gotten the address of Liz’s studio from someone at the School of the Arts at the College of Charleston. Would it be as easy as walking in there and telling her I loved her? I hoped so. She’d had time to digest everything and had hopefully come to some new decisions. This was it for me: my last chance to redeem the greatest thing that had ever happened to me.

  Before I left for New York that morning, Ronnie told me during an interrogation that he had taken the bullets out of Jack’s gun while we were on the boat. That’s why I was still alive. He didn’t want anyone to die. That’s the kind of thing that I appreciate.

  I handed the cabbie sixty bucks and stepped onto the sidewalk on Little West 12th Street. The cobblestone had Charleston written all over it, and I could see Liz had found a little of home in the big wheel of confusion. Late September in Manhattan is a fine time to be there, especially when you’re chasing love. But I knew my chances weren’t good.

  As the cab turned down Charles and disappeared, I saw Liz through the window of the second floor. She was painting. I found a small pebble and drew back my arm to throw it, but paused.

  I could feel the passion radiating from her body into the brush as she moved up and down on the canvas, putting every damn thing she had into it. She must have felt me watching, because she stopped and looked down. I waved to her. She put down her brush and headed my way. A moment later, she walked down the steps to the sidewalk. She still had her apron on, and there was paint on her jeans and in her hair. “You look terrible,” she said.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard.” I touched my bruised face.

  “Why’d you come?” she asked, and we were off to a great start.

  “Did you think for one minute I wouldn’t?”

  “I didn’t think about it.”

  “I wanted to check on you. You wouldn’t return my calls. I was worried.”

  “I’m a big girl.”

  “You know that’s not the only reason I came. I had to see you. We can’t let this go, Liz. Come back to me.”

  “I thought I’d made myself clear.”

  “I hoped you might have reconsidered.”

  “Look, T.A., I’m sorry you came here. I really am. And I am thankful for what you did, but I have nothing more to say to you.”

  I read anger and pain in the tightness of her cheeks, and I saw exhaustion in her eyes. “I’m sorry I lied,” I said.

  “You’re forgiven.”

  Last shot. “C’mon, Liz. Can you hear me out? I feel like you’re not even seeing me right now. Can you please give me a couple minutes?”

  “Don’t talk to me like I owe you something. I’ve already heard all this, and I’m over it.”

  “You’re right. You don’t owe me anything.” I took her hand and held it for a moment. “You have every reason to hate me, and I know I’m one big lie to you, but I love you. You have to know that. And if you would look at all this from a different perspective, you might understand that I handled everything the best I could—the only way I could. I was always looking out for you.”

  She wiped her fingers on her apron. “I hear what you’re saying, loud and clear. You have to understand, though. It’s over. I’m back to work. I don’t love you anymore.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it. You got in the way of what I do and what matters most, T.A. You and everything back home makes it hurt. We don’t want the same things.”

  As a single tear dropped from her eye, my heart fell along with it.

  Just like that, I’d lost her and it couldn’t have been any clearer. Sometimes destiny fails to deliver, and I wanted to appeal, but to who? It was her decision, and I was gone.

  “Sorry you came all this way,” she said, backing toward the door.

  “It was worth a shot.” I began to walk away, too. “Any good places to eat around here?”

  “Pastis on the corner there. Make sure you get the fries.”

  That’s how it went. Our last words were about fucking potatoes. Not exactly the exchange I had hoped for.

  43

  I moped around for a couple weeks feeling sorry for myself, drinking too much and not eating enough, but eventually it was time to get out of the house and move on. Liz was never coming back and looking at the phone wasn’t going to make her call me. Staring at the door wasn’t going to make her knock.

  The men and women we arrested had made the front page again, this time below the fold. Their story had already begun to fade into history. Even though Kado had broken down, it was Diego that had ultimately blown my cover. So I fought for Kado, and now he was back at his restaurant, Morph, living the life of a free man.

  Despite many setbacks, Operation Coastal Snow had been deemed a success. Twenty kilograms of cocaine, a half-million dollars in cash, and one dead Cuban. Ninety-seven people in four states had been arrested, and many indictments would follow. People say that we don’t make a difference, that the war on drugs is a waste of time and money, but I’d like to think that Operation Coastal Snow saved at least one life, maybe prevented one kid from growing up without a father or mother.

  Tux finally started talking. It’s funny how a few days behind bars loosen your lips like alcohol. Especially when you start dangling lighter sentences in front of them. He admitted that he and Jack had met at one of James King’s parties at the Mazyck a year back. Tux was with one of his friends who played professional football. He and Jack hit it off and Jack started kicking him some powder. Tux had been dealing a long time but hadn’t been able to get anything so pure. Their relationship grew from there.

  The night of the arrests (I assume right after Liz had hit him with the paperweight), Jack called Tux and offered him fifty grand to keep Liz from getting on that plane. That’s that. Tux had been so smart for so long, but eventually, greed got him. Hard to turn down fifty grand for a night’s work. I also asked Tux how he had found out it was me who beat up his cousin. He said he had a cop on the payroll. I passed the cop’s name down the line. One more turncoat we didn’t have to worry about anymore.

  Then he threw another nugget my way, something that had really been puzzling me. Tux said the day after I showed up at his house throwing punches, he’d found out who had come after me with that rifle. True to his word, Tux had told his cousin, Jesse, that he was cancelling the hit on me. This was right after Chester and I had left Tux’s house the first time. Well, Jesse didn’t listen and went out and hired someone else to kill me. When Tux heard, he paid him a visit. Tux assured me that I wouldn’t have to worry about his stupid cousin again. I didn’t tell Tux at the time, but I was going to make sure I wouldn’t have to worry about Jesse anymore. He and his rifleman would hear from me shortly.

  I’d thought long and hard over what to do with Stephanie. We could have put her in jail, but I knew that wasn’t right. I finally decided to call her mother in Fort Lauderdale, and I told her nearly everything. From what I’d heard from Stephanie, her mother was a commanding force in her life and the person she most respected. Her mother took it well and there were no hints of skepticism; I got the feeling she knew what I was talking about. She said she would bring Stephanie down to Florida and find her help. I hoped it would
work out.

  Speaking of hope: I kept playing at The Children’s Hospital. I’d started going for Liz, but I kept going for the kids. There couldn’t be many better things in my world than watching a group of unfortunate and brave children dancing to the sound of the banjo, wielding smiles that could melt icecaps.

  But I was alone. And chances were I’d be sleeping with a gun by my side until someone finally got me. Or, more optimistically, until I was old and gray.

  44

  One day in November, Beau Tate had a heart attack.

  He was on his riding lawnmower when it happened. (Only in the Southeast do you still have to cut grass in November.) His wife called me at work to tell me the news. I rushed over to the hospital and he was up and talking by the time I got there. It had only been a mild heart attack, but I spent the night in a chair watching him sleep and listening to the chirp of the EKG. I couldn’t handle losing him. Not for a long time. It was like losing my father all over again.

  That next morning, still wearing the same clothes, I left the hospital and drove toward the airport to pick up Anna. It would be the first time I had seen her since December the year before. She came out from baggage claim, and the emptiness inside of me lit up and burned. She’d grown her blonde hair back out, like it was part of the new “California” Anna. But she still fit the image I’d held in my mind. A tomboy kind of beauty. I’d always remember her as the little girl playing with me in the marsh.

  We embraced and she broke into tears on my shoulder. We spoke of her father on the way back. Then spent the day playing cards and entertaining him as best we could.

  That night, Anna and I went out to get a bite to eat at Shi Ki, an unassuming little sushi establishment tucked into a building with a Blockbuster on East Bay Street. We talked and drank Nigori and ate various sashimi: yellowtail, fluke, salmon roe, sea urchin, and surf clam. I liked that she had some sushi eating flexibility. I’d forgotten about that.