Bald Cop laughed. "So glad you don't know too much."
"I'm a good cop; I can't help being thorough with my knowledge."
Even though both cops were laughing, there was truth in his words. Bobby knew they were both on the up and up. He could sense it. Some called it a gift. He called it the only thing that kept him alive.
Since he was a child he'd been able to read people. Not their thoughts but their character. He didn't exactly understand it, even now. He just knew looking at certain people whether or not they were genuine or lying or deadly. It only worked on about a quarter of the people he'd met in his life, and usually it was only the extreme emotional ones that he could read easily.
Like the guy in the opposite corner that was also watching the two officers. He was… bad. Real bad. One of those guys you got sick about if you stared at him too long. Bobby tried to turn away but he couldn't, even when the man sighted on him and locked eyes.
There was something wrong about him. Like he wore a mask, his boring features covering a demon. Bobby was an integral part of Black Death (was, he reminded himself) because of this gift, reading certain people and letting the other guys know what was about to go down. He couldn't tell the future and didn't get visions, but he got what he knew as hunches.
His hunch right now was this guy was evil.
Bobby's fingers on his right hand were going numb and he realized he'd been gripping the backpack on the seat next to him with such ferocity his fingers were white.
"Another cup, sugar?" It was the waitress and she broke Bobby's grip on the backpack and his thoughts, slapping him back to reality. He looked at her, locked eyes, and tried to concentrate on her face and slow his accelerated heart rate.
"Huh?" he managed.
She held a steaming pot of coffee up and smiled. "Need some more?" When he nodded, she slowly filled his coffee cup, leaning further than was necessary, her generous chest now eye level for his perusal. "What else can I get you?"
Bobby shook his head but couldn't help staring. He was a guy after all. "Just my burger and fries."
She laughed and pointed at the table. "Cutie, your food has been in front of you for ten minutes. It's probably cold now."
"Shit." Bobby smiled sheepishly. "Daydreaming again." He put his head down in embarrassment and picked up his cheeseburger, no longer hungry.
"You want me to heat it up for you?"
"No, thanks." He took a bite without looking at the waitress. He didn't want her to remember he was there in the event something happened to him or to someone else, but he knew he'd blown that by being an airhead.
On his third bite of the cold burger, she reluctantly wandered away to another table. When Bobby looked up the State Troopers were gone, their table now occupied by drunken teenagers. The scary guy in the corner was also gone, and Bobby knew that wasn't a coincidence. There was a connection between him and the cops and the bodies washing ashore in Sunken City (wherever that was) but he didn't want to figure it out; he had his own shit to deal with. He was on the run for a reason, and there were thirteen bad-ass motorcycle motherfuckers looking for him and this backpack.
The waitress was back just as he stuffed the last two French fries in his mouth and sipped the last of the coffee. When he didn't make eye contact with her, she put the check on the table and walked away. He put cash on the table, tipping her twenty percent and walking out. Bobby had no idea where he was going, but it was getting late, he was on foot, and he had a bad feeling in his gut. He gripped the backpack and started walking east down Broad Street.
* * * * *
Bobby found himself sitting on a weathered pylon staring at the dark bay and east. He'd guessed east was the way into the center of town, but didn't realize there were no hotels on the main strip, or anywhere to rent a room for the night. He felt like he was in a town that time had forgotten: the street lights were ancient-looking, the buildings simple and uniform, one after another on the main drag. He didn't see any chain stores on his way down the road. There was no Blockbuster, just a tiny place called Whateley Movie Rentals, but as Bobby glanced in the window it looked to be filled with VHS cassettes. It was like walking down a street in 1988.
Shoe repair, mom and pop clothing and shoe stores, and the one bar he saw—Broad Street Pub—told him he wouldn't be eating McDonalds or drinking Dunkin Donuts coffee in the morning.
There was Keyport Fishery right across the parking lot but it was closed at this time of night. The only thing outside with him was a stray seagull, watching him warily from the other side of the lot. The dock was empty of ships, and Bobby assumed they were out shrimping or fishing or whatever they caught in New Jersey.
Right now, he didn't care. He needed a place to crash and didn't feel like sleeping outdoors; although, it was better than being caught… he put a hand on the backpack and pulled it closer.
A car's headlights bounced around the buildings near him and he ducked down, watching as a BMW came around the road in front of the docks slowly. Are they already looking for me? Have they found me that quickly? Bobby wasn't the only one with powers in the Black Death MC gang. Hell, everyone in the crew had a special gift. And some of those were being used to find him, he had no doubt.
He had nowhere to actually hide unless he jumped over the bulwark into the bay, and he didn't want to do that. The salty smell of the water was strong and he had a crazy notion, if he jumped in, he'd be covered in barnacles, seaweed and a slimy green color that he'd never be able to wash off. The waves suddenly felt ominous, drumming against the wall below him, reaching up to grip him and pull him into their depths…
When the BMW slowed to a crawl at the far end of the parking lot, directly in front of the Keyport Fishery, he hoped it was a coincidence. Maybe it was the first shift for the fishery. He was sure they had to get there in the middle of the night when the ships pulled in with the shrimp or scallops or whatever they caught out there.
Bobby was squatting against the short wall behind him, ready to spring away. The BMW was now stopped, headlights shining right at him. He was in a spotlight, caught. He turned sideways with his right hand gripping the Ruger LCP 380 ACP tucked into the back of his pants.
If he had to, he'd kill someone, but only if there was no way around it. His goal was still to make no waves, leave no impression in this little town, and be on his way before Black Death found his trail. Shooting someone would leave a psychic mark that Tank could easily find. Between the twelve biker brothers he'd screwed over and left behind, Tank was the one he feared most. There was no one more loyal, but once you crossed the line you were dead to him. And soon you actually were dead. Bones (fuck, Bobby… Bobby) had witnessed it with his own eyes and helped Tank bury a few people that got on his wrong side.
The headlights went off and on quickly, three times, in quick succession. Bobby drew the weapon slowly but kept it out of sight, against his hip. The only sound was the BMW engine across the parking lot and his own controlled breathing.
When the car began to move, Bobby braced himself to spring and mentally focused his attention to figure out where his first two shots were going: the windshield at the driver's head and the front right tire. But the car swung around and drove away quickly, out of the parking lot, heading north without braking at two stop signs before its tail lights disappeared around a building.
Bobby started walking south with no real destination in mind, although, he knew staying here at the docks was a mistake. As he crossed back onto Broad Street, he passed a bar with its door open, probably airing out after a long night.
A bald man was just inside the doorway, white shirt covered in dark liquid, arms folded and staring intently as Bobby went by.
Bobby got a chill and picked up the pace.
"You lost, buddy?" the man yelled from behind.
Bobby stopped and turned slowly, aware he still had the gun in his hand. He tucked it in his waistband, hoping the darkness hid it. "Excuse me?"
The man was now halfway out the door of the establishment
, still standing with crossed arms. He didn't say another word but his look was disconcerting. Bobby got the bad impression that this man knew more than he should.
"What?" Bobby finally said and waved his arms. His bad feeling was back, and this guy was trouble. Bobby didn't want anything to do with him or his bar. He turned and walked briskly away, glancing back every few steps.
The man stayed in the doorway with folded arms and simply stared.
* * * * *
Bobby didn't know what denomination the church was. It was still a couple of hours before first light, and he needed to at least get a nap in. He could feel his body fighting him to shut down. If trouble found him (and several times already tonight it felt close), he needed his full strength.
The building was set back from the road on a corner property with the graveyard surrounding on all sides. There was no light on anywhere, and the street lights in the area were all out. Bobby looked closer and saw the two closest bulbs had been shattered, the pieces still in the road.
The church and surrounding area looked almost abandoned and Bobby's senses tingled. Something was definitely wrong, like an ominous black cloud hung over the church. He was just about to turn away and find another refuge when the front light on the entryway came on, a sickly yellow bulb that only cast light a few feet down the path.
As the front doors of the church opened slowly, Bobby pulled the gun but pointed it at the ground, expecting something bad to attack him.
But his feelings of danger dropped when the old priest came onto the first step and squinted into the darkness. "Is someone there?"
Bobby felt relief flooding over him and he stepped forward, dragging his feet so the priest could hear his approach. "Good evening, Father." He put the gun away.
The priest looked frightened until Bobby came into the feeble light. When he saw Bobby, he smiled. "Are you lost, my child?"
"Father, I am. I am in great need of somewhere to sleep."
The priest stepped aside and motioned for Bobby to enter.
The inside of the church was rundown and smelled of rotting wood and dust. There was only a rack of small candles lit at the far end just below the altar. Bobby could see the wooden pews, most in disrepair, and faded tapestries on the wall.
"What church is this, Father?"
The priest smiled. "This is the oldest church, still standing, in this town. The Keyport Church of God has been in existence since the early 1800's." He looked at the altar and his smile faded. "Alas, no one worships here anymore, and I'm getting too old to make the proper repairs myself. Some of the artifacts have been stolen over the many years, and I don't even have a likeness of Christ to look at."
Bobby gripped the backpack and looked away. "How do you survive?"
The priest shrugged. "I have my own garden and some of the local boys will run to the store for me from time to time. I also find offerings of food and clothing on my doorstep from anonymous families."
Bobby didn't like the sound of any of his words but couldn't quite put a finger on why it sounded so odd to him. "Why are you still here, if there is no longer a congregation or worshippers?"
The priest smiled. "Two reasons, my child." He started walking down the aisle and Bobby followed. "I've been waiting for a sign, an omen, if you will."
The priest stopped at a door to the right of the altar and pushed it open. "You can sleep here tonight… or what's left of the night, anyway. We'll talk in the morning."
"Father…"
The old man smiled. "Father Ignacio. But you can call me Rocco. Pleasant dreams."
Bobby went to close the door but stopped. "Father, um, Rocco, you said you stayed for two reasons. What was the second?"
"I'm afraid if I leave they'll burn down the church."
* * * * *
Bobby woke to the smell of coffee. Despite his reticence in sleeping in the strange church, he'd fallen quickly to sleep and felt refreshed. Sunlight was streaming through a couple of holes in the ceiling and cracks in the walls.
"Ah, I hope you slept well," the priest said, from the opposite door behind the altar, carrying a steaming ancient coffee pot. "I hope you like your coffee black. I'm afraid I don't have cream or sugar left."
"That will be fine," Bobby said, even though he usually drowned his coffee in both. He watched the priest as he poured two cups and set them on the altar.
"Not very holy of me to use the altar as a table, but I make do." The priest closed his eyes as he sipped the coffee. "It's strong today. I used an extra scoop since I have company."
Bobby felt his stomach growl. "What's the chance we have some bacon and eggs for breakfast, Father?"
"Rocco, please." He lowered his cup. "I'm afraid I don't have much to offer. The bread is mostly stale and I have nothing but water right now."
Bobby took a sip of the bitter coffee and tried not to grimace. "I'll be right back."
The priest looked scared. "No, you can't leave me."
Bobby patted the priest on the shoulder. "It's the least I can do. I'll head back to the diner and buy us some food, unless there's a Publix around?"
"I have no idea what a Publix is."
"Of course not." Bobby again felt like he'd stepped back through time. "I'll be back within the hour."
Rocco looked like he wanted to say more, his eyes darting as his mouth moved, but he simply turned away.
Bobby went outside, into the beautiful late morning sun. As he walked down the main path and through the gate surrounding the church, he looked back and smiled. During daylight hours it looked like any other old church. It needed a new coat of paint and the front steps were sagging, but it gave off a positive vibe to Bobby. He chalked up his wary attitude last night to not getting enough sleep and being on edge.
The walk back to the corner of Broad Street and Route 36 took longer than Bobby thought it would. He strolled down the sidewalks of Keyport alone, although, he was sure, more than once, he felt someone watching him. A quick glance at a home and a curtain fell back into place. A car was slowly coming up behind him just as he reached the diner, but it was an old man in a pickup truck and not the BMW from last night.
But he wasn't getting any real feeling of danger, and that was always a relief. Before entering the diner, he glanced into the parking lot and wasn't surprised to see the Honda Civic still in place.
He went inside and slipped into the same booth as last night since the counter was packed with customers but there were open seats everywhere else.
"Can I help you? Hey, sugar," the same waitress from last night said and smiled. She winked. "Back for more?"
"Do you live here?" Bobby blurted.
She put both hands on the table and sighed. "It sure feels like it. Mandy called out sick so I had to cover her shift. Working a double is no fun, let me tell ya." She straightened up and cocked a hand on her hip. "Is it just the bad coffee you came in for?"
Bobby realized too late what a mistake this was. He should have found a convenience store or somewhere else to get food, because this waitress would always remember him. If shit went down, she'd be more than happy to spill her guts for attention. He should be on his way. Bobby decided to get up and head for the nearest bus station. He reached for his backpack… "Shit."
The waitress looked confused and took a step back. "Forget something?"
"Yes." Bobby rubbed his eyes. He'd left the backpack in the room at the church. Stupid! "I need to place an order to go."
"You can do that at the counter."
Bobby didn't want to stand at the counter, and he was hungry. "What if I order food and coffee now and a to-go order at the same time?"
She smiled. "That will work."
He ordered coffee with two extra coffees to go, and a ton of sugar packets and creamers with it. He decided on a sausage and extra cheese omelet with a side of bacon and toast, and another order to take with him. He figured the priest would be sick of vegetables. "How about bagels and cream cheese? Two of those to go, too."
&n
bsp; "Be right back with your coffee." As she walked away, Bobby couldn't help but watch her ass as she swung it for him. When she got to the counter, she stopped and turned suddenly, grinning when their eyes met. She caught him and she obviously loved it.
Hell, if he decided to stay an extra day, maybe he could tap that ass. It wasn't like she'd forget him now, anyway. Might as well take advantage. And in the future, if he was gunned down by the police or someone from Black Death, she would be able to brag to all her friends that they had that night. Bobby laughed at his own stupidity and ego, which had gotten him into trouble his entire life.
She came back and poured him some coffee and he noticed the two top buttons on her shirt were now open, giving him a great view as she bent over. "Thinking about dessert?" she whispered.
He openly stared at her chest and smiled. "Yes, I am. Is it too early to place my order?"
She touched his arm. "I hope to get off at four." She leaned close to him. "And I leave here at three."
It took him a second to process what she'd said but when he did he laughed at the innuendo. "I like that."
"You aren't a local. Where are you staying, Hazlet Ramada?"
Bobby was sipping his coffee and feeling good. "I crashed at the church last night, but have no idea where I'll be tonight." He turned to her, thinking his subtle hint would make her smile, but she was moving away from him and shaking her head.
"I'll get your food," she said and averted her eyes as she ran into the kitchen.
What the fuck just happened?
"Looks like you aren't getting laid tonight," the man said as he slid into the booth across from Bobby and put both hands on the table. It was the man from last night at the diner. Bobby was assaulted with the same bad feelings again and struggled to control them.
Bobby picked up the coffee cup and tried to be casual but his hand was shaking.
The man tapped his fingers, obviously enjoying Bobby's discomfort. "How's the coffee?"
Bobby slopped some onto his lips before giving up and putting the cup back down. "Can I help you?" he asked, and was glad his voice didn't crack.
Keyport Cthulhu Page 3