by Dave Conifer
Then there was movement. The cops that were all over the truck suddenly backed off, jumped into their cars and disappeared. “Now’s your chance,” she said.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “They’re setting a trap. They know I won’t come out if they’re standing there, so they hid themselves. Is there any way out of this place besides that road?”
“Well, there are hiking trails along the river. That might be your best bet, if you can leave the truck.”
“Good,” he said. “That could work. I better get going before they bring in more men. Got a back door?”
He was through the kitchen and out of the house almost as quickly as the words were out of her mouth. He’d try to thank her some time after it was all over. She’d provided some very useful information, he told himself as he ran toward the river. This is getting complicated, but it’s all starting to fit together.
-- Chapter 17 --
Ever since he’d been questioned by the Hulk Hogan look-a-like, Kevin Morris had been thinking a lot about Gail Mankato. The last time he’d seen her, she was a mess over losing her girls, and that was before she spent time in a psychiatric ward. She’d called recently, looking for Billy Fargo, but neither he nor Gail had said much. Now he wished he hadn’t been so cold. Luckily he still had the message slip with her phone number. There were still a few minutes before it was time to get the van out and pick up the senior citizens for their weekly spirit session and, more importantly, their chicken dinner. It always made him laugh that they wanted to eat no later than three-thirty in the afternoon but they insisted on calling it dinner. Old people crack me up, he chuckled as he looked for the note. In a good way.
He dialed the number, but after four rings the call kicked over to voice mail. Fifteen minutes later he tried again, with the same result. He looked at his watch and saw that he was late, and the passengers waiting for him weren’t the forgiving type. Tracking Gail down would have to wait.
~~~
Willmar found the hiking trails and was trying to decide between north or south when he saw something even better. A single boat, low and flat like a dinghy or a rowboat, was tied up at the far end of the dock at the River Winds Marina. That wasn’t something he expected to find, given that it was February. Not surprisingly, the name of the marina was emblazoned on the side in 3-D letters. It looked like a regular outboard motor hanging off the back. He was no sailor, but he knew how those worked. Was the boat locked up? It wouldn’t take long to find out. If it was, he’d stick with the original plan and flee on the hiking trails. Otherwise he’d get on the river.
On his way to the docks he passed a wooden shed labeled ‘Fuel Locker.’ There was a heavy padlock on the hasp, but the door frame didn’t look all that sturdy. If I’m stealing a boat, I may as well steal some gas, too. Even if anybody was around, the front of the shed was visible only from the water, and there was nobody out there. All it took to shatter the door frame was one direct hit from the heel of his work boot. Kind of like my taillight, he reminded himself. The inside of the shed reeked of gasoline, which was a good sign. After his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw that the walls were lined with shelves, on which gas containers of all shapes and sizes rested. He grabbed the two biggest ones he thought he could carry, both red plastic jugs, and continued on his way to the boat. Realizing that he no longer looked like a hiker who’d lost his way, he didn’t bother trying to look like one. All he could do now was hope he wasn’t spotted.
When he reached the end of the pier he resisted the temptation to throw the fuel cans into the aluminum boat, knowing they would make a noise loud as thunder when they landed. Instead, he dropped them carefully onto the pier and looked casually back to the shore for any sign that he’d been seen. Satisfied that he hadn’t been, and knowing it no longer mattered, he looked at the outboard motor and saw a waver of heat drifting from it. It was still warm. Somebody had just brought this boat in. Perfect. It was a 150-horsepower Evinrude that looked too large for a simple boat like this one, but if it worked for River Winds Marina it would work for him, and the more horses the better. He released the small craft from its moorings, hopped onto the bench seat in the rear and hoisted the fuel cans in with him.
It had been a long time since he’d done this. He couldn’t even remember where he’d learned how to handle an outboard and drive a boat. Since the motor was already warm, he ignored the choke. After making sure the shift lever was in neutral, he twisted the throttle to the START position and yanked the cord. It started on the first pull. No surprise since it was already warm, but if it hadn’t he’d have been in trouble. He glanced back one more time even though it was too late to turn back. Still nobody there. He opened the throttle enough to make good time getting away from the dock but not enough to attract attention. When he was a hundred yards out he opened it up and was surprised at how quickly the boat jerked into high speed.
This was lucky, he thought. Really lucky. It’ll take them a while to figure out that I’m not coming out the same way I went in. By then I’ll be long gone. The smartest thing he could do would be to put as much distance as possible between himself and his pursuers, especially when they didn’t yet know he’d eluded them.
But to where? He’d already turned north, but now he worried about piloting the boat through the busy Philadelphia-Camden channel of the river. South would have been better for that reason, but really, wasn’t there just as much danger in turning around? Especially since he’d have to float right past River Winds in their boat? Each direction brought its own risks, and a man who resembled a Viking cruising along the river in the middle of February wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. He decided to stay the course and head north, find a quiet place to ditch the boat and find other transportation after getting back on land.
By then he was approaching the Walt Whitman Bridge. He could see an oil tanker ahead, and not too far behind to the south was a huge ship that was probably bringing cars from Japan. If he hugged the shoreline, the Jersey one since he was already there, he could stay out of the way of the monster ships and he’d blend in better, too.
~~~
After dinner was over with and everybody delivered back to their homes, Morris tried calling again. This time Gail picked up on his first try. The first few minutes of the call were awkward, mostly because Morris felt some guilt about having ended the relationship at the worst possible time for her. It got better when she finally convinced him that she had no hard feelings about it. She was delighted when Morris asked if he could come out to Freehold for a visit, but asked if they could do it at his place instead of hers. He was unsure why she preferred this, and wondered if she was piggybacking the meeting on a hookup with Billy Fargo, but he agreed to it anyway. They would meet at the church. That way he could leave Arria out of it, which would be better for everybody.
~~~
Five minutes into the trip and Willmar knew why boating was not a winter activity. Speeding along in a vehicle with no protection from the icy winds would have been cold enough on land. In the water it was downright painful. Every time the boat pitched into a swell, no matter how small, he was sprayed with foul-tasting, icy river water that hadn’t frozen only because it was moving. The cold led him to consider pulling into the empty marina next to the State Aquarium in Camden and leaving the boat behind, especially after he was unnerved by the gawking tourists who watched him pass from the deck of the Battleship New Jersey.
He didn’t. Despite the growing ache in his hands and knees he continued past the white dome of the aquarium and Campbell’s Field, the minor league baseball park that was tucked underneath the Ben Franklin Bridge. The scenery was great, especially the Philadelphia skyline to his left, but he was too cold to enjoy it.
The outboard motor began to sputter after he passed New Jersey’s Riverfront State Prison, now closed but still standing prominently behind razor wire on the northern side of the Ben. Grabbing those cans of gas had been the smartest thing he’d ever done, he realized as he eased
the boat closer to the shoreline. He’d probably gone far enough upriver to get safely back onto land, but the industrial area that surrounded him, dotted with oil tanks and rusting shells of factories and warehouses, didn’t look like friendly terrain. He might end up walking for miles with no options. The water still seemed like a better idea. He unscrewed the gas cap of the motor and, trying not to spill too much of the precious fuel, refilled the tank and got moving again as quickly as he could. It dawned on him for the first time as he sailed past another field of oil tanks that the cabin in Lambertville was less than a mile from the river bank. Could he make it that far? It had to be at least thirty more miles. Maybe forty.
Amazingly, he’d been on the river for about thirty minutes already without being noticed by anybody except a few tourists. His entire body was wet now after being subjected to fifteen miles worth of river spray. He was approaching two more bridges, a railroad crossing and the ugly steel trussed high-rising Betsy Ross. After that would be the Tacony-Palmyra. That presented an alternative to going all the way to Lambertville. If he could get across the river to the Pennsylvania side, and he saw no reason why he couldn’t, he could find a place to clamber ashore in Tacony and walk to Russ Bismarck’s place.
After taking everything into consideration, that’s what he settled on. He didn’t know what the river held in store for him past Philadelphia, all the way to Trenton and of course, up to Lambertville. There was also more chance as time went by that the men at River Winds would get wise to how he got away and dispatch somebody to watch the river. The Delaware had been a godsend at the time, but an hour later, if anybody knew to look there, he would be easy to find.
The overriding factor, of course, was the cold. The water that soaked his clothes and hair had frozen up, encasing him in a thin layer of ice. He estimated that it would be at least another hour, probably more, to get all the way to Lambertville, and he just didn’t think he could last that long. Having made his decision, he turned the boat in the direction of the Pennsylvania shoreline and opened the throttle as far as it would go. He didn’t care about the noise. He wasn’t hiding anymore.
~~~
“Joanie, do you carry a gun?” Fargo asked when she returned from the bathroom with a blanket wrapped around her. They’d spent the last two hours in bed together, and he could tell by her face that she wanted the next two to be the same as the last two. She didn’t like the question.
“Yeah. Why?” she asked as she crawled back under the covers.
“You got it on you?”
“It’s in my purse in the other room. Why?” she asked again.
“You can fit it in your purse?”
“It’s little. So what? It’s a .38. Ricky gave it to me.”
“Ever fired it?’ Fargo asked.
“Only on a range,” she said.
“Can I go get it? I’d like to see it.”
She sat up in bed. “What’s this all about? Who are you planning on shooting?”
He slipped out of bed without bothering to put any clothes on, remembering only when he’d reached the door that she’d never seen all his body ink before. Oh well. He returned a half minute later with a small black handgun.
“Rip Mankato, to answer your question. That’s who I plan to shoot. And kill.”
“What in hell are you talking about? Your father-in-law?”
“First of all, he ain’t my father-in-law. Never was. He was Gail’s. Second of all, I don’t care what the hell he is. I’m not gonna be around much longer. I’ll either be dead or back in prison, which is the same as dead. I want to kill him because he did all this. To Gail, and to me. And to Ricky, now. Mankato’s behind it all.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t even know where he is.”
“I do know that. And I do know where he is. At least I have a pretty good idea.” He told her about the threat Gail had received in the mail. “And that farm couldn’t be more than an hour away from here. So what do you say? Can I borrow your gun?”
She flopped onto her side, burrowing her head into the pillow. “I know you’re not taking no for an answer, right?”
“This is a cute little thing,” he said, holding the gun up. “Even the cartridge is small. Has to be, I guess.”
“It’s a Kel-Tec. Ricky calls it a chick’s gun.”
“Kel-Tec? I heard of that. It’ll do. I’m thinking I’ll be shootin’ at point blank range.”
“When?”
“As soon as you let me borrow your car. How about right now?”
“Billy, no. Don’t do this. Don’t give up.”
“This is the opposite of givin’ up,” he said. “I ain’t got a lot of time, Joanie. If I’m doing this, I have to do it now.”
“It’s a wild goose chase,” she protested. “And there are probably a lot of people looking for you now. Not just the police. The guys who keep stopping by to get Ricky, too. You don’t even know that he’s really at that farm anyway, do you?”
“I know one thing,” he said. “There’s more chance he’s there than here. And even if he isn’t there, even if he’s never been there, somethin’s up with that place. The note proves it.”
“There’s big trouble for you anywhere outside this cabin, Billy. Nobody knows where you are. You have to keep it that way.”
“I’m going out there with or without your help. I’ll find a way if I have to steal your gun and carjack some wheels.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” he said. “You don’t understand, I guess. This guy fucked with me for a long time. Then he put me in jail for eleven years. Now I’m out, but he’s tryin’ to send me back. He killed Gail’s little girls and left her for dead. You should see her, Joanie. I owe him. We all do. And I got nothing to lose. It may as well be me who does it.”
“You’ve got a safe place to hide. Why do you want to leave it?”
“It’s not that safe,” he said. “He’ll find me eventually. Unless I find him first.”
She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down onto his back. “Look at me,” she said. He did. “You’re not really going to do this, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. One way or another.”
“Then let me come with you. And I hold the gun until we’re sure he’s there. Because we don’t know that he is. I don’t want you shooting some innocent farmer with my gun. That’s the only way I’ll let you do it.”
~~~
An old man and three kids watched him pull up to a dock that jutted from a field into the river near the bridge. Struggling in his icy clothes and fighting the stiffness in his muscles, he somehow managed to climb out of the boat and onto the crumbling dock. He tied the boat to one of the posts, but only because it would have looked suspicious not to. It could have floated away forever as far as he was concerned. If he was lucky, somebody would steal it instead of calling River Winds to report its whereabouts.
“You okay, mister?” the old man yelled from the grass.
Willmar nodded without slowing his pained gait, but then thought again. “Does Levick intersect Gillespie Street?” he yelled back after looking at the nearest street sign.
“Almost,” the man said, walking over from the boys. “It goes to the cemetery. You could cut through there to the right and catch Gillespie.”
“Thanks,” Willmar said. He was afraid to stop walking. If he stopped, he might stay stopped. He knew he looked ridiculous, laboring past in wet clothes with chunks of ice hanging from his hair, but there was nothing he could do but move on.
“You gonna be okay there, mister?” The man called from behind.
Willmar turned. “Bad day for a boat ride is all. I just need to get inside.” As he spoke it occurred to him that maybe knocking on Bismarck’s door in broad daylight wasn’t such a good idea, given that somebody had been watching for him all the way down in West Deptford. And they already know about Bismarck, thanks to the paperwork on the cars Billy keeps getting pulled over in. “Hey, would the boys here like to make t
wenty bucks apiece?” he asked the man after walking back to the group.
Levick Street took them underneath the stretch of I-95 that cut the river bank from the rest of Tacony. Once they were inland he recognized the neighborhood, but there was no cemetery in sight. It would be three more blocks before he saw it and four more after that before they reached it. “Okay,” Willmar coached the boys. “You know what to do, right? Try to look like you’re selling cookies or something. But give him the message before I freeze to death.” He handed them a few bills each and sent them off to Gillespie Street. “Be home, Bismarck, be home,” he prayed aloud to the tombstones. “And remember who I am,” he added.
Ten long minutes later Bismarck pulled up at the curb outside the cemetery and waved Willmar over. “What the hell?” Bismarck said after Willmar was in the passenger seat.
“Thanks, Russ. I’m dying out here. You saved my life. Can you crank the heat?” He peeked into a paper sack on the floor and realized that Bismarck had brought him some clothes.
“Did you fall in the river? What happened? How’d you get here?”
Willmar wasn’t exactly sure where to begin, so he started with what had happened at the office that morning. He suggested that Bismarck pull around to the far side of the cemetery, away from Gillespie Street, which he did. Then, after giving him some background information on Eileen Wahpeton, he described his trip to West Deptford, the ambush by the state police and finally his trip up the river in the stolen boat. Then he went back to everything he knew about Minot, including a possible connection to Fargo. By the time he was finished, there was hot air blasting from the heat ducts. “Next time I see that picture of George Washington crossing the Delaware in the snow? You can bet I’ll salute.”
Bismarck reached under the seat and came up with two cans of Bud, one of which he handed to Willmar without a word.
“Thanks,” Willmar said. “It isn’t brandy, but it’ll do.” After a long gulp he wiped his mouth with a wet sleeve. “I want to get up to the cabin and make sure he’s in one piece. You got a car I could borrow?’