Deception Cove

by Owen Laukkanen

  It took a couple of tries, but he woke her, and she quit moving and opened her eyes, stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavy.

  “Guess you were having a nightmare,” Mason said.

  Jess didn’t react. Just looked up, straight up, like she hadn’t really come back from wherever she’d gone. Gradually her breathing settled. She rubbed her eyes.

  “I’m okay, Burke,” she said. “Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep.”

  He stood. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Burke?”

  He looked back.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Yeah.” He lay down again, settled into his blanket. Laid his head on his pillow, and then he felt movement beside him. Stiffened, just in time to feel Lucy’s big, slobbery tongue curl over his face. She gave him a solid face wash, and he endured it, finally pushing her away when he couldn’t hold his breath any longer.

  “Yeah, I missed you, too, girl,” he said. “I missed you a lot.”

  She turned around in a circle, made to settle down beside him. He stopped her. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he said. “You sleep with your mom tonight, okay?”

  Lucy licked his face again. He nudged her toward the bed, and she turned around, looked back at him once, seemed to get it. She jumped onto the bed and lay down close to Jess.

  Good.

  Mason laid his head back on the pillow. Stared over at the door and tried to get some rest before morning came.

  Twenty-Four

  Burke was already awake by the time Jess woke up. There was light coming through the shades, so it must have been morning, but damned if she felt at all rested. Lucy was sacked out beside her, drooling on the pillow and hogging the blanket. Burke was doing push-ups on the floor.

  “Morning,” Jess said, and Burke banged off a couple more push-ups before he stood, reaching for a bottle of water.

  “Morning,” he said. “I was just about to head out, pick up the new wheels. You said it’s a body shop I should look for?”

  “I didn’t say you should look for anything,” Jess said, swinging her legs out from under the blanket. “Give me a minute. I’ll go.”

  “It’s no problem,” Burke said. “You hang back here with Lucy, get things ready to go. Soon as I get back, we’ll hit the road.”

  She stood. “That’s sweet of you, but no,” she said, walking around him to the bathroom. “I know you’ve been in jail awhile, but they let women do things for themselves now.”

  She stopped and looked back at him. He was staring at her, openmouthed, like he didn’t quite know how to answer.

  She softened her tone. “Burke, you’ve never been in this town in your life. You don’t know where you’re going or who you’re supposed to talk to. Tell me how it doesn’t make sense that I handle this one.”

  He scratched his head. Looked down at the floor and chuckled a little bit, and it was kind of endearing.

  “Yeah, all right,” he said. “You’ll take the shotgun with you?”

  “What, some woman walking around at the crack of dawn with her twelve gauge isn’t going to raise any eyebrows? You hold on to the shotgun. Keep Lucy company. I’ll get us the wheels and we’ll go.”

  She turned and walked into the bathroom before he could argue. Closed the door firm and locked it.

  The rain hadn’t come back when she slipped out to the parking lot, the remainder of Burke’s cash tucked into her jeans pocket. There was even a hint of sky overhead, somewhere above all those clouds. Maybe they’d get some sun today, dry out a little bit. It had been raining so long, Jess had almost forgotten what sunshine looked like.

  The motel’s parking lot was empty. That was a plus. No cars on the roadway beyond. Hank’s cousin’s body shop was a couple hundred yards down the main road, but the road was wide open, with no place for cover in case Kirby Harwood decided to sneak up on her. So she headed in the opposite direction, down toward the bay and the docks, the Coast Guard station. Skirted through a couple of vacant lots, cut across a stand of scraggly-looking pine. She’d almost reached the body shop when she saw Kirby’s truck.

  Up the block, on the main road, pulling into the ARCO across the street. Big and red, jacked up and unmissable, probably the dumbest sneaking-around vehicle you could buy. But there he was, stopping at the fuel pumps, climbing out with Dale Whitmer beside him, Dale saying something as he walked past Kirby and into the little store, Kirby popping his gas cap.

  Jess tucked away behind a big, gnarly arbutus, knelt down in the shadows and damp, and watched Kirby as he worked the pump. The deputy kept his head moving, eyes scanning the gas station lot and the highway and the body shop, like he was thinking Jess and Burke were dumb enough to see that truck and come running out to meet him.

  He looked tired, Jess thought, and though he tried to hide it, she thought he looked worried.

  Dale Whitmer, on the other hand, still looked prickly as hell. He came out of the little store with some energy drinks and a pack of Marlboro Reds, his free hand lurking by his holster like he was itching to draw down on some unlucky bastard. Jess had no doubt he would shoot Burke on sight, probably get a little more creative with her, mean son of a bitch that he was, but Dale didn’t scare her.

  Neither did Kirby, for that matter.

  Kirby finished gassing up as Dale climbed back into the truck. Jess didn’t move, her knees aching, the damp soaking through. A hundred feet more and she’d be at the body shop, have her crack at some fresh wheels and a ride out of town, but she was stuck waiting for Tweedledum and Tweedledickhead to get their butts in gear.

  They moved slow but they got there, and eventually Kirby was back in the truck and the truck was fired up and chug-chug-chugging its way out of the gas station lot. This time Kirby aimed the truck toward her, and Jess thought for an instant he’d made her, but he just turned down the road she’d walked up on, cruised it slow. He was past her and had disappeared before she caught her breath back.

  She pulled herself up from the dirt. Brushed off her jeans. Came out from behind the arbutus and walked up the road toward the body shop.

  Hank’s cousin was a man named Davis. He wasn’t surprised to see Jess.

  “Yeah, Hank woke me up about five in the morning,” he said, coming out from behind the service desk and leading her into the shop’s only work bay. “Said you needed a vehicle, and it was imperative that I supply you.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you could,” Jess replied. “Something clean and reliable, whatever you’ve got. I just need to get out of this county.”

  Davis reached the back of the work bay, a door. He pushed it open, gestured for her to pass through, and she found herself in a little annexed patch of gravel, a half a dozen cars and trucks arrayed before her in various states of repair.

  “Got a Plymouth with a couple hundred thousand miles on her, but she still runs pretty good,” Davis said. “How much are you looking to spend?”

  “I have five hundred in cash and a Chevy truck that isn’t ready to die yet.” Jess gave the Plymouth a once-over. It wore those two hundred thousand miles plain to see, dented and dappled with mismatched paint and primer spots. It was probably about the ugliest car Jess had ever seen, and she’d served three tours in the fucking Kunar Province.

  “If that’s what we’re talking, I can do you a sight better.” Davis motioned her across the gravel patch to a jet-black Chevy Blazer. “Just redid the brakes, and the engine runs fine,” he said. “Hardly any rust underneath. I was going to try and sell it on eBay, but what the hell.”

  Jess looked the Blazer over. It was a small SUV, two doors, plenty of room in the back for Lucy. It looked good, looked capable. But it wasn’t going to happen.

  “I think I’m better off with the Plymouth,” she said, and she walked back over to the car, hoping it had somehow turned pretty in the time she’d looked away.

  It hadn’t.

  “That Blazer will get you anywhere you need to go,” Davis said, following her over. “I
guarantee it.”

  “I know it will.” Jess took Burke’s money from her back pocket. Counted out five hundred-dollar bills and laid them on the hood of the Plymouth, laid the keys to her truck right beside them. “But that truck of mine is kind of a wanted vehicle right now, and if the law finds it before you do, they aren’t giving it back.”

  Davis looked down at the money, the keys. “Where’s the truck now?”

  “Hidden behind a dumpster,” she said. “One of those old fish plants on Cannery Road.”

  Davis stroked his chin. He seemed to be thinking. Finally he came to a conclusion. Reached down, picked up the keys. Slid the money back across to Jess. “You’ll take the Blazer,” he said.

  “What?” Jess frowned. “Why? What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know you, Ms. Winslow, but I know what you did in the marines, and I know why you came home.” Davis looked her in the eyes. “And I don’t know what kind of mess you’re into right now, but I do know my cousin, and Hank doesn’t take sides in a fight unless he’s sure it’s the right one. You’ll take the Blazer, and you can keep your money.”

  She stared at him. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Consider it a heartfelt ‘Thanks for your service,’” Davis replied. “Now, are you going to let me close this deal so I can find that truck of yours, or what?”

  Twenty-Five

  Jess took the highway back to the motel. The drive took about thirty seconds, and it was long enough for Jess to catch sight of Kirby Harwood’s big red truck again and squeeze her foot down a little harder on the gas pedal.

  Harwood’s truck was parked outside the next motel down the road, the Harbormaster’s, about a two-minute walk from the Land’s End. Jess pulled the Blazer into the lot and up to the door to their room. Climbed out, left the engine running, circled around, and rapped on the door a couple of times.

  “Pineapple,” she said. “You in there, Burke?”

  The lock unlatched and the door swung open. Burke was dressed, and he’d piled his overnight bag and the blanket and his junk food provisions by the door with the shotgun. Had Lucy sitting there too; she wagged her tail and stood and came over for a butt scratch, but now wasn’t the time.

  “Kirby’s just up the road,” Jess told Burke. “Throw the stuff in the truck and come on if you’re coming.”

  Burke was already slipping past her with the bags. He opened the passenger door and tipped the seat forward, chucked his stuff back there and laid the shotgun down, gentle.

  “Come on, girl,” he told Lucy.

  Lucy gave Jess a look, gave the Blazer a cursory sniff. Then she leapt into the back and settled on the seat.

  “Get in the back,” Burke said, closing the door to the room. “I’ll drive.”

  She looked at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Better if I drive this stretch,” he said. “You—”

  “I’m not going to have another episode, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she told him, her face flushing. “That doesn’t just happen whenever. I can drive.”

  He met her eyes. “Those deputies know your face too well,” he said. “And they’re looking for two. I’m not suggesting you can’t drive, just that maybe I should. You stay back there and keep Lucy out of sight until we get out of here a ways. They aren’t going to recognize me at speed.”

  He had a point, as much as it pissed her off to admit it. So she climbed into the back seat after Lucy, shoved the dog’s big butt to the side to clear a space to sit, and pulled the front seat back into position again. Waited as Burke circled around to the driver’s side, adjusted his seat, and put the Blazer in gear.

  “Nice ride,” he told her, pulling out of the lot. “Heck, you did better than I would have done.”

  “That’s for sure.” She pulled out the money he’d given her, reached in between the front seats, and laid it on the center console.

  Burke glanced down at it, and she watched his eyes go wide in the rearview mirror. “Now, how did you—”

  “I told you,” she said, sitting back in her seat. “It’s better if I do the talking.”

  * * *

  Jess gave Mason directions, and pretty soon they were on the highway again, headed back east toward Deception Cove.

  The rain had let up, and there were patches of blue sky; Mason figured it was as close as the region got to a beautiful day. The highway wound along the shoreline, and Mason could see the views he’d missed last night: a long, rocky coast, whitecaps on the water, the trees growing almost to the water’s edge in many places. There wasn’t a soul for miles, and apart from the highway and the ships out in the channel, Mason imagined this was probably exactly how this land had looked for centuries.

  He studied the ships as he navigated the Blazer along the highway’s sinuous curves. There were three headed inbound toward Seattle, another two pointed west to the open ocean. He wondered what it would be like on those ships, the solitude, hard work, nobody giving a damn about your history. See the world, get a tan, make an honest living. It didn’t sound so bad.

  In the back seat, Lucy whined a little, and Jess leaned forward between the two seats. “You take her out this morning?”

  “No, ma’am,” Mason said.

  “You have to take her out. Unless you want her to pee in this truck.”

  “I expected they’d be looking for a dog matching her description in town.” He glanced past her in the rearview, saw nobody behind. No one ahead, either; they were alone on this road. “Next pullout, we’ll let her go.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  He’d pulled them off the highway at a picnic spot overlooking the water. Got out, stretched his legs, enjoyed the cool breeze off the ocean and the fresh air. Lucy peed near the picnic table and disappeared into the brush. Mason went to follow, but Jess stopped him with her question.

  He turned back, and she was leaned against the hood of the Blazer, looking out at the beach and the channel beyond. Somewhere in the distance was Canada, but the Great White North wasn’t showing itself today, and those ships he’d seen earlier had disappeared too.

  “The dog will be fine,” Jess told him, catching the way his eyes wandered after Lucy. “She’ll come back when she’s done. But what about us, Burke? You have any kind of plan whatsoever?”

  He’d been thinking about this. As far as he could tell, there was really only one loose thread to start pulling.

  He leaned on the Blazer beside her. “Your husband cooked meth,” he said, and glanced over to see how she took it. She didn’t react one way or the other, just looked out over the water with her mouth set in a hard line.

  “I did some poking around yesterday, in between getting my ass kicked,” he continued. “Met the lawless contingent of that town, of which your husband was apparently a member.”

  “You going to get to it or what, Burke? I asked you what are we going to do.” Jess’s voice was soft, and she still wasn’t looking at him, and the way she said it made him feel like a shit-heel.

  “Yeah, all right.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, studied the ground. “A guy named Yancy said Ty had a spot where he used to do his cooking, up the forestry main line a ways. We go on up there and see if we can’t find what those deputies are after. Assuming they haven’t been up there already.”

  Jess didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. He wondered if she’d even heard him, was about to ask when she straightened and pushed herself off the hood of the Blazer. Wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and gave a low whistle for Lucy.

  “Well, come on, then,” she said, circling around to the passenger door of the truck. “Are we going to do this, or what?”

  Twenty-Six

  The old woman at the Land’s End knew exactly whom Kirby was asking after. And she sold them out with a smile.

  “Unit four,” she told the deputy. “Came in late last night, looked like absolute hell. He did, anyway; she was a little better. Still smelled like trouble—stank of
it, the two of them.”

  The motel’s lot was empty. Dale Whitmer stood outside by the truck, staring down the row of doors with his hand on his holster. Harwood decided it was a good thing there weren’t any other guests here; Whitmer was liable to put a hole in anything that came out of a door at this point. It had been a long and fruitless search.

  “They have a dog with them?” Harwood asked the woman.

  She scowled. “They did. Some mean old pit bull, and it wasn’t a small little thing, I’ll tell you that.”

  “What time’d the truck leave?”

  “Oh, right away. They got set up in their room, and then they drove that truck off again. It was gone in the morning, when I woke up.”

  “And around what time was that?”

  The woman shrugged. “Dawn or thereabouts, maybe a little after. You want to have a look at the room?”

  The woman let them into unit four. Gave Harwood a key, and he had her step back, drew his pistol as Dale did the same. He slid the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open and stepped aside, ready for a gunshot.

  But nothing happened. Dale crept closer to the threshold, peered inside. “It’s empty,” he told Harwood.

  He was telling the truth. The bed was made perfect, didn’t even look slept in. The room might have been vacant last night, unused by anyone, if it hadn’t been for the garbage in the trash bins. Chocolate bars, energy drinks, a banana peel in the bin in the main room. Bloody tissues and bandage wrappers in the bathroom. The towels had been used, and piled in the bathtub. Some of them were bloody too.

  “Shit,” Whitmer said, studying the mess. “Maybe Bryce actually got the son of a bitch.”

  “He didn’t get him good enough,” Harwood replied. “Not if they were able to walk into that lobby and rent this room.”

  “Yeah, but check out all this blood, though.”